12 or 20 (second series) questions with Michael Winkler

Michael Winkler is an Australian writer of fiction and non-fiction. His journalism, short fiction, reviews and essays have been widely published and anthologised. His novel Grimmish – described by Nobel Laureate JM Coetzee as ‘The strangest book you are likely to read this year’ – was shortlisted for the 2022 Miles Franklin Literary Award. Originally self-published, Grimmish is now published by Puncher & Wattmann (Australia), Coach House Books (North America), Peninsula Press (UK) and Mutatis Mutandis (Spain, forthcoming).

Winkler won the 2016 Calibre Essay Prize for ‘The Great Red Whale’. More: michaelwinkler.com.au

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

I always wanted to write books, but the books I’ve written have never been satisfying to me. I have written or co-written 10 books for commercial publishers, contributed to others and self-published three. My most recent book Grimmish is the only one I love.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?

I’ve written in every form. I make the point in Grimmish that, while my short fiction is horrible, it isn’t remotely as bad as my poetry. But it’s all the one thing, whatever the form: me trying to tell you what I’m thinking or seeing or feeling.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

It embarrasses me, but I make a circus out of my writing. Tear my hair. Rend my clothing. Flop about like a trout on a riverbank. The complete Woe Is Me. I can spend actual years hating myself for not getting started. The whole thing is a very slow process, my first drafts are lousy, but I have some ability as a redrafter/rewriter.

4 - Where does a work of prose 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?

It varies. But the first seed for Grimmish was a story I read as a little kid. The final product included years of research, plenty of fragments knitted together, scraps of found prose, plus a short story I rediscovered that I’d written 20 or more years earlier.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I take in information poorly through my ears, so I don’t get much joy from attending readings. It took me a few goes as a reader to realise that if you can provide a bit of a performance, a bit of verve, the audience is grateful.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I don’t have any sort of academic background so I am easily baffled by anything that approaches theory. A preoccupation, however, is: what more can novels do to reward the reader?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

Don’t think there’s a ‘should.’ Writing a book that is fabulously entertaining is a social good, even if it doesn’t solve the climate crisis or wealth inequality. But the writers who provide the most excitement for me, the ones who are mining and synthesising the world as it is, are performing (exceeding) the roles of journalist, seer, philosopher, psychosocial analyst. If you want the news that matters, don’t turn on the TV or open the paper – go to a bookshop.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Tricky question. With past books I’ve worked with editors, and that has always been helpful. However, with Grimmish I knew precisely what I wanted and how far I wanted to push, so I was my own editor (and even my own proofreader, which is why the chapter numbers in the original edition are screwy). Editorial intervention would have calmed and flattened the book – and thus removed its reason for existence. But I value editors, and look forward to working with them again in the future.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

My dad used to say, ‘It’s easier to cut down jungles than irrigate deserts’. I’m not sure if that’s true either literally or figuratively but I think of it often.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (journalism to short fiction to essays to critical prose to the novel)? What do you see as the appeal?

I’ve made my living through writing for decades, but I haven’t valued many of those jobs or much of that work. I wonder if my creative writing would be enhanced if I spent my paid hours doing something completely different. I think corporate writing and even mainstream journalism can blunt your tools.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I have no writing routine. Wish I did. I start every day by cursing the alarm clock, taking my pills and stepping out the back door to chat to my vegetables.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I get stalled for years at a time. And then, for no apparent reason, there will be a little dust-storm of creativity and I’ll wonder why it took so long and why I made it so hard. I don’t think it helps with stalling, but certainly reading the writers who you most admire can fuel your determination to do better, so I am always seeking great writing and rereading great writers. I’ve got a dodgy knee so I can’t go on long walks, but I think if I could that might be my answer.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

My wife’s hair.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

A wonderful question, and yes – everything, really. I have written about finding the clues for how to write Grimmish through visual art, in particular the profane, poetic, prodigious mid-career work of painter Juan Davila. https://meanjin.com.au/essays/moving-on-u-p-p/

