Mark Goldblatt

How did you become a writer?

I’m not sure why I was initially drawn to writing, though I’ve been doing it for as long  as I can recall. The reason may have been something as mundane as the fact that I was bad at drawing—which I still am. I did derive acute satisfaction from telling stories, and from hearing them. I was also drawn to books early on. I belonged to something called the Arrow Book Club in elementary school. The arrival of a new book in the mail each month was a big deal; I liked the books as objects, apart from whether I found their content interesting.

As late as my sophomore year at Queens College, however, I was a math major. I took a creative writing class because it fit well with my schedule, and the professor, a woman named Sandy Schor (one of my favorite all time names) saw potential in me. She encouraged me to enter the school’s writing contest—which I won with a novella I’d been doodling with since high school. After that, I began to take writing, and reading literature, more seriously.

Name your writing influences (writers, books, teachers, etc.).

Yikes, that’s a hard question—compounded by the fact that my books are all over the place with regard to substance and style. For my second novel Sloth, for example, you can see a lot of James Joyce and Dr. Seuss. But you won’t find a trace of either in any of my other books.  I teach religious history, and I think you get a lot of King James-ish (actually, New King James-ish) rhythms in my sentences. I’m embarrassed to say I don’t read much contemporary fiction—I’m still plowing through the canon. I do go back to Saul Bellow as often as I can because he’s such good company. I read Shakespeare and Dostoevsky whenever I want to feel like a fraud.

When and where do you write?

I used to write late at night—after midnight. But as I’ve gotten older, my writing time has migrated to the mid-morning. My desk is next to a floor-to-ceiling window, and I’ve got an astonishing, panoramic view of lower Manhattan, including the World Trade Center and the Statue of Liberty, so it’s a pleasure to sit down and write. I also do a lot of composing in my head during the day, walking to and from work, and I’m always recording voice memos on my iPhone.

What are you working on now?

I’m about two-thirds through the sequel to my middle-grade novel Twerp. Random House has been very kind about not giving me deadlines, but the first draft should be done by late November. Oh, and I’m always working on opinion columns and shorter pieces.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

As counterintuitive as it sounds, I think writer’s block is a disease of too much self-esteem. It comes from an inability to admit that a certain percentage of what you write is going to be crap. Once you admit that fact, you can go ahead and write the crap and then just throw it out.

What’s your advice to new writers?

Avoid self-esteem.

Mark Goldblatt is a theologian, novelist, columnist and book reviewer as well as a professor at Fashion Institute of Technology of the State University of New York. His controversial first novel, Africa Speaks, a satire of black urban culture, was published in 2002 by The Permanent Press. His second novel, Sloth, a comedic take on postmodernism, was published in 2010 by Greenpoint Press. The Unrequited, a literary mystery from Five Star/Cengage, followed in 2013 — the same year Random House released Twerp, a novel for young (and old) readers. Goldblatt's book of political commentary, Bumper Sticker Liberalism, was published by Broadside/Harpercollins in 2012. He has written hundreds of opinion pieces and book reviews for a combination of the New York Post, the New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, Reason Magazine, Commentary, The Chronicle of Higher Education, Ducts Webzine, The Common Review, USA Today, the Daily News, Newsday, National Review, the Daily Caller and the American Spectator.

Casey N. Cep

How did you become a writer?

Oh, I loved reading the dictionary when I was little. And I loved listening to folks read the Bible during worship. I wasn’t especially bookish, but I do remember being moved by stories and interested in language. I didn’t realize, though, that one could be a writer— that any of them were still living—until college. I found a lovely community of readers and writers on my college's literary magazine, and there I felt encouraged to write.

Name your writing influences (writers, books, teachers, etc.).

I was fortunate enough to study aesthetics with Elaine Scarry, fiction with James Wood, poetry with Helen Vendler, and writing with Jamaica Kincaid. What riches are wasted on the young: I met most of them when I was still a teenager, but return often to their work and to the authors they gifted me in their courses.

The authors to whom I return most often are Virginia Woolf, G.M. Hopkins, Elizabeth Bishop, T.S. Eliot, and Marilynne Robinson. But probably more than anything, I read scripture: most often, the Psalms and the Gospels.

When and where do you write?

Anywhere and as often as I can.

What are you working on now?

I’m working on a few essays, a collection of short stories having to do with animals, and a novel set on the Eastern Shore of Maryland called Tributaries.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

No, my writing life is very much like my prayer life. One has to make a habit of these things. Most days I pray with new words, but sometimes the old familiar patterns are all I can manage—the same is true for writing. Even when you cannot write something new, you can revise something old or let your hand trace some ancient pattern of letters. There is nothing more satisfying than writing out one of Keats’s odes by hand, especially when only a few minutes before you felt like nothing could be done with words.

What’s your advice to new writers?

Oh, how often does one hear: read more than you write? Probably not enough, so there: read more than you write. And not just blogs or whatever thing is making its way around the internet; read something old, something wise, something that has been read for centuries.

