Ginny Friedlander Fite, an award-winning journalist and writer, joins me today for a Covid-safe interview. She is the author of five previous novels, a humorous book on aging, three collections of poetry and a collection of short stories. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize, her stories have appeared in numerous literary journals, and her novel told in short stories was shortlisted for the SFWP prize and a finalist for the Bakwin award. She is currently working on a novel about a family fleeing the effects of a pandemic.
SS: What did you want to grow up to be as a child, Ginny? Has that child’s desire appeared in your work?
GF: I wanted to be a ballerina, a painter, a pianist, an architect, an astronaut, a UN translator, and always a writer. Art of all kinds makes its way into my stories.
SS: Have you always been driven to write? Or did you begin writing in response to a particular stimulus?
GF: I’ve been writing stories since a teacher showed me I could fold a piece of paper in half, draw a cover, and inside write a story. My grandson is doing this now so I can observe how compelling an activity it is. I suppose I began telling stories even before I could form letters on a piece of paper. The call to story is strong. I’m even writing in my sleep! I wake up with first lines to something I don’t know I’m working on, but often before I get to jot them down, they evaporate.
SS: What in your childhood contributed to you becoming a writer?
GF: I was often told to be quiet. But nobody told me I couldn’t write down what I thought.
SS: What’s the first book that made you cry? Made you angry? Made you rejoice?
GF: Bambi.
SS: Me, too. It was also the first movie I cried in. Did anything in your past push you to write about your book and the conflict(s) in it?
GF: Whatever I’m writing zeroes in on one small corner of my experience and examines it from the safe distance of fiction, whether the story takes the form of a mystery, fantasy, thriller, or ghost story, as Possession is. No matter the plot in my novels, a woman tries to make sense of what’s happening to her and struggles to surmount it. She often makes the wrong choices at first. The process of finding her way changes her. In Sylvie’s case, her husband has died. I know this grief firsthand, and I gave Sylvie some of the feelings and thoughts that grief brings. She adds to her difficulties by uprooting herself and her son and buying an old house in a place where she knows no one. She has to create an entirely new life as she mourns her husband. No wonder she starts talking to a ghost!
SS: Writing is undoubtedly a lonely occupation. John Green (The Fault in Our Stars) says writing is a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story but don’t want to make eye contact while doing it. P. D. James (Cover Her Face) says it’s essential for writers to enjoy their own company. Do you see yourself along those lines? Are you a natural loner?
GF: Absolutely. It took me a while to understand that about myself because I love people—one at a time. There’s enough noise in my brain to keep me company all of the time. Except for playing with my grandchildren, listening to my characters is the most satisfying interaction in my day.
SS: How does your home and its environment influence your writing? To what extent?
GF: I’ve lived in this particular home over twenty years, and everything in it is where I put it when I first moved in. The neighborhood is quiet and serene and inside the house is fairly orderly. I discovered long ago that I need physical order and quiet around me to allow the whirling dervish of my mind room to dance around. For me, a tranquil home is the stage where the imagination can perform.
SS: If you have children, does being a parent influence your writing? To what extent?
GF: Having children made me write shorter sentences, shorter poems and stories, shorter chapters.
SS: Hilary Mantel (Wolf Hall) says that a Catholic upbringing is the only qualification a writer requires. Can you relate to this idea? Do you have any similar writing qualifications?
GF: Being Jewish also works. Guilt and ritual—that’s the ticket.
SS: When I read other authors’ biographies, mine seems dull by comparison. How do you feel about your life story? Have you ever been tempted to jazz yours up?
GF: My personal life story is boring. I’d much rather invent a life for someone else than write a memoir. But, since we use what we know to deepen our characters, the experience I draw on is mine. In some way or another, I’m in every character I write.
SS: How long have you considered yourself a writer? Did you have any formal training, or is it something you learned as you went?
GF: Two degrees in literature is probably formal enough, but I’ve also taken innumerable workshops, seminars, personal coaching, and now webinars. Probably the most useful, targeted learning was The Novel Year course at the Writer’s Center in Maryland. For icing on the cake, I recommend a Donald Maass workshop. But there’s no learning like doing. I’ve been writing for sixty years. I’m beginning to get the hang of it.
SS: Do you generally write in one genre? If so, what is it? And what can readers expect from one of your books?
