Deborah Willis is a writer based in Victoria, BC. She studied English and Creative Writing at the University of Victoria. Her short fiction has appeared in Grain, Event, and the UK's Bridport Prize Anthology. She has been nominated for a Western Magazine Award, and in 2005, she won the Prism International fiction prize. Willis's first collection of short fiction is Vanishing and Other Stories (Penguin Canada, 2009).

Interview by Ashley Little

May 2009

*

I wrote the stories over about seven years, and in the beginning, I wasn’t thinking at all about how they might fit together. So thematically speaking, the collection developed in an unintentional way. In reading over my earlier stories, there’s a darker, sometimes gothic tone that I’m less engaged with now, but the idea of people vanishing and reappearing in each other’s lives still fascinates me. It’s a sort of ebb and flow of everyday life, not necessarily heartbreaking in any expected way, and I seem to be drawn to that kind of story.

Once I realized what I was doing, or settled on this guiding idea, I began to be more direct and purposeful. When I wrote "This Other Us," I said to myself, "Okay, I’ve got these three characters living happily in the same house. But what would happen if one of them left?" The story wrote itself from there. And when I wrote "Sky Theatre," I wanted to talk about a different kind of disappearance, one that has nothing to do with one person and more to do with a loss of faith or trust in the future. I don’t mean that I knew how the story would end when I began it––that has never happened to me––but I knew from the beginning that I wanted to talk about a certain kind of vanishing, as well as the beauty that can come from loss.

My parents have been angelic about this whole thing! They probably worried about my determination to be a writer, but they were always very supportive. They also encouraged me to read a lot when I was a kid, which is partly why I dedicated the book to them. My family really appreciates books and art of all kinds, and as far as I remember, I was allowed to read anything and everything I wanted––Lucy Maud Montgomery, Elmore Leonard, whatever. It’s important, I think, to have a period of innocently devouring whatever books you can find. My parents gave me the freedom to do that, probably without even thinking about it.

The other thing, and this must be true for almost everybody, is that the first stories I heard were from my parents. My mum is an insatiable storyteller! She has a real gift for making connections and seeing the narrative of people’s lives. And my dad used to invent bedtime stories for me that I loved. So in dedicating the book to them, I wanted to acknowledge that my love of stories is, at least in part, inherited.

What does it say about the poverty of my imagination if I have no idea? I’ve never wanted to be invisible (maybe because I often felt that I already was). Remember being a kid, and hanging out with other kids, and having that very serious discussion about which super power you’d most like to have? Some kids wanted to be invisible, some wanted to fly. I always wanted to be able to manipulate time. I wanted to be able to pause it, and move forward and backwards within it. To me, that seemed like the ultimate super power, and it still does.

This question is impossible to answer! Everyday I think of some other brilliant/goofy/fascinating person that I’d love to have over. Like the characters in "This Other Us," I would invite Vincent Van Gogh and Leonard Cohen. I’d certainly want Chekhov and Virginia Woolf there too. But here’s where my social anxiety kicks in. With so many mad introverts at the table, I’m concerned that there might be long, awkward pauses in conversation, so I’d want to invite someone very talkative. Fidel Castro would do, though his lecture would take up the whole evening. Maybe John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester; he could probably be counted on to supply amazing gossip during any quiet moments. Also in the interest of surreal and lively conversation, I might invite both Britney Spears and the extraordinary Ani Difranco, then mischievously seat them next to each other (wondering if, secretly, they might find each other sweet and amusing). And it’s always good to have a charming outlaw at the table, so I’d invite Billy the Kid, even though he’d probably just want to play cards. And I know I’ve gone way over the six-person limit already, but I’d also invite the beautiful musician, Omara Portuondo. That way, she could serenade us after dinner, and we could all dance.

I grew up in Calgary, and worked for many summers near Red Deer, so that’s how I know Alberta. Most of my mum’s family is in Toronto, so I’ve spent a lot of time there. And I know BC pretty well: I lived on Salt Spring Island, have family in the Okanagan, and have lived in Victoria on and off for the past nine years. But I don’t think of myself as a BC writer specifically. I just think of myself as a writer who’s from Canada. And I feel more Canadian since I’ve had more chances to travel outside the country (which seems like a very Canadian thing to say!). I’ve lived and worked in France, and recently spent time in Russia, Israel, and Cuba. I’d probably use any excuse to go anywhere.

