Barrie Ontario author Heather Paul speaks to Paul Dhillon about her latest collection of stories.
Paul Dhillon [PD]: Congratulations on the new collection. The title immediately stands out. Can you explain the genesis of it?
Heather Paul [HP]: Thank you so much for the warm congratulations and for including me in The Artisanal Writer. I’m delighted to participate in a community that shares my interest in the art and craft of writing.
As for your question regarding the title, I guess there’s something to be said for endings, beginnings, and all the messy stuff in between when it comes to love. I’d written many stories before I settled on the title and when picking at the connective threads there was always love, but also these disappointments both large and small. We love our kids, our partners, our families, our friends, and our co-workers. But people let you down. You let yourself down. Life lets you down. It is the juxtaposition of ups and downs and the space between that interests me where love is concerned.
PD: A line that rings in my head from the collection, “You know what they say about tenure…it means never having to say you’re sorry.” While tenure in this case refers to guaranteed employment, I was struck by “tenure” as stated in other definitions, as conditions of being held or occupied. Also, the idea of tenure a “post” or “position.” Can you speak about the inception of that line and how you see it across the collection, especially in relation to the life of your female characters?
HP: That line always makes me laugh. I think it’s a phrase that’s been bandied about universities satirically because of its reference to the cheesy seventies’ movie Love Story. In essence, once you’re secure in your position, you can stop walking on eggshells or trying so hard to please. And, in relation to the movie which implies that when you’re “in love” the love is so full and unconditional love means never having to say you’re sorry, which for anyone who has ever been in a relationship, is obvious fantasy. So, in one sense, across the collection, it can certainly be read in that way. I also just loved the way it plays into both the pomp of the old guard faculty and the façade of motherhood. It speaks to the entitlement of the older professors holding their posts, holding on to the way things used to be, and the younger women knowing that they’re total knobs but not really being in a position to challenge it, watching instead as they fade away. Of course, this can be applied to any number of social positions. In terms of motherhood as a post, we often have stereotypical fixed notions of what that means and in a wider sense in terms of the collection, we generally place women in various roles/positions that cannot contain them. Once they figure out what they’ve been taught, who and what they’re supposed to do and be is nonsense, they feel compelled to break through and knock it down whether dramatically or simply by being true to themselves.
PD: Many of the characters in the story are on the move, either going away or going towards something. What did you find so appealing about the transitions/liminality the characters are experiencing?
HP: The sense of liminality the characters experience mirrors the experience of life and love: always changing, expanding, contracting, ending, beginning, and the space in between where nothing much happens. It is this awareness of flux that keeps love alive, and it is love that keeps the characters alive. Emotional growth happens when people are placed in positions that can be very challenging and painful. No one evolves when they are stuck. All of these characters want to live and to love and that means to continually evolve as people. I’ve placed my characters in positions where we see them struggle to survive their circumstances and where they are compelled to then make choices whether that means dipping out or shifting gears, each ultimately embracing life and, by extension, love. And I think we have hope that because of these periods of difficulty, these women will ultimately learn through experience and move toward a better sort of love and ever-elusive happiness.
PD: The collection highlights many other renowned poems, novels, and stories, and at times the characters try to remember them or even try to read these renowned works. Is there a renowned story or novel that you feel guilty for not reading? Why?
HP: Great observation! I suppose my worst oversight is Joyce’s Ulysses. I absolutely know that it is required reading, a masterpiece of modern literature, but every time I pick it up and get through the first several pages, I’m like ugh, isn’t there a bathroom that needs cleaning, or some compost that needs to be taken out, or someone who needs help with math homework? Shameful indeed. The other one that plagues me was given to me many years ago, Wittgenstein and the Goshawk by Patrick Watson, and to which I have a similar reaction. I know it is supposed to be such a smart, witty, philosophical book, but I just can’t. And I feel so bad about it that I want to hold them and say, “It’s not you; it’s me!” There are just so many other things out there that I want to read instead.
