Lydia Millet

How did you become a writer?

I was going to be an opera singer, but realized I didn't have the stomach for it. And written language was what I grew up in, before music. I love music, but it wasn't my primary element -- we rarely listened to music around the house in my childhood, but we always read. I read every day, a lot. Books were just the way I knew the world. And the souls of others.

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

I had a teacher, Daphne Athas, who was a lovely mentor in college and made me feel I could actually write for a living. She still makes me feel that way. Then Randolph Heard, my boyfriend for years and still a close friend now, introduced me to a lot of the books that changed how I read, and how I saw what writing I wanted to do, in the years soon after college. So I'd have to say Daphne and Randolph were my biggest influences.

When and where do you write?

These days whenever I can, small snatches of time around my day job and a little longer on the weekends. When my children are grown, maybe I'll write late into the night again. I can only hope. 

What are you working on now?

A novel called A Children's Bible. About climate change and a gang of teenagers who don't like their parents. I have a story collection coming out before that though, next May. 2018. It's called Fight No More.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

No, but I've suffered from doing writing I stopped loving and had to throw away.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever received?

To read a lot. 

What’s your advice to new writers?

See above.

Lydia Millet is the author of 11 books of literary fiction, most recently Sweet Lamb of Heaven (2016), a finalist for the National Book Award in fiction. Her previous books include Mermaids in Paradise (2014); the novel Magnificence (2012), about loss and extinction, which was a finalist for the National Book Critics' Circle and Los Angeles Times book awards; a story collection called Love in Infant Monkeys (2010), a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize; and the novel My Happy Life (2002), which won a PEN-USA fiction award. She received a Guggenheim fellowship in 2012 and lives in the Arizona desert, where she also works at the nonprofit Center for Biological Diversity.

Megan Greenwell

How did you become a writer?

As a kid, I wanted to be a lawyer, but I figured out that what I really loved about law was that feeling of captivating a room full of people during a perfect opening argument or cross-examination. I also read constantly as a kid—everything from The Babysitters Club to Hemingway novels—and eventually, it occurred to me that the work of captivating people is the same in writing. I wanted to enroll in a creative writing class in high school, but my giant, dysfunctional public school didn't have one, so I signed up for a journalism class instead. I fell in love with the reporting part long before the writing part, and I still am a little uncomfortable calling myself a "writer;' journalist feels much more natural. But I started writing articles my freshman year of high school and haven't stopped since.

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

Without Greg Giglio, who taught the intro to journalism class I mentioned, I'm not sure I would have ended up a professional writer and editor. He made every part of the process, from researching to copy editing, seem so exciting that I couldn’t help but continue. In college, I was lucky enough to take a small seminar on book reviews with the great Shakespeare scholar James Shapiro, who drilled into us the importance of active verbs and not saying more than you need to. Thanks to him, I never exceed my word count. 

In terms of writers, I try to learn something from everything I read—whether I love it or hate it—so it's impossible to list them all. But I'm a California native, so perhaps I was destined to be deeply influenced by Steinbeck and Didion. Writers whose work has been humming in my brain recently include Yaa Gyasi, Anne Fadiman, Rachel Monroe, and Hua Hsu. And because my primary gig is as an editor, I have the privilege of working with and learning from writers I admire every day. Most recently, Tommy Tomlinson's created scenes that literally took my breath away in this profile of the Rev. William Barber.

When and where do you write?

I aspire to be the kind of writer who can write anywhere, at any time. Instead, I am very picky about my conditions. Writing in the office is out of the question, but my apartment won't work either. Instead, I need a coffee shop that's not too loud and not too quiet, that has unobtrusive music, and that sells food that's easy to eat while typing. My preferred spot generally shifts over time, but as of a few weeks ago I'm pretty convinced I've found the perfect place. (I refuse to tell anyone where it is, because nothing would be worse than running into friends there!) 

Once I've settled in, I actually have no problem staying focused. I'll take a quick break to scan Twitter every hour or so, but I never want writing to take longer than it has to, so I am decent at avoiding distractions.

What are you working on now?

Aside from editing a constant stream of narrative features for Esquire, I'm putting the finishing touches on the first one I've written in a few years: a profile of a Twitter comedian that's actually about the nature of internet comedy in our sometimes nightmarish world. I have a few other story ideas I'd like to pursue after that, but nothing nailed down yet!

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

It's not that I don't believe in writer's block, but I do think writers focus too much on its existence. My friend Cord Jefferson once wrote what I consider the perfect response to a question about writer's block: "In those moments I try and force myself to remember that this is my job. House painters don’t get house painter’s block. Baristas don’t get barista’s block. I think some writers fuck themselves up by thinking of their job as high-minded philosophy for which one requires perfect conditions and a perfect headspace. It’s work. Treat it as work instead of an academic exercise." While I still won't write anywhere but in coffee shops, I have taken this lesson very much to heart. I feel lucky to have this job, but I also remind myself constantly that it's a job instead of some mission-driven calling.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever received?

When I was 23, I convinced The Washington Post to send me to Baghdad. I had a year of professional journalism experience, didn't speak Arabic, and didn't know anything about the conflict in Iraq other than what I had read in the newspaper. When I got there, I was intimidated and overwhelmed, which I dealt with by couching every paragraph wrote in "gotta hear both sides"-type language and far too many expert opinions. After a couple of these stories, my editor, Cameron Barr, called me with one sentence of advice: "Write with authority." I tried to protest that I didn't have any authority; that I didn't know what I was doing. He cut me off. "You're there, you have the authority. Own it." More than anything else anyone has ever told me about writing, "write with authority" is the line that runs through my head every time I write.

