Nikki Stern is the author of two published nonfiction books. The first,Because I Say So (Bascom Hill, 2010), details her experiences as a 9/11 widow in the context of our culture’s belief in unequivocal moral certainty. Hope in Small Doses (Humanist Press, 2012) recommends a version of hope that thrives in times of uncertainty. Nikki also contributed essays to Beyond Zuccotti Park (New Village Press, 2013) and Global Chorus (Rocky Mountain Press, October, 2014).Her essays have appeared in the New York Times,USA Today and Humanist Magazine, among other venues. Her short stories have been published in various print and online venues. She hopes to see her collected short stories, Still Life With Donut, published in the spring of 2015. Find more information at nikkistern.com.
Q: Because everyone always wants to know this: Describe your writing environment.
A: It’s not ideal but I like it. I sit at a desk with my laptop appropriately positioned and in an ergonomically appropriate chair. The reason I say it’s not ideal? It’s by a window in the kitchen, which could be considered a plus (lots of light) or a minus (potential distractions).
Q: What are must-haves and must-not-haves in your writing space?
A: A pad of paper is essential because no matter which part of the process I’m engaged with (brainstorming, research, writing, revising), I invariably have to jot something down. Often I open a folder on a computer but nothing beats a pencil and paper. Also a clock. I MUST stand up every 90 minutes.
Q: What compels you to write?
A: I’ve been asking myself that question for years. I think it stems from a need to be clear. At least that was why I wrote nonfiction. Now that I’ve moved to fiction, the reasons are different: I need to exercise my imagination and give myself a project that will see me through good times and bad.
Q: Describe your evolution as a writer. What was a turning point for you?
A: I’ve had a succession of events that have contributed to my writing. Twenty years ago, I had just begun working in public relations for a design firm. One of the principals told me my speaking style was much more accessible and “uncovered” than my writing style. That led to some introspection about what I was holding back. When I wrote my first (nonfiction) book, about a 9/11-related subject, I wanted the passion I felt about the material to come through. That led to more soul-searching. Finally, I enrolled myself in a writing class. While I have mixed feelings about such classes, I found the mechanics of the exercises invaluable to my process, especially as I turned to fiction.
Q: Writing is an exchange. What do you want your readers to bring to your work, and what do you want to bring to them?
A: I want to convince my readers (I love the sound of “my readers”) about the "truth" of a particular point or a character or an image or storyline, so I need them to come with open minds and open hearts and a willingness to both read the words and feel the emotion behind the words. It may be I’m still concerned my emotional content isn’t transparent enough.
Q: What feeds your writing?
A: Everyday life, of course, although there are days it feels a little too mean-spirited to allow me to take any inspiration from the goings-on. Time feeds it as well, especially since more of my life is absolutely behind me than ahead of me, unless I turn out to be a freak of nature—always possible.
Q: What is the most valuable advice you ever received as a writer, and what advice would you offer novice writers?
A: From a mystery writer who should be teaching full-time instead of painting houses, I learned I should write to practice. Write lots of dialogue, write scenes from different characters’ points of view, write stories and essays and ditties and even letters you may send out into the world or throw away. Even when I’m blocked and unable to move a particular project forward, I write something. The other piece of advice, which came courtesy of a taped lecture in the Iowa Writers Workshop, is that I should count as writing any thinking, observing, cataloging, imagining, or ruminating I do. Being in the world allows the writer to collect information and impressions, ideas and inspirations. I’ve taken this to heart and as a result feel much less “guilty” if I’m not writing a chapter or some such thing on a particular day or week or even month.
Q: What are you currently reading, and what do you think of it?
A: I confess I plunged into the Outlander books over the summer because I was curious as to [Diana Gabaldon’s] genre-crossing writing approach. I just finished Walter Mosely’s Rose Gold. No American fiction writer so fully captures mid-twentieth century American west-coast culture through the eyes of a marginalized citizen as he does. I love every one of his books, even the odd futuristic novellas he’s written. Now I’ve got two books to begin: a collection of short stories by David Eggers, How We Are Hungry, and The Children Act by Ian McEwan. I often read two books at a time, one upstairs and one downstairs, or one print and one on Kindle.
Q: What makes something a good read for you?
A: I’ve put down a LOT of recommended books partway through because they simply didn’t resonate. The “artiness” of the language interfered with my involvement in the story or the story itself made me uncomfortable or it simply wasn’t compelling. I need to have a connection to the narrative on some level. For instance, I didn’t grow up in Canada in the 1940s but Alice Munro’s stories pull me in because something, some relationship between characters, some setting or situation feels familiar. Even with science fiction or fantasy, the desires or objectives of the characters have to be relatable.
Q: Do you have creative doubts or fears? What are they, and how do you overcome them?
A: Lord, yes! Some of it is the unpleasantness that constitutes the publishing world nowadays, wherein the acquisitions editor is measuring your worth against her interpretation of what is marketable. Rejections are wearying. Obviously, there’s self-publishing but that involves joining a large pool and fighting to distinguish oneself. Writing is also a lonely endeavor. Since we’re mostly writing to have our work read, it’s hard at many points in the process to know whether our “clever” ideas are anything more than recycled drivel. I spent a month researching on a topic that interested me greatly, only to find that it had been done multiple times and, even worse, was considered a fairly hackneyed idea for a story. I was disappointed but also relieved: I wasn’t sure I could have made the science work.
Q: We don't have the luxury of waiting for inspiration. What do you do when you're not feeling the mojo?
A: I read, mostly. On nice days, I’ll go for a walk and look for small natural occurrences. I also get online and look at travel websites.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: Hang on; I just wrote the “elevator” summary today: A genre-crossing historical/fantasy coming-of-age story set in three versions of New Orleans. The key that unites the three parts involves an unusual interpretation of the twelve bar blues.
Q: If you weren't a writer, what would you be?
A: What I’ve always been and still am from time to time: a communicator and a facilitator.
Q: What didn't I ask that I should have—and what’s the answer?
A: What does every aspiring writing need? A writing “buddy” with whom you can exchange ideas and suggestions (I have two), a really good editor, and patience.