On Returning to Fiction
Q&A with Megan Walsh, nonfiction writer turned novelist
Megan Walsh and I once worked together at a startup where she wrote and I edited many articles about the best places to go camping in X. I remember when Megan started, how she came in with so much passion and energy. She loves the outdoors and she loves writing and she was SO excited to bring those two things together. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and we had a lot of fun working together.
Little did I know, however, that Megan’s true love was fiction.
When I finally had a chance to read one of her short stories, I was floored by the richness of her voice and her ability to spin a page-turning narrative—so very different than the writing I’d edited in listicles and gear reviews. I knew Megan was an excellent writer, but it was so cool to see that she was talented in an entirely different style of writing than what we were doing at work. I’ve since had the honor of reading more of Megan’s fiction, and to follow her journey as she’s reconstructed her life around writing a novel.
It has been fascinating to hear about her process in writing fiction. From a committed, nightly practice to churning out tens of thousands of “bad” words that she plans on tossing, just to get to know her characters better—her approach is completely unlike my own for non-fiction. Which is so enriching to hear about it. I think you’ll agree.
So, writers! Meet Megan! A writer who has transformed her career many times, while always prioritizing her craft.
“Writing fiction is emotionally vulnerable. It requires you to get in the heads of characters, to place yourself in fictional situations while experiencing nonfiction emotions. It can be exhausting, but it can also be exhilarating.” — Megan Walsh
So I know you studied literature and your first love was fiction, but then you did quite a bit of professional nonfiction writing. Can you start by telling us about that journey between fiction and nonfiction? How did you find your way back to the kind of writing you started with?
I took a nonfiction workshop in college and the professor told us the only way to make a living as a writer was to write for magazines––there was no money in fiction. Is it any surprise that a naive 19-year-old who only wanted to make a living as a writer believed her?
It took a while to silence her voice in my head, but when I finally did, it felt like part of myself returned.
For me, it’s always been fiction. When I wrote nonfiction stories in middle school and high school, these fantastical or embellished aspects always found their way in. I just can’t help myself.
Tell us about your book-in-progress! Whatever you feel like sharing.
I’ll start with: writing a novel is a gargantuan task. Already I’m on the fourth draft of this book and it looks far different than it did in its original form.
My novel focuses on the matriarchal lineage of a family who immigrated from Czechoslovakia to America in the 1920s. It’s told from the perspective of a future-day character named Miriam, who shares the story of all the strong, resilient women in her family.
I’m interested in the intersection between the patriarchy and environmental degradation, and what it means to exist on land that isn’t yours. What does “homeland” mean? How do women exist in cultures that consistently work to silence them? What would it look like if women made decisions about land management? Community structures? Family workloads?
Has your nonfiction work influenced your fiction? How so?
What a great question! I think about this often.
I initially focused on outdoor sports, then transitioned to outdoor athletes using their platforms for important issues, then to the issues themselves. As I wrote these stories and read article after article about climate change, I started to become numb. I realized this wasn’t a singular emotion––so many folks were (and are) dealing with climate anxiety. So many of us are overwhelmed by this thought: how the hell do we deal with such an encompassing issue?
That’s when I started researching and thinking about the way we are severed from the reality of climate change.
We need stories that connect the human experience to the climate crisis. I know from my own experience how deeply and emotionally invested we can become in the stories of people. Stats and figures are harrowing, for sure. But it’s an entirely different thing to read a headline of “Thousands migrate from X country due to drought,” than to read a story about a mother and daughter who were pushed out of their home due to drought or a “biblical flood” or the rise in organized violence, and you learn that the mother used to sit in the town square while she embroidered with women in her neighborhood and that the daughter played red-rover with her friends at the park on the corner––that’s when you start to feel. We need stories that humanize these issues and bring them down to the personal level.
I didn’t have the finances or the time to find those stories, but I knew the depth of their impact. So I decided to write my own.