PD: Each story begins with a drawing or title page. What was your intent in including the illustrations before each story? How does visual art inform your writing practice?
HP: In the particular case of these cover pages, doodling helped me stay connected to the stories while unable to work on them. Specifically, I’d be writing a story but couldn’t really devote all my head space or time to it. I’d be you know living my life, watching my kids at swimming or dance or soccer or fencing or what have you, maybe watching a movie at night, maybe during a staff meeting, and I’d have my clipboard doodling away and it kept me connected to the story by physically thinking about it even as I was performing other actions, so I felt like I was still involved with my creative work. Almost as though I was reassuring myself that one day, I’d have a chance to get back to it. And that’s why I chose to include them: a marker of personal triumph that I actually completed the task from start to finish. More generally, I’m always creating, painting, doing a mosaic backsplash, sculpting, pottery, knitting, carving, cooking, and embroidery. I make no claim that any of it is of artistic merit, but it gives my mind a break from writing and all the other stuff I do. And I love doing it. I find, too, that along with exercise, my artistic adventures allow my mind time to wander and think and I’ve realized that if I’m having any problems figuring things out in life or in a story, taking a break and letting my mind wander as I perform creative tasks so often gives me the answers I seek. And it keeps me out of trouble.
PD: What makes the short story such a special form? What can it reveal or showcase that other writing can’t?
HP: Aside from practical considerations such as brevity, what makes the short story so special is that at its best it can almost be like a prose poem: in a limited amount of space with a limited amount of time, one is able to have an experience. Such a moment might be intensely emotional, it might be cause for reflection, it might even be cause for the reader to think, to consider. While the same can be said of any artistic medium, the short story can often do that with the quietest, most mundane of circumstances, relatable to all, whereas a novel often will demand much more over time to sustain audience interest. As a writer, I feel like in a short story there is less pressure to move things along: you know you don’t have much time so you just sit with that character and explore that slice of the moment and that zeroing in on the singular can add a density to the storytelling which can be very satisfying. Also, I think short stories entrust readers to draw their own conclusions by leaving things unsaid or unexplained, perhaps more so than in a novel sometimes prompting a full or partial re-read, possible with shorter prose.
PD: What was the best piece of writing advice you received? What advice would you give a new or emerging writer?
HP: I have several bits of advice that I don’t think I have directly received so much as gleaned through conversation and experience. The first is ass in the chair. You just gotta sit and do it. Second, it is your job to write, not to criticize yourself because it is far from perfect, or worry if it will be published, or what others will think of it. Especially at the early stages, just close the door and do your job. Third, from Emily Dickinson, tell it slant. This means that often it is best to show the character doing something that reveals their character rather than being explicit and telling readers who they are. This can be applied to most circumstances. Fourth, try to leave out all the right things. This is more of an allusion probably to Vonnegut’s Kill Your Darlings. There’s no other way to say it but be ruthless. I soften the blow by keeping a file of said “cuttings” to pretend I might use them elsewhere. And last, share your work (writing is meant to be read), develop a thick skin, and don’t pay too much heed to the commentary of others. While some feedback from those in the know can be helpful, trust your writerly instincts.
PD: How has your writing practice changed or grown since your novel, “Safety in Bear Country?”
HP: From inception to publication, the process of writing my first novel was long and arduous. Having experienced all that, anything that comes next is a piece of cake. If I can do that, I can do anything. Nothing will ever be as hard as that. In that regard, there is peace and freedom knowing that if I trust the process and persevere, I will have some success. It’s this weird space where you go from being some kooky weirdo who spends her free time scribbling away in a windowless office in the basement on a beautiful summer day to hey you actually wrote something that somebody somewhere thought enough of to publish. Now, my life didn’t change or anything, but having one, and now two books out there gives me a little bit of credibility I think. Even if it’s just for myself as a protective balm against the always simmering self-doubt. You did it once, you can do it again. So, in saying that, perhaps my practice hasn’t changed so much as my mindset towards the practice of writing. It’s a softening toward myself, a letting go, and a faith in the act of writing, of allowing myself to intuitively follow my compulsions.
