Sean Minogue is a multidisciplinary writer whose work has appeared on stages and screens, in magazines, and online. His stories, poems, and essays have been published in Lithub, ARC Poetry Magazine, Maudlin House, THIS Magazine, Full Stop, The Globe and Mail, and elsewhere. In 2017, Sean’s play Prodigals was produced as a feature film. Terminal Solstice is his debut novel.
1 - How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Terminal Solstice is my first big fiction project. Before the first draft, I had no mental canvas for writing a book. I didn’t understand what the information should feel like in my mind. I have that familiarity with screenplays and plays – they’re still hard to write, but I at least ‘get’ their shape. With a novel, I had to build a much larger creative scaffold.
Switching mediums is like being a competent trumpeter and suddenly looking down at a harpsichord and wondering what the hell compelled you to try something new.
2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?
I was a late literary bloomer. Whenever I hear about writers who discovered their love for telling stories at a young age, and then they went on to publish their first book in their early twenties, it sounds so alien to me. I never felt any calling as a kid. I had zero ambition until I left home.
As a teenager in Sault Ste. Marie, I was mostly playing in bands or watching TV. When everyone started making plans for the future, I decided to cling to English Lit because that was the only subject where I understood what people were talking about.
But after a few years of university lectures on Chaucer and Thackeray, I fled to the West Coast and started writing for kids cartoons while churning out spec screenplays that were never made. I only set my sights on a big fiction project after I moved back to Ontario.
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?
Starting is the easiest part for me. It’s the best. You get to make these big promises that some later version of yourself will have to fulfill. Writing only gets hard once I paint myself into a corner and the adult ‘me’ has to swoop in with an exit strategy.
My journey toward becoming a productive writer has been focused on being more economical with my creative time. Now, I start fewer projects and finish more of them.
4 - Where does a poem, play 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?
With Terminal Solstice, I knew I was trying to write a book. I just didn’t know if I’d be able to finish it, let alone get a publisher’s attention. The starting point was a central fantastical concept (i.e., what if time froze but a few people were unaffected). Then I found myself developing three main characters who were all stuck at transition points in their lives. It was unintentional but felt correct.
My play, Prodigals, which will be published this August by Latitude 46, started with a group of friends shouting over each other on the page. There was no initial structure. I was just trying to make myself laugh and channel the guys I grew up with. It became a play because I happened to see a call for submissions from a theatre company.
In summary: I have no idea how creativity works, but I’m glad that it does.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Thankfully, my time in the spotlight has been brief until now. I prefer informal occasions where you can unwind a bit and have a laugh or a productive argument about something interesting.
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 think every writer has some unconscious baggage they’re working through. Someone with a long list of books to their name might be able to look back and recognize a thread running through them, like a preoccupation with self-destructive relationships or a belief that politics corrupt art, or whatever. I don’t have that perspective yet.
I wish I were a writer with grand philosophical obsessions, but I think my creative process is more playful. I like stories that are accidentally bent and then stubbornly reinforced to strengthen that quality. My plays feature on-stage characters who are deeply troubled by off-stage characters. A recent short story of mine follows a guy waiting to analyze soil samples from Mars and he accidentally gets high at a marketing party. Terminal Solstice is built around an otherworldly global phenomenon that is a mystery to everyone impacted by it.
I think there’s a weird wisdom sloshing around in our unconscious mind. Writing provides a means for expressing it. If I have a theory at all, it might be that a good story requires getting out of the way.
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?
I think writers should possess an ability to bullshit, but they’re at their best when calling bullshit. Anyone who can offer cogent, broadly digestible insight for our current moment is in possession of a superpower. Not everyone can do this. Even great writers struggle to make a point. Clarity of thought is the ultimate goal, in my mind.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I’ve been lucky enough to collaborate with some really thoughtful, empathetic folks who have supported me through different projects. Sometimes the work doesn’t reach the finish line, but the quality of collaboration is such a pleasure that I grow as a result. For me, this is an essential part of turning something that could be interesting into something that is interesting.
