On Filling Roles and Following Dreams

An interview with "Great white" Author, Jen Michalski

by Karla Daly

“It’s intrinsic to a lot of people to fill the gaps in broken families, and the texture of that is always seductive for a fiction writer.”
—Jen Michalski

I could tell you about Jen Michalski’s five fiction collections and novels, her 100-plus journal publications, her place as one of the best authors in Maryland according to CBS News. I could mention that The Baltimore Sun named her one of “50 Women to Watch” and that Baltimore Magazine voted her “Best Writer” in 2013. That her debut novel, The Tide King, won the Big Moose Prize and was named “Best Fiction” by the Baltimore City Paper, and more. But what is harder to convey, in my view, is the sensitivity with which she portrays relationships in fiction, her steady narrative voice, and her artistic restraint. For that, you need to read her work.

As part of my MFA Creative Writing program at American University, I’ve had the opportunity to assist with the production of Grace in Darkness, the latest volume in the "Grace and Gravity" series—a collection of fiction from women
writers in Washington, DC and surrounding areas. Michalski’s story, “Great White,” follows two friends who are trying to navigate their roles as parents of a young girl after the loss of their respective partners. As a writer and a parent, I was moved by the vulnerability of Michalski’s characters and was curious about the thinking and process that goes behind such a carefully rendered story. In a recent email interview, Michalski shared insights into her characters and inspirations:

Let’s talk about the concept of “Grace in Darkness” as it relates to your story, “Great White.” I think the darkness here is grief: Linney’s grief over the death of her partner, Marti, and Charles’s grief over the betrayal and abandonment of his partner, Jude. For me, there was grace in the complicated relationships in the little family: Charles and Linney, Linney and Rachel, Charles and Rachel, and the family as a unit. What was your thinking about the concepts of grace and darkness in this story?

I tend to agree with your assessment, although obviously I wasn’t thinking of these particular themes in this way, writing the story. I’ve always been fascinated by the way the idea of family evolves and molds itself to the needs of a situation. It’s intrinsic to a lot of people to fill the gaps in broken families, and the texture of that is always seductive for a fiction writer. And personally, when my own father left, my grandfather and uncle stepped in and took over his role. But in “Great White,” Charles isn’t even sure what his role is—he’s filling the gap of a lost mother for Rachel, a child with two mothers. Should he be the mother Rachel’s used to, or the traditional father she never had? And what about what he thinks is his own lack of parenting instincts? I think a lot of parenthood is making it up as you go along, with love, honesty, and integrity. At least, as a nonparent myself, that’s how I hope I would approach it.

---

Speaking as a mother, I felt devastated when Charles said, “You’re a mother. You don’t take the day off because you’re sad.” Was he really saying, “You’re a parent?” Or were you pointing out a difference in Charles’s expectations between mothering and fathering?

The former. Charles is reminding Linney that parenting is a long-term commitment, and regardless of what happens, even if your spouse dies, you don’ get to take the day off—the welfare of your child comes first. And I think, since it’s mentioned earlier in the story that both Linney’s and Charles’s mothers neglected or left them, Charles is a little scared of Linney going down that path, too.

You are a Baltimore resident, and so are your characters in “Great White,” although the story takes place on Nantucket “to corral Linney’s emotional unraveling.” How do you choose settings for your fiction? What role do they play?

Mostly just life experiences. I visited a cousin in Nantucket a few summers back, and when I returned, I joked to my friends that I was going to write my “New England story,” you know, that pretentious literary story set in New England that gets published in all the big journals. But of course it didn’t wind up that way. When we were riding the ferry back from Nantucket to the coast, I just had this image of Rachel sort of bugging Charles, the way kids do, and Charles thinking, only half-seriously, “I hope Linney hasn’t thrown herself overboard, because I’ll be really screwed then.” And all of a sudden I had a starting point for the story and also for Charles.

What do you consider the universal truths in “Great White”?

That I think we’re all scared, we all are torn about parenting, even the “Dads of the Year,” and that we all kind of make it up as we go along. At least that’s when I knew I was an adult—I’d always expected to be wise and put-together and have
what I perceived to be, when I was younger, the confidence of adults. But when I got to be their age, I realized they were just as uncertain and insecure as I was, that they were just sort of faking it until they made it. And maybe that helps Charles to be more understanding not only of Linney but also of his own mother and himself, too. There is grace in forgiveness.

What does your typical writing process look like? How do you get from germination of an idea to a final draft?

Short stories tend to germinate in my head for a while, and when they’re ready, they come out in one sitting or two. And, whether it’s a good thing or not, I rarely change the story in a significant way when I revise. I’m much more interested in
working with the energy that got it on the page to begin with than chopping it all up and making it into something structurally or aesthetically appealing. Which is the exact opposite approach for my novels; I’m much more willing to kill my darlings and tear up a draft that’s not working because a novel is such a long thing that can literally go anywhere, and if you’re not flexible, you’re screwed.

Also, a lot of my stories and ideas come from dreams. I have a very active dream life, and usually I can’t wait to go to sleep! My mind is continually thinking about whatever I’m working on, from the moment I wake up to those last few minutes in bed before I drift off, so I guess it’s only logical that my brain would be trying to solve narrative dilemmas while I sleep. But I also am open to dreams as an analytical tool for the self, so I’m very open to any subconscious advice I’m receiving, whether it be personal or writing-related.

What common threads exist across your fiction?

I’ve always been interested in the “other” in fiction, even before it was popular to do so. Whether it’s the first-person perspective of a mentally challenged boy or a May–December relationship between two women or a transgender boy whose mother commits suicide, throwing him into solving the mystery of her death, I’ve always been interested in characters who have little representation in commercial and even literary fiction.

I also tend to fall in love with my characters, and sometimes they keep reappearing. For instance, I just finished a novel from Linney’s perspective, and though I’ve moved onto writing a new novel, I still think about Charles and Marti, their perspectives, their part in the family dynamic. They’ve become like my own Glass family (from Salinger’s stories). So “Great White” was also sort of an indulgence for me, keeping Charles alive on the page a little longer.

What should we look for next from you?

I’ve just finished a novel (the one about Linney), and I’m working on another now, so hopefully you’ll see something soon. I also just finished writing a graphic novel that my “team” (I have an editor, a graphic artist, and a letterer) has drafted, and we’re pitching it now to comic publishers and at comic conventions. I never thought I’d want to work in the comic form, but a really great story came to me in a dream, and when I woke up, I realized it really wanted to be told graphically, so I obeyed. I always follow my dreams, quite literally, wherever they lead me.

---

Jen Michalski lives in Baltimore, Maryland. In addition to her work as an author, she is founding editor of the weekly literary journal, jmww, hosts the reading series Starts Here! in Baltimore, and interviews writers at The Nervous Breakdown. Her latest book, The Summer She Was Under Water, was published in December 2017. She has a BA in English from St. Mary’s College of Maryland and an MS in Professional Writing from Towson University. She can be reached at [email protected], on Twitter, or on Facebook. Learn more about her at her website.

Karla Daly is a poet, editorial consultant, and student in American University’s MFA Creative Writing program. She has written and edited for business, nonprofit, and publishing organizations. Her poems have appeared in District Lines, Alimentum: The Literature of Food, and The Prose-Poem Project, and she recently won a poetry challenge from The Phillips Collection. She can be reached at [email protected].