Gus Moreno

How did you become a writer? 

From a very early age, I always wanted to be a film director. Movies have always been a big passion of mine. I enjoyed reading, but movies usually won over books. That changed my sophomore or junior year in high school. First, I had recently seen The Matrix, and besides being blown away from the visuals, I was intrigued by the ideas expressed in the film. Critics kept throwing a certain word around when talking about The Matrix, so I went out and bought a book called Philosophy for Dummies (a great primer!). I was just being introduced to Philosophy’s basic concepts when I had to read Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha for classAnd that book changed everything for me. It was a perfect distillation of the internal world of philosophy, and the external world of a fictional story. And not only was it written in a way that I could immediately lose myself in the protagonist, but it was expressing the same ideas and questions I was learning on my own, and more in-depth than a movie could ever get within two hours. I knew right away this was what I wanted to do, make movies that existed only in your head. 

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

Hermann Hesse, George Orwell, Chuck Palahniuk, Amy Hempl, Margaret Atwood, Lucia Berlin, Bret Easton Ellis, Stephen Graham Jones, Susan Sontag, Brian Evenson, Raymond Carver, Kurt Vonnegut, Tom Robbins, and so many others. 

When and where do you write? 

I write any time and anywhere, because life will usually try to get in the way. That said, I prefer to write first in the morning, usually in my basement, usually with a cup of coffee nearby.

What are you working on now? 

I’m working on my second novel. I don’t want to divulge too much, but it takes place in western North Carolina on the Appalachian Trail. Two families are finishing the trail in honor of loved ones who were murdered on the trail years before. Unbeknownst to them, something is “unearthed” along the trail, and of course, all hell breaks loose. 

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block? 

I don’t know whether this was writer’s block or not, but there was a point in my writing where I could tell the way I was going about things was not going to last. I was very much someone who wrote whenever the mood struck me, or if inspiration struck me. I’d get the idea for a story, but I would let the story linger in my head until it was pretty much fully formed. That changed after a while. I’d get an idea for a story and wait for it to form in my head, but the sentences were few and far between. I found myself sitting down to write without a clue as to what I was actually going to write. It felt like the well I was drawing my creativity from was running dry, until it finally did. Now I would have the kernel of a story, but the words wouldn’t just snap into place like they did before. I had to change my approach to fiction, how I wrote, what I looked for in a potential story, for me to get back into the swing of things. And I had to get used to writing crappy drafts before the story would begin to reveal itself to me. Something that helped was something Chuck Palahniuk talks about, which is something he got from Tom Spanbauer: “Shitting out the coal.” In my own words, it’s basically the idea of pushing out that first draft, the piece of coal, and polishing it until it’s a diamond. 

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

The “best” is hard to pin down. I’ve lucked upon a lot of great writing advice, but the ones that stick out the most come from non-writer sources. Years ago, I read Legs McNeil’s oral biography of punk rock’s origins in New York and then London, Please Kill Me, and something that’s always stuck out to me was how the Ramones approached their music. They were sick of these long, meandering records with six-minute guitar solos and decadent compositions. When they would perform at CBGB, they would promptly take the stage, one of them would yell out “ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR,” they’d play their entire album in twenty minutes, unplug their guitars and get off the stage. They weren’t messing around with the frivolous elements of music at the time, and I just love that attitude. I use that example as the same approach to my own writing. I don’t want to write a chapter that’s maybe boring but conveys valuable information. I want the whole thing to sing as much as the fun parts sing, so it’s important to me that what I write is lean, purposeful, packs a punch, and unplugs before people can scream for an encore. 

What’s your advice to new writers? 

Don’t quit, and don’t despair. I’ve always reasoned to myself that published “bad” writers are just writers who never quit. So if I had any talent or not, if I was a “good” writer or not, it didn’t matter. All I had to do was never quit and sooner or later I would push through. I know a lot of talented writers who gave up because of one thing or another. It’s a matter of time, not strictly talent.

Also, find someone you trust who is also a writer to share and critique each other’s work. Find a writing group, or start one. Critiquing each other’s work provides two benefits: you’re getting feedback on your work, and you begin to develop a thick skin when it comes to criticism. I’m not saying you need to suffer through people bashing your work, but we’re all vulnerable when it comes to our writing, and by letting someone you trust or whose opinion you value read your work and give an honest critique, you’ll learn to see your work in a more objective light, making it easier to edit and revise later, because you won’t be so protective of it. 

Gus Moreno is the author of This Thing Between Us. His stories have appeared in Southwest Review, Aurealis, Pseudopod, and Burnt Tongues, an anthology. His essays and articles have been featured in Publisher’s Weekly, Literary Hub, and CrimeReads. He lives in the suburbs with his wife and dogs, but never think that he's not from Chicago. 

Lincoln Michel

How did you become a writer?

My supervillain author origin story is basically that I was bad at everything else. From a young age, I wanted to be an artist. But I simply wasn’t good at the various artforms I tried. I’m fairly tone deaf and never got the hang of any instrument. Didn’t have the eye for photography. I can’t draw and even my handwriting is near illegible scribbles. Etc. When I was in college, I started to write poems and stories and it just clicked. It made sense to me. I was good at it! Or at least good relative to the other artforms I’d failed at. 

Of course, I’d also been a voracious reader from a very young age so perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise that writing was the path for me. 