What’s your advice to new writers?

The best advice I have for young writers is to read a lot and write a lot. I love to ask young writers what they've read recently, and I'm constantly surprised by how few are regularly reading the kind of writing they want to do. And I don't just mean The New Yorker! Read newspapers, and magazines from other countries, and every word you can on topics you're interested in. It's the only way to develop sophisticated story ideas.

As for writing a lot, I find that young people are often hesitant about writing, as if they're waiting for permission. Sure, you may not get published in your dream magazine or land a book deal right away, but what you write is so, so much more important than where you write it. Write for your student paper, and tiny publications with tiny budgets, and wherever you can publish something you're proud of. 

Megan Greenwell is executive features editor at Esquire. She was previously a features editor at New York Magazine and ESPN the Magazine, the managing ed. at GOOD magazine, and a reporter at The Washington Post. She tweets stories she loves, advice for freelancers, and far too many photos of her pug Benson at @megreenwell.

Fiona Maazel

How did you become a writer?

Slowly and with trepidation. I wasn’t precocious about writing in the least, and didn’t start writing with anything like commitment until my mid-twenties. And even then I didn’t think of myself as a writer, which is a shame. If you write, you’re a writer. Unfortunately, I had the idea that you had to be published—and published successfully—in order to wear the moniker. I published my first short story when I was 27 or so, but I didn’t think of myself as a writer. Then I wrote a novel, had a great agent, but couldn’t sell the book, so I didn’t consider myself a writer then, either. It wasn’t until I published my first novel that I began to think of myself as—maybe—someone whose life was dedicated to this art. Which is all absurd, of course, and bound of up with issues of self-esteem that have little to do with what does and does not earn you the title. Bottom line: I became a writer when I started to spend hours every day wrestling with language and sentence-making, structure and stakes. That’s pretty much when it happens for any writer, young or old. 

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

This is always a hard one for me because I feel like writing is all about imprinting your sensibility on the page, which means what you’re really asking is what makes me who I am, which I’m not sure I can answer. Everything? I’m sure what I read is as influential on my work as the woman I saw last week yelling at her kid on the subway. Make yourself available to the world and everything becomes an influence. In terms of specific mentors, though, that’s easier. Jim Shepard, Amy Hempel, and Martha Cooley have all been hugely influential people in my life—as teachers and friends. They’ve set the bar very high for what constitutes great work and have taught me over the years how to find my way forward. How to strive for more. It’s wonderful for a young writer to have examples and mentorship, but it’s equally wonderful to retain those influences as you grow up. Your mentors become your peers, but that doesn’t mean you admire them less or have less to learn from them. 

When and where do you write? 

Whenever and wherever I can. I’ve heard of authors who need all kinds of conditions to write, but this has always seemed precious to me. Sure, it’s hard to write when it’s loud or the TV is on or your toddler is screaming. But extremes aside, it’s just not that hard to plunk down somewhere and open your laptop. Writing is hard. Where you do it is immaterial. These days I have very little time, owing to multiple jobs and motherhood, so I haven’t been very productive. But that is soon to change. When I do write, it’s at home or the library or a cafe. I used to go to artists’ residencies to pound out much of my draft work, but I can’t do that any more now that I have a child. So I’ll just have to adapt and squeeze in a sentence her, a sentence there. 

What are you working on now? 

A new novel about female rage, inertia, and the 2008 financial meltdown. I’m only about 90 pages in, though, so who’s to say what the novel will become over time. Check back in with me next year. 

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block? 

I have suffered from an incapacity to come up with ideas that are of interest to me. Is that writer’s block? I think all artists go through periods when they bore themselves. It’s brutal. You just have to keep throwing things down on the page until something sticks. It’s a scary time because of course you’re pretty sure nothing will stick. That you’ve exhausted your store of good ideas. Often, too, a good idea doesn’t appear good at first. So you throw it down and work on it and give it time to find its legs and feet and maybe if you’re lucky, it sticks. But then, of course, it has to run, which is its own challenge. In any case, getting through these periods requires real discipline and commitment, even as you’re despairing throughout. 

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever received?

"So what?" Chris went to the store, he fell in love, she broke his heart—SO WHAT? What are the stakes here? What is happening in your fiction that will help enrich my capacity to feel deeply about other people? What are you teaching me? Why should I care? It might well be a writer’s responsibility to entertain, but entertainment without stakes is just fast food. Enjoyable in the moment but not worth much in the long run. I remember getting that advice early on and taking it to heart right away. It wasn’t going to be enough to funny now and then or to be able to spin a good yarn. I’d have to strive for much more if I wanted my work to affect people in a meaningful way. 

What’s your advice to new writers?

Write.

Fiona Maazel is author of the novels Last Last Chance (2008); Woke Up Lonely (2013); and A Little More Human (2017). Last Last Chance was a Time Out New York “Best Book of the Year.” Woke Up Lonely was a finalist for the Believer Book Award and optioned by 21st Century Fox. Maazel is winner of a 2017 Guggenheim Fellowship and the Bard Prize for Fiction. She is also a National Book Foundation “5 Under 35” honoree. Her stories have appeared in Conjunctions, Harper’s, Ploughshares, Tin House, Best American Short Stories 2017, and elsewhere. She has taught in the creative writing programs at Brooklyn College, NYU, Adelphi, Princeton, Syracuse, Columbia, and the University of Leipzig, Germany, and is currently the Director of Communications for a legal nonprofit, Measures for Justice. She lives in Brooklyn, NY.

Website: www.fionamaazel.com.