GF: I want to write at least one book in every genre and then a few that blend them. Readers can expect the unexpected, and, I hope, to be moved to tears and laughter, to fear and apprehension, and maybe to outright joy. I’ve done three mysteries, a political thriller, a time-travel fantasy adventure, and a ghost story. I’ve also completed a literary fiction (which just means more emphasis on a character-driven story, experimental narrative form, less reliance on plot), a women’s fiction (where the protagonist’s transformation is key), and a speculative fiction set sometime in the future. I hope to publish these! I’ve always wanted to write a western, but Westworld stole my idea so I’m waiting for the next one to arrive by slow stagecoach.
SS: If you want to read a Western that turns that genre topsy-turvy, read Outlawed by Anna North. I loved it. What epitaph would you want most to be written about you when it’s all said and done? What epitaph would you like at the end of your life?
GF: I once told my husband that when I died I wanted him to have a plane fly a banner saying, “She Was Right about Everything” above the cemetery. He stared at me for a long time. Since then, I’ve changed it to: “Nobody can say she was boring.”
SS: If you time-warped fifty years into the future and found that something you created has become a trope or buzzword, how would you feel? Would you feel cheated of royalties or vindicated as a genius?
GF: I’d feel validated and assume that my children are getting the royalties (copyright is lifetime plus 70 years)!
SS: What other authors are you friends with, and how do they help you become a better writer?
GF: I couldn’t work on novels without a writing community. It’s such a long haul. Other writers in my writing groups keep me sane, on track, and help me see what I’m doing, what’s working and what’s not working. A writing community is invaluable.
SS: What would a fly on the wall see if he watched you while you are writing?
GF: A person staring into space and then suddenly typing like a madwoman. At least, that’s what my son tells me I look like.
SS: Do you think that self-revelation is part of the writing process?
GF: Yes. But I don’t have to put what I learn in the book.
SS: Lisa Cron (Wired for Story) says, “We think in story. It’s hardwired in our brain. It’s how we make strategic sense of the otherwise overwhelming world around us.” In what way are you trying to make sense of the world?
GF: I think we constantly tell ourselves the story of our lives, updating and editing as we go. It’s the way we know who we individually are. Novelists are telling the clan’s stories, telling us who we are as a people, as a species. I agree with Cron. People crave these stories.
SS: Who is on your Mt. Rushmore of all-time great writers (choose four faces to carve into your monument)?
GF: Toni Morrison, Joyce Carol Oates, Vladimir Nabokov, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
SS: We share Morrison, Nabokov, and Marquez. Can you share with us a bit about the moment when the idea for your novel first popped into your head? Did the idea come to you all at once, or did different pieces of the story come to you over time?
GF: I saw a post from an agent on Manuscript Wish List saying she’d like to see a new take on The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. I went from there, but being me, Possession turned out to be somewhat darker than the original.
LIGHTNING ROUND:
SS: Describe your books in 3 words: Suspenseful, moving, unexpected
SS: Favorite thing about your genre? The puzzle
SS: When writing, are you a night owl or morning person? Mid-morning
SS: Pantser or Plotter? Plantser
SS: Book you’re currently reading: Theory of Bastards
SS: Your favorite guilty pleasure: Murder She Wrote
SS: Your favorite detective or spy protagonist is: Poirot and his little gray cells, followed closely by Monk.
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Possession is available through:
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An excerpt from Possession, Chapter One:
CHAPTER ONE
Fourteen April 1794—Rivertown
He gripped the hair at the back of her neck and yanked her out of the buggy. Clarinda tumbled to the ground.
“Stop. James, stop. What are you doing?” She scrambled to her feet.
The moon hung low on the horizon, hovering over the silver water. Gray cumulus clouds glided toward the moon. In a minute, it would be pitch dark.
Silent, he grabbed her arm and dragged her onto the stone wharf. She stumbled and fell onto the sharp rocks. The edge of a stone sliced her cheek. Clarinda pushed herself to her feet and swiped at her face. Blood streaked her hand.
“You’ve gone mad.”
James slapped her. “You are the mad one.”
She staggered backward. He lunged and slapped her again. “You have defiled our marriage, endangered my career. You are an embarrassment to my family. You don’t deserve to live.”
Clarinda backed away from him. “You’re not God. You don’t get to decide who lives or dies.”
“Watch me,” he snarled as his fist snapped her head around.
Uneven rocks beneath her feet tripped her. She reached out to grab his coat for balance, but he yanked himself away. Her arms flailed. Wind from the incoming storm whipped the shawl from her shoulders. It flew out across the water.
She fell backward, first into nothingness for what seemed forever, and then into the shocking cold of the river, black water rising around her and closing over her face.
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You can follow Ginny here on social media:
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