Michael Hemery, April 2010

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All the Elements I’d Been Tinkering with My Entire Life

An Interview by Nonfiction Editor Jessica Hahn and Assistant Nonfiction Editor Lindsay Milgroom

One of Michael Hemery’s strongest recommendations for young writers is to experience the real world because “it is only through experience that we have anything worthwhile to say.” As a writer of nonfiction, and specifically memoir, Michael charges his pieces with his real-world experiences.

From the start of his work, readers are drawn in, living through the scenes as if they were a part of them. Michael’s work drives the point across with a focused clarity.

Michael has recently taken the time to answer some questions via email.

Redivider: You have an essay in Fearless Confessions: A Writer’s Guide to Memoir. What advice can you offer new writers?

Michael Hemery: For me, writing is always a daunting labor of love. It’s not always easy, but the most important part is showing up. Writing. Even on those days when nothing is working. When the words are cumbersome and the characters have lost their personalities. You show up. You write. And you trust the process. One of the most helpful pieces of advice Sue William Silverman, the author of Fearless Confessions, offered to me is one word: tenacity. Whether that is continuing to chase after a failing essay or submitting essays to potential publishers, persistence is the key to writing. Of course there are dozens of pieces of helpful advice: read everything you can get your hands on, emulate, transcend the personal to find meaning, layer narratives with metaphors. And on and on. But really, none of that matters unless you show up, adapt to new writing situations, and quit making excuses.

When my son was born, writing at home became a distant memory. Given the option of writing isolated in my home office or watching my eighteen-month-old son imitate a wolf, I will always be howling next to him. So I altered my routine. I began showing up to work an hour early, writing before my students arrived. There is always time. It may not be ideal, but there is time. When my wife, the poet Stacie Leatherman, was pregnant she struggled with morning sickness all day long. Words made her nauseous. So she’d type on her laptop with her eyes closed for months. You write no matter what.

Aside from tenacity, the other most crucial factor in writing is to never become sequestered in your own writing. Experience the real world. Many writers are so wound up in the world of writing that they fail to exist-to breathe the essential air of the world into their writing. It is only through experience that we have anything worthwhile to say. You live. You experience. You write. In that order.

RDR: How do you write nonfiction and keep yourself “safe” from the audience?

MH: I decided early on what is off limits. What my boundaries are. There are two or three moments in my life/my family’s life that I will never write about. Or, maybe I’ll write, but never publish. They’re too much. Too personal. They’d hurt people without due justification. There has to be a reason to justify the exposition of anything personal. And that reason must greatly outweigh the aftermath of the revelation.

Right now I have a polished, completed essay that will probably never be read by an audience because it touches on moments in my life that I don’t feel comfortable sharing. But I still had to write the essay, to get the words on the page. If a moment of that essay works itself into something else, great. If not, that’s fine too. As writers, we need to expunge the idea that everything written needs to be shared. Sometimes it just needs to become permanent on a page-making that critical jump from memory to the tangible. But I’ll never publish anything that would sacrifice the safety or peace of those I love.

But that being said, nonfiction writers need to drop much of their guard. There is no mask of fiction to hide behind. And in order to uncover the greater truth, nonfiction writers need to really be brutally honest, even at their own expense. It is that honesty that leads to the universal understanding that makes writing beneficial to readers. It is then, and only then, that the personal truths can begin to touch on universal truths, which is ultimately the reason we write nonfiction-for our narratives to speak to the much larger experience of mankind.

RDR: When did you know writing would be your life? If you didn’t write, what would you be doing?

MH: I first began writing as an undergraduate. Correction-the first great story I wrote was a Batman adventure in fourth grade-something about a shark and trapeze. But I began writing earnestly in a poetry class my sophomore year of college. But it wasn’t until much later that I truly considered writing as a sincere form of expression. In fact, I planned on being a photographer, and probably would be doing that today, had my wife not accidentally crashed our car into the garage. I had been saving up for a new camera, but instead spent the money on repairs. At the time, my wife was considering an MFA in poetry, and she convinced me to start writing again, namely because it was all we could afford. As luck would have it, I fell in love with nonfiction-it possessed all the elements I’d been tinkering with my entire life-the honesty of a photograph, the discovery of fiction, and the finesse of poetry. The weekend after the crash I wrote a story about my dad’s pursuit of perfection and my pursuit of mediocrity all encompassed under the narrative arch of replacing my bathroom toilet. I loved the jumps and connections that nonfiction allowed my mind to make-situations that led to a greater understanding not only of my father, but of relationships as a whole. I knew, in that moment, that I needed more discoveries, continued writing, and eventually earned my MFA. One car crash, and I was hooked.

RDR: You write nonfiction, is that also your favorite genre to read?

MH: Nonfiction is what I read often, but it’s not necessarily what I enjoy reading the most. As a nonfiction writer and nonfiction editor for Hunger Mountain, I find myself being hypercritical of all nonfiction works-constantly analyzing craft and content. Obviously I adore the genre, but it can be difficult to separate the critic from the reader. So I thoroughly enjoy getting lost in a novel-giving myself over to the characters and plotlines, trusting fiction. I also get a thrill from poetry and pepper these genres into my reading schedule, calling upon them as inspiration for my own work.

RDR: What does your writing process look like?

MH: Ideally I write my first draft in a day. I prefer to work for long stretches of time because I believe this captures not only the tone of the moment I’m writing about, but also the moment in which I’m writing. I then begin an extensive editing process that can take weeks or months. It once took me nearly a year to edit a rather short, four-page essay. I need time with most essays after the basic skeleton is pieced together and actually enjoy the editing process quite a bit. That is when my essay truly begins to take shape. Since the birth of my son, though, I’ve adapted by writing much shorter pieces and made more allowances to draft longer pieces over several days and weeks. But with those longer pieces I try to write at the same time of day to rekindle the spirit of the essay.

RDR: Last couple questions. Top three writers you’d like to have coffee with?

MH: Joy Williams-She’s the real deal. Her collection Ill Nature takes all the risks in the world. Makes me want to fight. To expose all the dirt we’re too scared to say. Every time I write, I consider what Joy Williams would think about my words. Her philosophy on writing, that it “should enchant while it explodes in the reader’s face” drives most of my written words.

Mary Doria Russell-Her characters have never left me.

Ander Monson-He twists poems and essays like taffy.

RDR: Top three writers you’d like to bring back from the dead and have coffee with?

MH: George Orwell-I’d like to thank him for reminding me in high school why I loved books so much as a child.

Kurt Vonnegut-There’s still so much we need to know.

Fyodor Dostoevsky-I spent so much time with Ivan and Alyosha in undergrad, I feel like I already know him.

3/1/2010