How did you become a writer? In some ways, as soon as I learned how to read I became a writer; that was the magic of what words could do on a page. Some childhood journals resurfaced recently and while I was hoping to find frivolous gossip about crushes and my day to day life, they are filled with long descriptions of plants and insects from my treehouse perch–I wanted my writing to be taken seriously, I guess! I remember writing a poem about looking at snowflakes through a magnifying glass when I was in first grade. I just always had an urge to look at things and write about them. That said, I didn’t really feel like a writer until I was forty and received a grant to help write my first book, The Slip, and I was deeply moved because it felt like a moment of confirmation: okay, I am a writer. I can do this.

Name your writing influences. Everything I read is influential to me. Seeing the importance my parents placed on books–they were always reading to us but also always reading for pleasure themselves–instilled my own love of writing. I have friends whose writing I admire, and my own sister and brother-in-law are incredible writers. I also have always loved the idea that you can find good writing anywhere, even when that’s not the subject. In undergrad I took writing classes with famous authors that were wonderful, but one of the classes that was most influential to me in my writing was with the art historian Alexander Nemerov; his love of language was palpable in the way that he lectured, and the margins of my notes from his class were filled with words to look up or that grabbed me in their direct power. 

When and where do you write? With three young children and a demanding full-time job, I write whenever I can. But my happy place is very early in the morning before anyone else is awake, when the light is just starting to break. I have a desk in a tiny room in my house that used to be my grandmother’s sewing room and is basically a closet. She too was juggling lots of kids and a career outside of writing, and I try to channel her spirit. Next to my desk is a bookshelf my father built, and out the window is a spindly tree where an osprey often comes to perch. These things keep me company but aren’t too much of a distraction. I write on my laptop until a child comes and knocks on the door…

What are you working on now? I am taking a little breather after The Slip, which just came out a few months ago and which I’m still doing a lot of interviews and talks around. But a next project is starting to percolate around love and creativity and an uncompromising artist. I’m assembling some books, reading a lot but not in full research mode yet, letting things marinate so I can figure out what part of this history I want to pull out. 

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block? Whenever I feel constipated in my writing, I start reading. I return to something that really moved me, or where I admire the writing. And then I’ll try to go for a walk. The ocean in all its sublime power is a crucial head-clearer for me. It puts things in perspective. And listening to my kids. My daughters have a wonderful way of seeing and describing the world, and they remind me to take a breath, find the simplest route forward. 

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever received? Lucy Sante has a Paris Review interview where she talks about the importance of reading widely, far outside the subject of your project, to help find arguments and even sometimes actual details that will make their way into the book, and I’ve always heeded that. When I was writing The Slip, I was very moved by Jenn Shapland’s My Autobiography of Carson McCullers. And also Deborah Levy’s memoir trilogy–they are both in The Slip in a certain, subtle way.

And working as an editor for a long time has helped me understand structure and argument and pacing and kept me honest as a writer, since it’s always very humbling to be edited. 

What’s your advice to new writers? Don’t wait for someone to validate you, don’t make excuses about why you can’t find the time or right environment to write, just write. Relatedly, there is no one template or model for how to do this. And while it’s so fun to learn about what has worked for other writers, including on this great website, it is ultimately about finding your own methods through trial and error. I am still learning how to write well.

Also: Read your writing out loud. It gets you out of your own head, reminds you that you are writing for an audience, and helps pinpoint knotty sections, places where the rhythm of the text falls away, or, happily, spots that are flowing well. Because what a wonderful feeling when you read a section out loud and can feel it humming along, becoming something independent from you and your labors. That’s the mystical grace of writing you hope to be lucky enough to channel. 

Prudence Peiffer is an art historian, writer, and editor, specializing in modern and contemporary art. She is Director of Content at the Museum of Modern Art, New York. She received her PhD from Harvard University. Following a postdoctoral fellowship at Columbia University, she was a Senior Editor at Artforum magazine from 2012-2017, and Digital Content Director at David Zwirner in 2018. She ran The Folding Chair, a reading series in Brooklyn, with Oana Marian from 2011-2013. Her writing has appeared in the New York Times, New York Review of Books, Artforum, and Bookforum, among other publications. Her book THE SLIP: The New York City Street That Changed American Art Forever (Harper, 2023) was longlisted for the National Book Award.