12 or 20 (second series) questions with Meg Todd
Meg Todd [photo credit: Anick Violette] grew up in the Alberta prairies. She is atwo-time finalist for the CBC Short Story Prize, and her work has appeared in Ploughshares,Prairie Fire, PRISM international and elsewhere. Her debut shortstory collection,
Exit Strategies
, was a finalist for both the ReLitAward and the Danuta Gleed Literary Award. Her debut novel is
Most Grievous Fault
(Nightwood Editions, 2025). She holds an MFA in Creative Writing fromthe University of British Columbia and a BA in Religious Studies from theUniversity of Calgary. She lives on Vancouver Island.1 - How did your first book change your life? How doesyour most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book, Exit Strategies, came outduring COVID when everyone’s life was turned upside-down. I’m not sure what Iexpected to feel when the book was released, but the news that it would bepublished and the work leading up to that publication were thrilling and, insome ways, more significant than the actual publication. Once it was a physicalbook, it felt apart from me. A child that had grown up and had to find its ownlegs, its own place in the world.
ExitStrategies is a collection of short stories, most of which had beenpublished in literary journals before they ended up in the book. My new book, MostGrievous Fault, is a novel. No part of it was published before the book asa whole. It feels huge. A whole world that has been created and is nowaccessible for others to participate in. Again, I had the initial excitementwhen I heard that the book would be published, and again, I am now looking atsomething that stands on its own: it is no longer mine.
2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to,say, poetry or non-fiction?
I don’t know that this was a choice. I have a vividimagination, and perhaps that’s detrimental to the writing of non-fiction, inparticular. My mind either wanders happily away from the truth, or my memory isjust too poor to hold onto it. Not that imagination isn’tbeneficial to the other two forms. I’m sure it is. But for me, imaginationseems to take over. Also, I enjoy reading fiction, and just as I like to getlost in the reading of a story, so too do I like to get lost in the writing of one.However, it’s also the case that, after the exhilarating and sometimesfrightening freedom that is the first draft, I have to lean into what I imagineare the artistic skills of a poet and the detail-exacting talents of anon-fiction writer.
3 - How long does it take to start any particularwriting project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slowprocess? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or doesyour work come out of copious notes?
Most Grievous Fault is my first novel to be published, and writing it was a long process.The first draft was written quickly, without thought or plan. The ideas andimages and characters were there, but there was no form, no proper structure,and it was the wrong protagonist, the wrong tense and perspective. Sortingthrough all of that took more than a year. After that initial restructuring, Iturned to short fiction, looking at the novel occasionally, but mostly comingto terms with the fact that I was planning to abandon it. But my protagonist,Crystal, stayed with me, and at some point, I made a commitment to her andpushed through. The fact that she is unlikeable made the work difficult. Ineeded her to be sympathetic even though, really, she isn’t.
Iam not a note taker. I write and rewrite, starting over and then starting overagain. I have many versions of Crystal’s story. Many versions, in fact, of allmy stories. I write quickly, but I edit slowly.
4 - Where does a work of fiction usually begin for you?Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project,or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Ideas come from anywhere. Something I see orhear, a truck at the side of the road, someone’s gait, the tilt of a head, aconversation. A short story begins from there: not much more than nothing atall. Ideas for novels, however, seem to appear in my head like movies. Theyroll around for a long, long time before I sit down to pay attention to thescript. I’m inclined to start a short story anywhere and at any point. For anovel, I need time and space. It’s a commitment. Long term.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to yourcreative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
When I am working on something, I prefer not toshare it for fear it will stifle, thwart, or disrupt my creativity. However,when I have a finished project, I’m happy to read. Writing is meant to beshared and the kind of sharing that readings present opens me to other ways ofinterpreting the work and other ways of understanding what I have written. Ialso really enjoy reading aloud in a general sense, whether it’s my work or theworks of others.
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind yourwriting? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? Whatdo you even think the current questions are?
My writing, no matter which direction I thinkI’m headed in, veers towards the morally murky, the struggle of the human to beand do good, the challenges in determining right from wrong, the questions offaith in self, in others, in God, and the fallibility of the human body. I’minterested in what it means to be human, where and how we find meaning in life,and the difficulties in sustaining honest relationships. For me, these arequestions that are universal and that stay with us, relevant whether the storyis told through the perspective of believers or non-believers, thinkers ordoers, whether it’s set in a pre-industrial period or in a time of the internetand AI.
7 – What do you see thecurrent role of the writer being in the larger culture? Do they even have one?What do you think the role of the writer should be?
We all have stories, big stories and littlestories and in-between stories. They are all relevant and interesting, always. Itseems to me that the writer is attempting to find meaning in these stories and thento translate them into something that is accessible.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outsideeditor difficult or essential (or both)?