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

I grew up without a television in a little country town, so from the earliest age books have been a significant part of my world. Even though I was passionate about literature, I didn’t know any writers until Grimmish came out and I was invited to some festivals and events. I think I expected grudging, competitive alphas – but with a couple of exceptions the writers I’ve met have been thoughtful, funny, good-hearted introverts. These relationships are buoying – as soon as I complete these answers I’ll drive a couple of hours up the road for a cuppa with one such writer. As for those whose work has a direct impact on my own work, the list is long. Melville is on top.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Almost everything.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I would have liked to be a clown, or a professional wrestler, or a dancer – some occupation where you use your body for storytelling and to bring joy. (Or I could steal from Francis Picabia who styled himself variously as funny guy, imbecile, pickpocket, failure, cannibal, silly willy and ‘the only complete artist’.) 

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

It’s all I can do! Believe me, it’s not the vocation I would have chosen. I would have liked to be a dancer or a singer, then my next choice would be painting or printmaking.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Book: Hmm. Genuine greatness is rare. I read Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead over Christmas, and I think it’s truly great. I think For The Good Times by David Keenan which I’ve just finished is almost definitely great, but I need some time to ponder it before I can be certain.

Film: I no longer watch movies. I used to care, a lot, to the point of self-publishing the phenomenally low-selling (despite a supportive tweet from Rupaul) Fahfangoolah!: The despised and indispensable Welcome to Woop Woop, a book-length defence of one of the most hated films in our national filmography. For a range of reasons I no longer have any interest in that artform. 

20 - What are you currently working on?

Gluing together the fragments of a novel about a man who disengages from the community in a very specific way. Is it going well? Thank you for asking; indeed it is not. Onwards!

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Laurie Duggan

Laurie Duggan grew up in Melbourne and over the years has lived in Sydney, Canberra and Brisbane. Since 2006 he has been living in a market town East Kent in the UK and is a regular reader on the London poetry circuit. Works include the documentary poem The Ash Range (2nd ed), Exeter, Shearsman, 2005; and a critical volume Ghost Nation: Imagined Space and Australian Visual Culture 1901-1939, Brisbane, University of Queensland Press, 2001.  His most recent books are Crab & Winkle, Exeter, Shearsman, 2009; The Epigrams of Martial (2nd ed), Boston, Pressed Wafer, 2010; Allotments [1-29], Wendell, Massachusetts, Fewer & Further, 2011; The Pursuit of Happiness, Bristol, Shearsman, 2012; and The Collected Blue Hills, Sydney, Puncher & Wattman 2012.  His blog is at: www.graveneymarsh.blogspot.com

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
I was 27 when my first book (East, 1976) came out. It was a small book and I’d edited out quite a few things that I’d keep if I were doing it now. I’d been writing for a while so it didn’t really change my life much. What did change things a lot was the first reading scene I was involved in, in 1968, at Monash University in Melbourne. The first book tried out a number of styles. I still tend to operate in different modes though I guess the most characteristic work I’ve done dates from my second book. It’s a more open-ended ‘continuous nerve movie’ sort of thing. For a long time I wrote satires and I’ve also written poems ‘including history’. I think I’ve just become more proficient, hopefully without becoming slick.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I started writing poems in 1966 but I still didn’t think of myself as a poet. I’d wanted to write fiction (for which I have no talent whatsoever – and these days not much interest either), I’d wanted to be a painter (I wasn’t any good at it), and I’d wanted to be a rock star (like just about every other male of my vintage. I still noodle on a guitar but I wouldn’t kid myself about it). So I sort of blundered into poetry, then everything else fell away and that was what I was.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
It varies from work to work. Some things require a great deal of revision, others seem fully formed, but these have usually been percolating away off the page for some time.

4 - Where does a poem 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?
I always keep a notebook. Occasionally I’ve worked at projects but the parameters have usually been simple ones. It’s always fascinated me that fragments of ancient poems can seem more interesting and more alive than some completely available things.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I don’t think readings are as essential for me now as they were in the beginning but I like doing them and am a tolerably good performer. Readings are more of a social occasion for people who work in isolation.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
I function from doubt, if you could call that a theory. It means I can never satisfactorily justify or even explain what I do. At the same time I know what I don’t like.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I always tend to avoid being grouped as a ‘writer’ with others involved in political actions. I do get involved in political events but as a citizen rather than as a poet. I don’t think poetry gives me (or anyone)any special kind of authority. In this I’m with George Oppen.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
With poetry the only editing done on my work centres on questions of layout and general page design. With any other kind of writing I welcome editorial assistance. Good editors are a rare and wonderful species.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
‘There are a lot of bastards out there’ (William Carlos Williams).

