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 suppose it was a bit of a relief. It was legitimizing. Like I could call myself a writer and not feel sheepish about it.
With my first book, I felt some pressure (only from myself) to write something “serious” and “literary,” and I had a narrow definition of what that meant. I also think I felt boxed in by some of the expectations and tropes of South Asian diaspora writing. With my new book, there are some similarities in that both are coming-of-age stories about girls, with chapters shaped like short stories. But this time I wrote with more freedom of voice and tone—this book has jokes and pop culture references and is set mostly in high school but is also quite dark and unsettling and deals with serious subject matter.
2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?
I’ve always read more fiction than anything else, particularly short stories. I like the freedom of fiction as opposed to non-fiction—I enjoy making things up, exaggerating, and satirizing. Occasionally I write a poem as a mental exercise (almost always sonnets or other form poetry), but it’s like doing a sudoku. They’re not great poems.
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 tend to spend a couple of weeks making notes for a story or chapter, another couple weeks writing, and then revision can take months or years. The length of that process, and how drastic it is, depends on the story and the urgency of the feeling behind it—like I recently wrote a 7,500-word story out of pure rage and it basically wrote itself, but now I’m working on a quieter story that requires more research, and it’s taking forever just to outline.
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?
Lately for me, a story begins with a feeling of injustice or unfairness, and then I enact it in a fictional context. Both of my novels began as a bunch of short stories that grew into a book. The next time I write a novel, though, I’m going to begin by knowing it’s a novel. That seems like it would be easier.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love doing readings. It has had a big effect on my writing to think more concretely about audience—to consider momentum and to aim to hold attention rather than getting mired in self-indulgent description. I didn’t really try to be funny or dark in my stories until I started doing public readings. A joke has such a clear barometer for success: people either laugh or they don’t. An emotionally impactful story ending is the same—I can tell when I look up from the page and see people’s faces whether the ending has landed or not.
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?
In terms of the writing itself, I’m often seeking a balance between humour and darkness, which can be a tightrope walk. I don’t know if I’m trying to answer questions so much as pose them in a way that feels uncomfortably true. And I imagine the questions are different for every writer. When writing a shocking or bleak ending, I ask myself how far is too far, and should I end at that moment when the emotion is most potent, or should I pull back into a denouement? And what breadcrumbs must the story contain to maximize the ending’s power? Calvino’s essay, “Lightness,” from his Six Memos for the Next Millennium, had a formative impact on my writing. He wrote about believing in a writer’s obligation to represent the time they live in—and he had grown up through the second world war—but also that he was driven to write pieces with lighter rhythms and adventures, and the challenge of finding “harmony” between the two.
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?
“Should” is a complicated word, because I think good writing comes out of writing where the energy is, and that might be politics for some people and dragons for other people. I write about things I’m frustrated by or passionate about. Currently, my concerns have a feminist bent, and my book is about a girl’s childhood trauma, and how gender-specific experiences can condition a woman to be silent, which of course coincides with what has been going on in larger culture. Maybe the next book will be about dragons.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I lucked out, because my editor is Anita Chong, and she is remarkable. I think she must be a literal genius, as well as being a lovely person who does not try to push the writing in any single direction, but rather looks for places that need sharpening and opening up, for ways to fully realize the narrative. I left every phone call with her full of ideas. I imagine it could be challenging to work with an editor if you weren’t on the same page (figuratively!), but thankfully I have not had that experience.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
I can think of three, all given to me by different undergrad professors: 1) Think about what you want the reader to feel “in the white,” meaning the white space on the page after the story has ended. 2) Read your writing aloud. 3) Don’t get an MFA if you have to pay for it.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (short stories to the novel)? What do you see as the appeal?
My novel chapters are basically short stories. I’m very attached to the short story form. I love the way a short story compresses and highlights the narrative arc, while also truncating its ending and withholding complete resolution. I think the ending of a traditional novel is like a sigh, while the short story ending is like a lump in the throat, and I prefer the effect of the latter. On the other hand, I love the novel’s greater opportunity to explore a character over time and into different aspects of their lives. So why not combine them?
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?
During the school year I just cram in writing wherever there’s space (I teach full time and edit a literary magazine, so it can be busy). I make notes for my own stories while my students are doing writing exercises, or in my phone while on the SkyTrain. During the summers, at least pre-pandemic, I would meet with other writers in cafés for Shut Up & Write sessions—we set a timer and alternate blocks of writing and socializing.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I often go to old stories or sketches I wrote 15-20 years ago and then fully re-write them. I find it helpful to have a starting point rather than a blank page. And in my phone I keep a list of story ideas, which will hopefully keep regenerating.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Tiger Balm. We have a lot of muscle pain in our family.
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?
Music was a big part of my life growing up, and I relate it to writing because they’re both art forms that unfold over time. Both provide the opportunity for a first and last impression, for range in tone and volume and pace, for tension and catharsis. When I’m really immersed in writing, it feels the same way it used to when I was immersed in playing the piano (perhaps partly because of the hand movements of typing). And lately I’ve been writing more about music, which I find to be a multi-layered experience—describing sound while considering the cadence and rhythm of the language itself.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
ZZ Packer’s Drinking Coffee Elsewhere—that collection expanded my understanding of what is possible in a short story. Early on, Kurt Vonnegut short stories, which have that mix of humour and morality. Amy Hempel’s “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried,” for its risk-taking and devastating ending.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to visit Tokyo.
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?
If I weren’t a writer, I might be a psychologist or graphic designer…or I would invent something fantastic and pitch it on Dragons’ Den.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
There’s never been anything I loved doing as much as writing. Except eating, but that’s not a job. In undergrad I was a pre-med English major, and there came a point where I had to make a decision—I had taken all the prerequisites and was studying for the MCATs, had already asked my professors for med school recommendation letters, but I just couldn’t do it. I had lost all interest in the sciences and was dreading going to med school, and as soon as I decided to get an MFA instead, I felt free. Best decision I ever made.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I just read Danielle Evans’s The Office of Historical Corrections, which I loved. And I can’t think of a great film more recent than Parasite, but I have been enjoying The White Lotus (miniseries).
20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m working on a short story collection. Still figuring out the elevator pitch, but it explores themes related to the body: chronic illness, bodily autonomy, mortality, and so on.
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