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

The first authors who really made me want to be a writer were Franz Kafka and Italo Calvino. I think most of my work still tries to imitate the dreamy unreality of the former and the inventive playfulness of the later. Other major influences for me are Kobo Abe, Shirley Jackson, Donald Barthelme, Octavia Butler, Yoko Ogawa, Joy Williams, Denis Johnson, and Jorge Luis Borges. I’ve been lucky to have some fantastic teachers, among them Diane Williams, Ben Marcus, and Sam Lipsyte. 

When and where do you write?

Any and everywhere. I’m not a creature of habit, or perhaps more accurately I change my habits a lot. When I lived by the park, I used to write in the park every day. Before the pandemic, I’d spend a lot of time at coffee shops. I edit on the subway. Revise on rooftops. Morning, afternoon, evening. I don’t mean that I’m a super writer who is always writing—indeed like many writers I’m a horrible procrastinator and time waster—but just that I don’t have a specific routine around time of day or location. 

What are you working on now

I’m finishing up what I hope will be my second novel, which I’m describing as Pale Fire meets Star Trek

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

On specific projects? Yes. But not in general. My ADHD brain makes me jump around projects and I always have a lot of things in the works. Right now I have a couple novel starts and a lot of short stories as well as a non-fiction idea and other projects. So when I’m stuck on one, I have others I can tinker with.  

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

When I was in college, I was randomly roommates with the son of a famous author. One time we got dinner with him and a group when he was in town for a book event. My friend (annoyingly) told his father I was an aspiring writer. The famous author turned to me and said only two words: “Finish things.” Then he turned back to chatting with his agent. I still think that’s the best advice. You have to finish things. Finish drafts, finish revisions, finish books. Sometimes they don’t work and you have to move onto the next one. But learning to actually finish things is one of the hardest lessons for writers. A lot of new writers get lost in the drafts and never publish. 

What’s your advice to new writers?

The first and best advice is to read widely. Read across genres. Read old writers and new ones. Read in translation. Read everything you can. My second advice is to lean into what interests you. Sometimes, young writers think they need to balance out their work or write toward what they think the market wants. But what will stand out isn’t another version of what’s out there. What will stand out is what is you unique to you. Take the ideas you think are insane or bizarre or scary or too darn weird, and then write them with the utmost seriousness and all the skill you can muster. That’s the book people will want to read. 

Lincoln Michel is the author of the science fiction novel The Body Scout (Orbit) and the story collection Upright Beasts (Coffee House Press). His fiction appears in The Paris Review, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science FictionGrantaNOON, and elsewhere. You can find him online at lincolnmichel.com and the newsletter Counter Craft.

Nathaniel Ian Miller

How did you become a writer?

I was one of those precocious, obnoxious kids who consider themselves “writers,” and it was encouraged. In the 4th or 5th grade I collected all of my fiction to date—seven stories—and we ran off a few copies with my hand-drawn cover, bound in those thick plastic spirals that office people used for boardroom presentations back in the 80s. It was called Ragged Randoms—The Best of Nathaniel Miller, and there was some sci-fi, and a ghost story, and the worst dialogue you can imagine. I still have a copy. Looking at it right now. As for these days, in sober retrospect, maybe I became “a writer” two springs ago, when, at long last, someone (other than my parents) wanted to publish my work. I would’ve loved to be one of those writers who doesn’t give a damn whether anyone ever sees their work, and their ego lives on undiminished, but for me, until my luck changed, the designation felt hollow.

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

So many! Books that left a lasting mark can hardly be counted, but the writers I carry with me are Dame Beryl Bainbridge, Patrick O’Brian, Frantz Fanon, Frans Bengtsson, Larry McMurtry, Subcommandante Marcos, Jim Harrison, J.R.R. Tolkien, Elizabeth Bishop, Cormac McCarthy, Ursula K. Le Guin, Brendan Behan, Jane Austen, Haruki Murakami, Tomi Ungerer and Margaret Wise Brown. To name a few.  

When and where do you write?

If I’m engaged in a project, I’ll write whenever time presents itself (which, as I’m also a farmer, is more often in winter). Most of it occurs in my beloved office, which overlooks the barnyard and what people in Vermont call “the dooryard.” The windows are rather old in this part of our 19th C. farmhouse, so I am joined here by marauding hordes of cluster flies. But if I’m insufficiently engaged in a project, I could have all the time in the world, and I won’t write a word.

What are you working on now?

Ideas are finally congealing productively on a new novel, but as it’s still in its infancy, I hesitate to say more. I’ll say this: there are motorcycles in it. And tobacco.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

I don’t think so, though I fear it appropriately and raise the sign of aversion against the evil eye when it is mentioned. My problem is a total lack of writing discipline, unless I’m rolling.

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

The truth is that I haven’t been offered much writing advice, or any that I can remember. It could be that my conflicted feelings about the writing life form a visible barrier around me, and few would wish to give advice to someone who repels it. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t know very many writers, and the ones I know are not advice-givers. This is unlike farming, which somehow everyone has advice about. And child-rearing. And how to change one’s perspective by simply changing one’s perspective.

What’s your advice to new writers?

Oh man, I stepped right in it. Maybe this (in a stentorian voice): New writer! Cultivate, if you can, a second line of work that provides you with a sense of worth and identity. If you cannot, I raise my glass to you, friend, for we are together in this.

Miller’s debut novel, The Memoirs of Stockholm Sven, was published in October by Little, Brown & Co. He has also written for the Virginia Quarterly Review and newspapers in New Mexico, Colorado, Wisconsin and Montana. He lives with his family on a farm in Vermont.