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
I do move between these two genres. The relationship is indirect but ultimately fruitful.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
Sluggishly. I’m not terribly organised to start off with. But I do keep a notebook and keep it handy. So much of what I write in it is rubbish but if I didn’t do it I wouldn’t get the good things either.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I go for a long walk. Take photographs.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Eucalyptus after rain (Australia). Here (in Kent), malt from the local brewery.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Just about every sort of experience enters the work. Including books.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
The list would be endless. Williams is always there. Oppen, increasingly so. Then there are my long-time companions (and compatriots) Pam Brown and Ken Bolton. But there are so many others.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Visit Portugal. And Chile.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
Everything I’ve done has, more or less, been by accident. I’ve been a number of things: a librarian, an academic, a cleaner, unemployed. It’s hard to say what else I might have done.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Pure chance.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
There are so many great books it’s hard to even begin. Most movies I tend to forget within days. I haven’t forgotten My Winnipeg though.

20 - What are you currently working on?
I won’t know until it’s finished.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Michael Farrell

Michael Farrell grew up in the timber/sheep/platypus town of Bombala, NSW, but now lives among the festivals of Melbourne. His books are ode ode (Salt), BREAK ME OUCH (3 Deep), a raiders guide (Giramondo), thempark (Book Thug), thou sand (Tinfish) and open sesame (Giramondo). He coedited (with Jill Jones) Out of the Box: Contemporary Australian Gay and Lesbian Poets (Puncher and Wattman), as well as editing magazine features for cordite, slope, Gutcult and ecopoetics. He was a recent commentator on Jacket 2, and has had poet residencies in Perth, Western Australia; Ljubljana; and Nagoya.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
It gave me more confidence; I felt more visible. It gave me something I could give to people too. My recent work in some ways feels like the earliest poems in ode ode: the narrative aspect, also I've started counting syllables again. It's broader conceptually I think; the main difference between what I'm writing now and then is a milder tone, as well as more obviously, the use of caps and punctuation. I've read more Latin American writing, and that is reflected in what I've been writing recently.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I don't remember how I came to reading it. Writing - again, I'm not sure, I remember composing in my head around seven or so; and also, a practice I returned to as an adult, of using the tunes and ideas of songs - except when I was young it was Catholic hymns.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
I rarely take notes. I have composed poems as notes. I usually start and finish quickly; though I've notice lately a tendency to not finish things, that perhaps will be completed later - but maybe not. I don't think of myself as writing drafts, though I make little changes. I'm not of the silk purse polishing school.

4 - Where does a poem 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?
I'm definitely not a book project poet. Poems usually begin with a title .. though again, that seems to be changing a little, I think lately I've been starting more poems with a line. Sometimes I begin with a structure - in other words, a form, but more often than not, an invented form. Generally it has to feel like it's got enough behind it to make a whole poem or I won't bother. I write poems in one mode for a while and then another. They get compiled into mss. But the publishing process takes so long, that mostly I rip through those mss to create a new, tighter one. Occasionally I've been able to publish a group of like poems: such as in my chapbooks living at the z (Vagabond), thempark (Book Thug) and thou sand (Tinfish), as well as the more extended graphic work BREAK ME OUCH (3 Deep).