There are some fantastic timely novels that have inspired me: Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy, Infinite Country by Patricia Engel, and Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver to name a few. All of these authors witnessed reality and used that as motivation for fiction. I revel in these types of stories.
Back when you were a student, and you thought about writing professionally, what did that look like?
Ha! I’ll tell you, it looked a lot different in my naive-22-year-old-dream-state than it does in reality.
It’s hard to acknowledge I thought I’d have a book published by now. I’ll name that here.
I thought writing professionally went something like this: wake up, feed myself, spend the morning working on my novel, break for more food, spend the afternoon researching, then probably attend salons and events with other acclaimed authors who showed great interest in the book I was writing.
Needless to say, my life has looked nothing like that.
What does being a professional writer look like now? (Both literally and aspirationally.)
Being a professional writer is a lot of fucking work, and being a freelance writer felt a lot like being the captain of a crewless ship––or what I imagine that might feel like.
When I was freelancing, it meant being my own assistant, accountant, researcher, writer, editor, marketing director, boss, agent, and hype-woman. It looked like taking calls on Saturday mornings, scheduling interviews for Wednesday nights, and following up with ethereal editors whose ghost-like nature made me honestly question their existence.
That’s not to say it wasn’t fulfilling. There’s nothing like receiving an email from an editor with a note that they loved my idea/story/edits and couldn’t wait to see it in print. I’ll never forget the editor who said yes to my first pitch. Few things can match the validation of a strong story idea.
I still carry the dream of my 22-year-old self. I hope to someday have a writing life that younger Megan dreamed of (without the salons and events because I could honestly live in quasi-quarantine forever). In the meantime, writing looks a lot like stealing time whenever I can to get this draft of my book done to send it off to agents.
What brought you to Iowa? And what has life looked like since making that move?
I decided in the fall of 2019 to quit freelancing and focus all creative energy toward writing my novel. Then, during the summer of 2020, I filed for divorce and had the chance to re-evaluate what I wanted and needed from my life and surroundings.
There are so many vibrant places in the US for writers to live, but the most cost-effective is definitely Iowa City! And, arguably, there is no better place to surround yourself with an established, supportive, and successful literary community.
Life here has looked far different than version one of my life. Just this morning, as I sat on my porch, I met and struck up a conversation with the man who edited the Iowa Review for 30 years. This guy lives a block away from me. I’ve met Melissa Febos and Rachel Yoder whose books were on the NYT Bestsellers List. I had dinner with a Nobel Prize Winner’s daughter. And when I tell people I moved here for the literary community, they get it.
If nothing else, it’s nice to be in a community of people who understand why you’d uproot your life and move halfway across the country to further your career as a writer.
I've always admired how you've structured your life, in various ways, to support creative work. From living in a van to moving to Iowa City where you're among the most prolific writing community in the country, you've made some big moves to prioritize your writing. Where do you find that drive and what keeps you motivated when sustaining a career in writing feels extra hard?
The truth is, I’ve never had a backup plan. I’ve never thought, well, I’ll do this and if it doesn’t work out I’ll just do XX. Like I mentioned earlier, I decided at a young age I was going to be a writer. I wrote my first novella at 15. I studied creative writing in college. I’ve written four drafts of novels that no one will ever see, ever.
There are days now where I think, what if it doesn’t work? What if my fiction never makes it to print? The answer is: I don’t know. I don’t know what happens if I write this book and not a single agent picks it up and no one ever reads it. So I guess a major part of my motivation comes from accepting fear of the unknown? I’m also bullheaded in believing that all this hard work will eventually lead to something.
I had a session with my therapist earlier this year where I shared my fears and how they prevent me from writing. She asked what I would do if this book was never published. I thought about it and realized if this book didn’t get published, then I’d write another, and then another after that. Writing takes prolific determination and a stubborn belief that you will, eventually, make it.
