Michelle Winters is a writer, painter, and translator born and raised in Saint John, NB. Her debut novel, I Am a Truck, was shortlisted for the 2017 Scotiabank Giller Prize. She is the translator of Kiss the Undertow and Daniil and Vanya by Marie-Hélène Larochelle. She lives in Toronto.
1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Publishing my first book made me a writer; getting it shortlisted for the Giller made me a suddenly popular writer, an experience at once glorious, terrifying, wonderful, and fraught with self-doubt. Hair for Men is a more assured book than I Am a Truck; the concepts are stronger and better argued, the writing is more fluid... I used to worry about I Am a Truck out there in the world with its wobbly little legs; Hair for Men can handle anything.
2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry?
I’ve always been a sucker for character and narrative. I love a story that develops as a result of the way a person is. It’s an otherworldly kind of fun.
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 won’t spend too much time planning, because I find the idea only develops while I’m actively writing. This means that I discover the story as I go, and it changes a lot, but it gets written!
4 - Where does a poem or work of fiction 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 keep a lot of observations, episodes, character studies, etc. tucked away in a Notes folder. There are Big Notes for novels and Small Notes for short stories. I usually know whether a note is Big or Small, but it tends to be a particularly compelling character that pushes a note into the Big folder and sets a novel in motion. I watched a man on a flight the other day close all the overhead compartments before takeoff, not in order to help the flight attendants, but because he seemed to think he’d do a better job. Then he stood in the aisle and talked about himself to anyone who would listen for the whole five-hour flight. That guy was a Big Note.
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. I only consider my own work complete once I’ve read it out loud - very important for flow and pacing. I studied theatre, so delivery is important. Hair for Men is written in such a way that you should be able to read it out loud, in character, as Louise.
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 like to think I’m turning over a number of rocks, taking a look at what’s underneath, and seeing how it responds to the light of day. I’m more an asker than an answerer, and the question I’m always asking is “Why this??”
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?
The writer is there to reveal humanity to itself.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I find it essential. My structure is absolutely everywhere.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Write for the top 5% of your audience.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres? What do you see as the appeal?
I write, translate fiction, and paint. Translation is wonderful practice for my own writing; it’s expression without the strain of creation and is deeply satisfying. Painting clears the whole slate, returning me to my factory settings - but I can ruminate on a story/character idea while I’m painting, which is a refreshing way to get there. All the arty activities feed one another in a nice symbiosis.
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 still work a regular job, so when I’m not doing that, I’m cramming the rest of my moments with creative things. I do get a few full, glorious days a week where I can just write. Those days start with coffee (obviously) and proceed with as little interruption as possible. After dinner, I’ll jam in another couple of hours. Then a sensible hour of prestige television. Time is so precious.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Walking helps, and a good, long stretch, but also picking up any book from the shelf and reading a few pages reminds me that anything can be written. My idea is as good as any other. Sometimes, I listen to The Streets, A Grand Don’t Come for Free. It’s like an electronica hip/hop operetta about the mundane events surrounding a guy misplacing a thousand quid. Again, it reminds you that you can write anything.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
The smell of the Bay of Fundy at the Market Square docks in Saint John. The scent of a shipping port will always bring me home.
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?
Oh man, music, film, visual art – but I also love sitting quietly, watching my fellow humans. The things we do…
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Martin Amis – for better or worse - has influenced me heavily my whole reading/writing life. I’m aware of his difficulties, but no one was more generous with humour – plotting it out bit by bit, laying his little trap, until he delivers the punchline, and you realize just how much work he was doing all that time - what subtle, devious work - in the pursuit of your amusement. I loved Mart.
I aspire to the brisk, no bullshit style of Patricia Highsmith, I seek guidance from Lynn Coady, Lorrie Moore, Lydia Davis, and the superhuman Jennifer Egan. Also, George Saunders, Barbara Gowdy, and Raymond Carver, of course.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I toy with a one-person performance – where I’m the person. Or maybe a musical...
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?
There’s a chance I’d have ended up back in jail.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
The first word of fiction I ever set down was borne of anger and frustration, and writing felt like the only option. I paint when I’m happy. When something needs conquering, I write.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I loved Kick the Latch by Kathryn Scanlon. The last great film is (and perhaps always will be) Border – the 2018 Swedish one, written by John Ajvide Lindqvist. Utterly transforming. Oh, but I also just watched Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, which changed my whole cellular makeup. Hoo!
20 - What are you currently working on?
Paintings. Big, defiantly joyful ones. I also have some of a novel started, currently concerning a factory and an accidental murder. I’ll know when it’s time to jump in and write the thing, but for now I scribble bits and let them simmer while I paint and listen to true crime podcasts.
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