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I do like reading; and it's a creative aspect of being a poet for me. It allows me to try not-textual creative (performative) things. I like to bring in other voices, and to think about how more experimental elements on the page might be represented in a new way. But it does depend on the amount of time and energy I have, or how much control I have over the context. Sometimes I jus t read in pretty straight fashion: I'm interested in my voice and what happens, in terms of both sound and emotion, how they come through in unexpected/unrehearsed ways. It's why I'm not generally interested in reciting.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
There are theoretical concerns, but they change. Some are momentary, especially those that relate to aesthetic, that come from something I've just been reading. Some more political concerns are more consistent - such as trying to think about gender, homophobia and racism. These issues aren't in all my poems, but they never really go away. Philosophical concerns .. I think that they're perhaps more cumulative, and are part of forming an ongoing attitude and ethic. I don't know that I think there are 'current' questions. Usually I find, even if I'm writing in relation to something serious and major, that the impetus and the thinking is used up in a fairly small number of poems, so I have to turn elsewhere. So I could probably never align or identify myself with a particular argument in poetry, such as ecopoetics, for example.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I don't think I can say anything very original here. I have a friend that complains that writer interviews are all the same, regardless of aesthetic sympathies etc. My role is to survive, to mentor younger writers. I am trying to find out what I can and want to say, and saying it. But I wouldn't say others should also do that. Sometimes it seems important to offer a different tone to that of the media and government (does business have a tone?). Perhaps writing can go on creating a culture that is not praising only of money and war.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I rarely work with editors. Of course, I publish in journals, but rarely find that a problem. My publishers haven't edited me.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
If it can be done why do it. (Gertrude Stein).

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
I found it very difficult. I began writing critically in an experimental vein. It took years for me to articulate anything critical about poetry. I enjoy it mainly now - as an extension of reading; of drawing attention to things that I think are great. Or of making new theoretical connections. I think there's a thirst for critical writing on Australian poetry at the moment; this seems like a new development.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I don't have one in terms of poetry, but having written an MA thesis and a PhD thesis in the last eight years, I've had to institute one for critical writing. I start my day by getting up, making a big mug of tea, then going back to bed to write critically or do something related to teaching.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I never think of being stalled. I don't seek inspiration in these terms. But I do get excited and have a sense of moving into a new idea from new kinds of music (or new great albums), or from art (such as the William Kentridge show that's been on here). I am always watching films and listening to music as well as reading; at times it's surprising how long this can on without an effect, but then suddenly I'll strike something and it goes into the writing mix (I'm talking form, technique rather than words or images).

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
A potent soft cheese can remind me of cowshit. The smell of a dead animal. I never smell boiling water on feathers, but if I did ..

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
See 12. There is also the changing metaphor of what a poem is: a muscle, an animal, a person.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Oscar Wilde's Letters; Gertrude Stein; John Shaw Neilson; Frank O'Hara; WH Auden; Marianne Moore; Brecht; Wallace Stevens; John Ashbery; Michael Dransfield; Proust; Emily Dickinson; Pasolini; Lorca; Virginia Woolf; Cage; Ian Hamilton Finlay; Edwin Morgan; Khlebnikov; Judith Wright; Pound; Keats; Shakespeare (this is not in order!); Ned Kelly; Pasternak; Barbara Pym; Agatha Christie; Ronald Firbank; the living are too many. It's a pretty white list, the importance is historical .. my current reading is broader, but the importance of new writers is a slow process, and they can never be formative ..  I'm very interested in Edouard Glissant at the moment. It's also a relatively queer list, in case that goes unnoticed ..

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Made a record - singing not speaking.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
Singing is my desire. Acting interests me - I'd probably need a lot of therapy to attempt it though. I could have been a bank clerk or other depressing kind of office worker. I might have been some other kind of artist if I'd grown up in the city.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
It didn't require the confidence or material werewithal that things like music do. I came from a small country town where there were no artists. Art, music and theatre (and languages) were all discontinued subjects at my school, but we kept doing English. It's a private, secretive act, and one that can absorb a lot of different things easily.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
The last great book I actually finished was My Vocabulary Did This To Me, Jack Spicer, which I'd been reading slowly for some time. Recently I read a great critical book, Baroque New Worlds, edited by Lois Parkinson Zamora and Monika Kaup, a reader of the Neobaroque; and am currently reading Livio Dobrez's great book on Australian poetry Parnassus Mad Ward. The last great film was Illustrious Corpses (or Honorable Cadavers) by Francesco Rosi.

20 - What are you currently working on?
New poems I won't otherwise characterise. A short story is brewing but not sure if it will be written. Reviews pending. Also two papers and the final revision of my thesis - I don't like to talk about unstarted work, so I will briefly mention that my thesis, that I hope will be a book, looks at the colonial invention of Australian forms.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;