I think a lot of us are waiting for that thing, some thing to deliver the motivation to finally start working on a big creative project. With a bashful admission that I’ve spent a lot of time waiting for various aspects of my life to change before pursuing a big creative project, what was it that pushed you?
There’s rarely any one thing that delivers motivation. We all have that motivation in us somewhere-––if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be writers.
It takes a lot of courage to work on a big creative project. It’s gutsy. You don’t have an editor on the other end of an email chain, telling you: yes we’re going to publish this when you’re done. It’s a huge leap of faith. A massive time investment. And it’s all strung together on a ratty string of hope.
The final push looked for me like it does for a lot of writers. I was fed up with my job, my relationship was falling apart. I looked at my life and thought, really? Is this it for me? I wouldn’t say I was at rock bottom, but I knew that the root of my unhappiness stemmed from not pursuing this dream of being an author.
I don’t think you have to be in a place of despair to start your big creative project, but I do know it’s not as clear cut as: do “X,Y,Z” and you’ll have the motivation to start.
I wish I had a better answer for this question!
You recently started a new, exciting full-time job. How do you think your book work will fit around that?
It’s been tough. I’m learning to be satisfied with whatever work I put into my book. Some days I put 2,000 words on the page, other days I write a sentence. Massive projects like this take a lot of time, and I think so many of us (myself included) don’t give ourselves enough kudos for making progress.
And so I’ve been trying to get comfortable with progress, in whatever shape that takes. Some authors spend decades writing a book because they know the road is long. I’m learning to accept that my book might not be published until 2025...maybe 2030?, and that’s okay.
What about the Fishtrap fellowship? What's that been like and how are you making time for all of this??
It’s been a busy year, and I’ve sent quite a few emails that start with, “Sorry I’m late…”
Folks have been so forgiving because this year, in all its glory, has been absolute hell, and we’re all just trying to adjust to whatever this new space is we’re now inhabiting.
I’m so thankful for my cohort and for our instructor, Sharma Shields, who is one of the most gracious, compassionate, and fierce readers and editors I’ve had the pleasure of working with.
We submit our works-in-progress on a monthly basis and the accountability has kept me going. The feedback I’ve received has played an integral role as I move forward with the plot and character development. It’s essentially a low-residency MFA at a fraction of the cost, and if you’re looking for the feel of an MFA and not worried about the degree, I highly recommend it.
What is one thing you've learned since quitting your last full-time job to focus on your writing, and how will you apply that to your practice moving forward, now that you're working a full-time job again?
Ha! Apparently, nothing, since I went back to a full-time job?
I will say the security is nice, and it’s given me an opportunity to worry less about how I’ll pay my bills so I can focus on what plot point I need to hit next.
Day jobs are also great motivation to work on your passion project because it fuels the hope that someday this thing will help you break out of the cycle.
Because let’s be real. Day jobs suck. I’d rather be writing full-time.
What's one piece of advice you'd offer to someone who is working in nonfiction but wants to write a novel?
Don’t be intimidated by the longevity of the project. If you start working on it now and write 300 words a day, you’ll be at 109,000 by this time next year. You have to start chipping away at your projected word count and get something on the page. You’ll thank yourself in a year from now for having the chutzpah to take on the task.
Writing fiction is emotionally vulnerable. It requires you to get in the heads of characters, to place yourself in fictional situations while experiencing non-fiction emotions. It can be exhausting, but it can also be exhilarating.
I still believe some naive thoughts from my younger self, among them: the world needs your book.
Put that on a sticky note, set a reminder in your phone, tell your best friend to remind you. If you have a story that’s itching to get out, give it room to do so.
The world needs your work.
A big thank you to Megan for sharing her insight on the fiction writing process. You can follow her on Twitter, support her Patreon for previews of her novel-in-progress, and check out her podcast on books and writing, The Writer’s Climax.
I’ll be back in your inbox later this week.
Stay inspired,
Britany