It takes a special kind of person to get on board with a writer who’s attempting a feat they don’t know they can pull off. I’ve also encountered some folks who offer more notes than insight. Though, even that can be valuable. As a writer, you’ve got to know how to argue against a bad note. The process sharpens your storytelling.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Did you ever see that old Ira Glass video that made the rounds on YouTube forever ago? He talks about how, when you’re first starting out as a professional storyteller, the gap between your skill set and your critical taste is immense. So, when you start creating your own work, it obviously sucks. And then you feel bad and that’s when most people quit. But if you create a second thing, and then a third, you start narrowing the gap. I always considered that a helpful way of thinking about a writer’s journey.
And then there’s George Saunders. He’s one of the best thinkers on how writing works from a writer’s perspective (vs. a critic’s perspective). I adore his whole approach to creativity. A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is bursting with the most generous, thoughtful insight into the mysteries of great writing. Can’t recommend him enough.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction to plays to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?
I’ve moved around a lot, genre-wise. My primary focus right now is fiction, but I could totally see myself jumping into something else if an opportunity presented itself. My day job is copywriting, so I’m always engaged with shaping sentences and paragraphs. I think fluidity between different forms strengthens your ability to express creative ideas.
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 never had a proper routine until kids came into my life. Then, all of a sudden, I had to account for every minute of the day. Now, I write most nights once the house is calm and I can get in a solid hour of coherent thought.
I treat my writing time the same way as the early morning rush to get the kids out the door. There’s a ticking clock that doesn’t care about my muse or whatever. It’s either type or go to bed. Then, when I go to bed, I’m full of angst about what I didn’t get done. Rinse, repeat.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I don’t really experience writers’ block, but I definitely go through periods where I think everything I write is terrible. I‘m just too stubborn or delusional to stop.
The most reliable way for me to get back into a confident space is through watching movies. I’ll put on Sidney Lumet’s The Verdict a couple of times a year, along with Terry Gilliam’s Brazil or anything from Eric Rohmer. If I’m really bummed out, I’ll dig out the original Law & Order seasons.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Cedar bushes in the summer. And welded metal, for some reason?
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?
Early episodes of the Radiolab podcast were a big source of inspiration for Terminal Solstice. They did one about CRISPR in 2015 that blew my mind at the time (“Antibodies”). I also listen to a ton of music on Bandcamp and try to keep my tastes evolving. I never want to be the old dude who has four albums he listens to over and over again.
During the pandemic, I started picking up photobooks. Gregory Crewdson’s work is incredible and really captures the kind of frozen-world creepiness I was thinking about for my novel.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I’m a sucker for Paris Review interviews. It’s my favourite thing to read. I love hearing about the personal dramas that impact a writer and how they respond to setbacks over a lifetime of creative work. Brick journal publishes good ones too. (Not to mention rob mclennan’s blog.)
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Make stable money as a writer.
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?
Since becoming a parent, I’ve discovered a love for science and math. I never understood either subject as a kid, so I’m coming to both with fresh eyes.
I think I could’ve found my place as an underling in a research lab somewhere. There’s a ton of creativity involved in these fields, and I wish schools made more of an effort to communicate that to kids who have trouble engaging with STEM.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I was drawn to writing because it gels with my conflicted introversion. I enjoy small bursts of manic activity but then get worn out by crowds. The best way to refresh my brain is expressing the tension into some written form. It’s like wringing out a wet cloth.
Also, I can’t discount how important it was to hear teachers compliment my writing as a high school student. I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything at that point, but the latent sense that I was good at something really made a difference when it came time to choose a path.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I really enjoyed Prophet Song by Paul Lynch. It’s a terrifying book that feels like it’s forecasting the worst yet to come in the United States. Rot: An Imperial History of the Irish Famine by Padraic X. Scanlan is a must-read for anyone who wants to understand how a caustic political ideology can hasten social collapse. I also got a kick out of Kneecap the movie (noticing an Irish theme yet?).
20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m in the earliest days of a new book idea. Not sure if this will become something, but I can feel the pull to get started.
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