My mum’s family is Jewish, so yes, I’m Jewish in that sense, though I’ve never really practised any form of religion. But the stories of Judeo-Christian tradition interest me more and more. They form a sort of scaffolding that a writer can try to climb, and that’s something to be grateful for.

A line I often repeat to myself is from "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen: "Forget your perfect offering." This is good advice for any artist, I think, because many have a tendency to be obsessive. And you’ll never get anything done if you wait for the perfect phrase or the perfect time to write it down. That’s so obvious, but sometimes I need to remind myself of it.

One thing that helps is being able to shrug off rejection. I’ve kept my rejection letters, and try to think of them as some sort of hilarious accomplishment. Unfortunately (or fortunately) getting published seems to have a lot to do with luck and timing. But I think it has something to do with blind faith and hard work too. So doggedly reading and writing seem to be the only ways to go about it.

Everything by Alice Munro. The short stories of Chekhov, Flannery O’Connor, and Mavis Gallant. The Great Gatsby seems to me to be a flawless novel. I’d also recommend One Hundred Years of Solitude, for its inimitable gorgeousness. Lolita for its dark, disturbing humour and the joy Nabokov takes in language. The King James Bible, for all the obvious, writerly reasons: its narrative, poetry and vast influence.

I’ve entered several contests, winning some and losing some (as they say). Winning that award from Prism was actually one of the first times I experienced that kind of outside validation that I mentioned before. Prism offers a fairly significant cash prize, and when people found out that I’d actually made some money as a writer, they started to take me more seriously. That was a revelation to me (I know! such innocence!), and I found it both disturbing and convenient.

But to answer your question, yes, I recommend entering contests, regardless of what the prize might be. Why not? Winning is wonderful, and losing isn’t so bad.

I write in the mornings, usually for about four or five hours. I try to be very disciplined about it, and when I’m not, I get antsy and weird. As for motivation, I think it changes all the time. Sometimes it’s a book that I’m reading, which is so brilliant that it reminds me of why I love books and want to write them. Sometimes it’s the elation and amazement that comes when words flow smoothly. Sometimes what motivates me is less private, and has more to do with what I guess you could call ambition or desire––whatever it is that makes a person toss herself out into the world to see how she’ll measure up. And sometimes I don’t know what motivates me, and the whole undertaking seems insane.

Very rarely. I need quiet. Sometimes, though, I’ll listen to a song or a certain kind of music before I start to write. When I was working on "And the Living is Easy," I listened to a lot of jazz.

I write in long hand all the time, especially when I’m just starting to work on a story. The computer is too intimidating for beginnings. As for invisible ink, what a fabulous, terrifying idea! That would be perfect for a collection called Vanishing. Though book sales might suffer.

It’s different for every story. Sometimes it’s just one image that I can’t shake out of my head. Usually I have a clear sense of a character––a person’s name or voice or something about their dilemma. The setting usually arises naturally and doesn’t require much thought.

Like everybody on earth, I used to write poetry. I also used to work as a reporter, and I really enjoyed it. It was good to work towards deadlines, and to write things that didn’t quite belong to me. Lately, I’ve written a few non-fiction essays, and I hope they’ll be published one day. Now I’m trying to write a set of linked stories. I say ‘trying’ because they’re very new; I’ve still got my fingers crossed.

Not really. I just want to keep working and writing and traveling when I can. But what has changed for me in the past year is that I feel more able to admit to people that I’m a writer. When I signed that book contract, I began to feel more confident, and less freakish and silly. Or maybe I just felt validated for being freakish and silly.

I’ll be signing books in Munro’s Books in Victoria on Saturday, May 16^th. I’ll also be doing a reading in Calgary later in May, and I’ll be in Ucluelet and Tofino on the weekend of May 30^th. I’m not sure of exact dates yet, but they’ll be posted here: deborahwillis.ca (My very own website! People who are acquainted with my severe techno-phobia understand just how funny this is!)

Ashley Little studied Creative Writing at the University of Victoria and was fortunate to be in a fiction workshop with Deborah Willis. Her work has recently appeared in Broken Pencil Magazine (online featured fiction), in 2008, she won the Okanagan Short Story Contest. Ashley is at work on a novel and searching for a suitable publisher for her first short fiction collection.