PD: How do you know when a piece is finished?
HP: This is a tricky one. I’ve probably lifted this or paraphrased it from somewhere, but I always need to remind myself that just because I’m bored with it (or stalled) doesn’t mean it’s done. Sometimes I need to put it away for a while and see it again with fresh eyes. Aside from that, each story has its own internal rhythm and cadence. If you pay attention to how it sounds, there will be clues to how and when it should end. I often read out loud as well as record myself reading and then play it back while I’m walking or working out or whatever. I find listening to the story helps me get rid of unneeded words and phrases or shift images and incidents into different places. A word of caution though, like any art form, you can overwork and end up ruining something that initially had a little bit of magic. And, of course, you won’t know you’ve done it until it’s too late!
PD: You have held many jobs in a variety of fields, including high school art teacher, yoga instructor, tour guide, to name a few. How have these experiences influenced your writing practice?
HP: My first instinct was to answer this question with something kind of bland focussed on the setting and circumstances, but the phrase “writing practice,” adds a different element. In one sense, my varied work experiences have made me very disciplined in that I have had to shoehorn all of my creative projects around my ability to make a living (like most writers I imagine). This might look like getting up very early and writing, or staying up very late, or opting out of activities missing out at times in order to get a few things finished. But, in a less tangible way, my work experiences have tested my character, have allowed me intimate contact with people from all different walks of life, have made me a better listener, have increased my compassion and empathy deepening the emotional well from which I draw, and especially encouraged me to stay in the present and hone my powers of observation—essential to the writing life.
PD: Who is your work in conversation with?
HP: I’ve billed this collection as being for anyone who has ever been in love and lived through disappointment, so I suppose I mean that to be everyone. Inherent in life and love are risks that make us vulnerable. But it is the risking and the making ourselves vulnerable that allows us to truly live. That being said, despite gender roles or social and familial expectations, we must hurl ourselves into the fray, naysayers be damned. It will be messy, and it will get weird, but the experience is the teacher and upon reflection, we can also learn we are not alone and, in some cases, not to take ourselves quite so seriously.
PD: Which authors or stories/novels are your influences?
HP: The Canadian trinity of female authors, Atwood, Laurence, and Munro certainly influenced me early on in that they wrote of female lives. Reading these authors was my first introduction to the notion that women’s experiences of life and love however quotidian, were still universal experiences. In a way, it was a sort of permission that one could write a book about the quiet things that affect us all and still create a profound experience for the reader because we all lead mostly quiet, ordinary lives that feel pretty intense to us while we’re living them. Later influences include Amy Hempel (I still marvel at her ability to say so much with so little), Lorrie Moore, Lauren Groff, and of course, Raymond Carver.
PD: What is your favourite writing snack?
HP: I don’t tend to snack while working. I’ll eat anything pickled or with a hint of dill pickle. My kids make fun of me because my idea of a tasty snack is a glass of V8 and a dill pickle. And I love sort of weird bitter-sweet things like very dark chocolate, sponge toffee, and black licorice. So, I’d say my flavour profile runs toward salty, sour, bittersweet and earthy, which perhaps says more about me than I’d rather disclose!
Heather’s natural curiosity and passion for authenticity and adventure has led to diverse paths of travel, education, and employment. After many years toiling at university, she camped, hosteled and hoteled her way through North America, Australia, New Zealand, and Europe. Before publishing her first novel, Safety in Bear Country, she worked as a high school art teacher, a canoe and kayak trip leader, a yoga instructor, at a men’s prison, at a women’s shelter, and at an assortment of restaurants. She currently resides in Barrie, Ontario.