Casey N. Cep is a writer from the Eastern Shore of Maryland. She has written for The New Republic, The New York Times, The New Yorker, and The Paris Review. She holds an A.B. from Harvard College and an M.Phil. from Oxford University, where she studied as a Rhodes Scholar. Follow her on Twitter @cncep or visit her website at www.caseycep.com.

Ben Schott

How did you become a writer?

I became a writer by mistake. My first book, "Schott’s Original Miscellany," began life as a Christmas card. While working as a freelance photographer, I sent my clients an annual festive card – essentially to remind them that I was still alive. In 2002, I decided to create a little booklet of information of use to photographers, designers, and picture editors. Included were essential data on film stocks, lighting temperatures, cropping specs, chemical formulae, and the like. To make this somewhat dry content a little more palatable, I added a host of curiosities: the kind of information at the back of our minds and on the tips of our tongue —  like wine bottle sizes and unusual phobias. A friend persuaded me to turn this card into a small book, and I printed 50 hardback copies as something of a private joke. On the advice of another friend, I sent one of these books to the head of Bloomsbury Publishing. He loved it, a contract was signed, and the book was in the shops just in time for Christmas. More than a decade later, I am still pinching myself.

Name your writing influences (writers, books, teachers, etc.).

A key and early writing influence was my father, who writes medical, historical and philosophical papers on the most remarkable and arcane topics. (You can see many of them here: http://1.usa.gov/150BYoS.) From him I developed my love for life's footnotes.

From other writers, I developed a keen appreciation of my limitations. Every time I read a great novelist or poet I am reminded afresh that I have no capacity for fiction or poetry. Especially poetry.

And, since I typeset all of my work – books and journalism – I am also influenced by a wide range of designers and typographers: everyone from Eric Gill and Abram Games to Michael Bierut and Hoefler & Frere-Jones.

When and where do you write?

I know some writers crave routine, but I write whenever and wherever I can. At my desk, in bed, on trains, in taxis. I write first thing in the morning, late into the night, and sometimes dictate ideas into my phone as I walk down the street or scribble them on whatever is to hand.

Parenthetically, I occasionally wonder if creating very specific rules for writing exacerbates (the perception of) "writer's block". (See #5) For some writers the Right Pen on the Right Paper at the Right Desk, wearing the Right Slippers and smoking the Right Pipe at the Right Time of Day is the secret to their success. But I suspect that as many are constrained by such precisions as are liberated.

Put it like this: Tiger Woods could beat the vast majority of golfers playing after a sleepless night, in flip-flops with only a rusty 7-iron.

What are you working on now?

My latest book is just about to be published. It is called "Schottenfreude" and it contains 120 German words for the human condition.

You can see a (1 minute) trailer here: http://youtu.be/TC1Zd4KELOQ.

And you can read The New York Times excerpt here: http://nyti.ms/15ZP5MS.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

No; quite the opposite. At the risk of being irksome – and possibly minimising what is, for some, a serious issue – I am suspicious of writer's block. I can think of no other career where people get "blocked". Coalminers don't. Nor do midwives, cooks, train drivers, bricklayers, computer coders, or health and safety executives. Indeed, a wide range of jobs nowadays involve considerable amounts of writing – as is evidenced by the profusion of professional journals. But doctors, lawyers, teachers, architects, and scientists (I could go on) seem rarely to be blocked the some way (aspiring) novelists do.

Of course, everyone has good days and bad days. And there are times when compiling even the simplest of sentences is like wading through treacle.

But it sometimes seems as if a romantic, Edwardian image of the tortured writer has taken hold: the novelist, alone in his garret, tearing at his soul for one word at a time.

If it really is that tough, that agonising, that angst-inducing, then perhaps (whisper it softly) writing is not for you.

What’s your advice to new writers?

Write. You may be a good writer, a bad writer, a successful writer, or an unpublished writer – but write and you are instantly a writer.

Also, while the (Great American) novel seems to be the zenith of every writer's aspiration, there are other ways to express ideas. As publishing (d)evolves, writers might need to evolve also.

Also also, read your work out loud. I read everything I write out loud (albeit usually just under my breath). So doing allows me to judge balance, cadence, rhythm and style – or, more often than not, the lack thereof.

Also also also, love words. Delight in words. Roll them around your tongue, and escort them gallantly onto the page. Words, like cooking ingredients, should be crisp, fresh, and of delight to the eye and tongue.

Ben Schott is the author, most recently, of "Schottenfreude: German words for the human condition." He previously wrote "Schott's Original Miscellany" and its three sequels, and the "Schott's Almanac" series of yearbooks. Together these have sold some 2.5 million copies, and have been translated into 21 languages, including Braille. He lives in London and New York and has an abiding phobia of typos. More about him, and his work, can be seen at http://www.benschott.com. His Twitter handle is @benschott.