Both. The fact that the story has become part ofme, that I feel it internally and know every version of it on a visceral level,including what has been removed and what was never put in but is germaneperipherally, can stand in the way of clarity for a reader. This is where thesharp eye of an editor is invaluable and essential. Knowing when and whyoutside opinion is necessary is the job of the writer. At a certain point, wecan be too close to the story to see what’s happening and what’s missing.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (notnecessarily given to you directly)?
My father used to say, “Doe gewoon.” I’mnot sure if it was his or if it’s a typical Dutch saying, but it means “benatural,” “be yourself.” In other words, behave without artifice, withouttheatrics.
10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep,or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
Although it depends on where I am in a piece, I don’tthink I can say I really have a routine. Perhaps I even avoid rigidity in mywriting practice. When things are going well, my project is open on the diningroom table and I write in fits and starts throughout the day, using what I’mdoing between bursts of writing to work things out in my mind. I am fully init, dreaming it and living it. Public writing, writing in the car, in a park,at the side of the community pool, in a coffee shop—every place and everythinggets channelled somehow into the piece. No gatekeepers until I sit down toedit, which is, in some ways, where the real writing work happens, and whichcan be either enjoyable or frustrating.
Istart my days early with coffee and my laptop. I like to see the sun rise.
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turnor return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I find it helpful to write with other people,which is something that’s not always possible. A long walk can also serve(sometimes) to generate ideas or to move things forward. I suppose it’s alsotrue that when I’m not writing, I can’t imagine ever writing again, and wheneverything is going well, I can’t imagine a project ever stalling or my mind evernot being productive. Sometimes it’s difficult not to feel unsettled by a lackof inspiration, and even though I tell myself that it will pass, there is apart of me that is unsure. Sometimes it’s a big part; sometimes it’s smaller,quieter.
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
The smells of goat’s milk, Bantam chickens, EarlGrey tea, prairie grasses—these I associate with my childhood home. My lategrandmother’s perfume, Arpège by Lanvin, reminds me ofhome in general, home as a place that is warmly familiar. The smell of teak, aswell, because of her teak cupboard, which is now my teak cupboard.
13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come frombooks, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature,music, science or visual art?
I think a lot about the process of painting whenI write, this rendering of what one sees, either physically or mentally, intosomething that others see as well. Making something from nothing. And I listento the radio, absorbing whatever comes my way, choosing nothing but the stationitself. Talk, music, political discussion, opera, news—it all floats past meand I can only assume it influences me, even though often it’s hard to pinpointexactly why and what will serve as a muse.
14 - What other writers or writings are important foryour work, or simply your life outside of your work?
This changes for me. Currently, I am drawn toDeborah Levy, all her works really. I love the way she looks at things, herthoughtfulness and intelligence and the way she sees her work as part of thecontinuum that is the world of writing. I like how she struggles to understandwhat it is she does—her introspection. I also love Rachel Cusk’s writing.
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yetdone?
A very difficult question. I don’t have a bucketlist and am inclined to be open to whatever comes my way, and, at the sametime, I tend to be rather careful not to let too much come my way. In my mind,I’d like to be a spy—to observe without anyone knowing I’m there. I’d like tobe invisible.
16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt,what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended updoing had you not been a writer?
I think I might have been a teacher, and I alsothink I could not have been a teacher. I love to observe and attempt tounderstand why a person is the way they are. In other words, I like to stepinto other people’s shoes. When I’m waiting for my car to be fixed, I am amechanic; when I’m in the doctor’s office, I’m the one with the stethoscope.I’m a barista, a grocery clerk, a dental hygienist, a road worker, a horsetrainer, a mountain climber. And I am none of those things. If I hadn’t startedwriting, I would be dreaming of writing.
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing somethingelse?
I still remember this intense excitement I feltin grade 1 when I opened my notebook to a blank page and had a pencil in myhand. I remember my first reader with its simple images and vivid colours. Iremember learning the word “why”. To read a book was to be transported. Towrite a book? This was the pinnacle. Unreachable. I was and am in awe ofwriters.
18 - What was the last great book you read? What wasthe last great film?
While I can’t really say what the last greatbook I read was, some recent reads that impacted me and still linger includeM.A.C. Farrant’s memoir My Turquoise Years and Jente Posthuma’s verypoignant novel What I’d Rather Not Think About, as well as ArleneHeyman’s short fiction collection Scary Old Sex. These books are verydifferent thematically and otherwise, but they all convey “story” beautifully.Also, Edward St Aubyn’s Patrick Melrose and John Fowles’s DanielMartin. Recent films that have stayed with me include Maestro and Conclave,as well as the limited series, Adolescence and Secrets We Keep. Also,.
19 - What are you currently working on?
I am always writing short stories and at themoment these seem to be focussed on vulnerability, the fragility of our mindsand bodies. I am also searching, mentally, for the characters who will togethershape my next novel, which might be about sibling relations, or dying parents,or the interplay of helping and hindering, or the search for our place in life,or all of these.
