“After you’ve got some work you’re happy with, you need to submit it. It’s a truism, but you’ll never get published if you don’t try to get published. Initially it can be brutal – expect lots of form rejections – but you develop a thick skin.“
What are the most important steps an amateur writer can take?
I spent a lot of my twenties not writing at all but somehow still believing I could be a writer. In my thirties I started writing every day on my lunch breaks. That level of commitment felt doable, and I was surprised at how quickly I improved and accumulated work by taking that small amount of time every day.
Once you’re in the habit of writing, find someone who you feel comfortable with and whose opinion you value, and share your work with them. There are always things you can’t spot in your own work that another reader will. For me, that person is my wife. She’s a strong editor and soundingboard for me: she has a good intuition, doesn’t mince words, and pushes me to be better in a way I wouldn’t alone.
After you’ve got some work you’re happy with, you need to submit it. It’s a truism, but you’ll never get published if you don’t try to get published. Initially it can be brutal – expect lots of form rejections – but you develop a thick skin.
Which books is it most important for an aspiring writer to read?
When I was just starting to write, my mother-in-law gave me a copy of John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction. Gardner holds writers to an incredibly high standard, and at the time that was intimidating: he made me doubt I could ever be good enough. In retrospect, though, that forced me to ask more of my writing.
A few years later my mom gave me Verlyn Klinkenborg’s Several Short Sentences About Writing. This is a much more technical book than Gardner’s and changed how I look at writing and editing sentences.
That said, I think books about writing are a fraction as useful as reading strong writers. As long as you’re constantly reading writers better than you, you’ll learn and grow.
How do you believe a writer improves?
Writing regularly makes the physical act less daunting: if you write every day, eventually you’ll get over the inertia and dread of sitting down to write, your brain picks up on the work faster, and then you can just do it. But you also need to keep trying new things and exposing yourself to different styles and ways of thinking. If you only write short stories, try out something longer. If you write realistic fiction, try writing sci-fi. If you write only prose, try poetry. Personally, I experiment with essays between my stories.
Who would you say are your literary forebears? Who have you learned the most from?
My three pillars are Hemingway, Roth, and Knausgaard. Everything I write draws from them: Hemingway for clarity, Roth for internal dialogue, and Knausgaard for his incorporation of everyday, banal life.
Beyond them, it’s project-specific. For short stories I read and think about authors like Katherine Mansfield and Denis Johnson. While I was working on the first draft of my novel The Marfa Deal, I read all of Kafka’s oeuvre to try to stay on his wavelength. The Marfa Deal uses the hardboiled detective template to ask how we can live purposeful lives in a deeply capitalistic society, and Kafka helped keep my sight on existential questions about systems and absurdity. On the flip side, my second novel Morningside is about a former competitive swimmer coming to terms with her life as a mother, so I drew on James Salter’s Light Years and the wonderful Miyazaki film, Kiki’s Delivery Service, to keep the tone sensual and warm.
What do you believe is the function of your art?
The first is self-expression. In conversation I can struggle to express myself and process strong emotions. Writing is a way for me to order my thoughts and feelings. Secondary to that, I write what I want to read. The irony of this is that I never re-read my finished work, so maybe I should ditch that goal!
Would you mind sharing a photograph of a part of your bookshelf that is meaningful to you? What makes it meaningful to you?
This is my bedside table right now. I’m bringing the Kierkegaard, Maggie Nelson, Peter Handke, and Emmanuel Carrere with me on my spring break trip to Paris this month. I’ve been circling William Gass for years, and Turgenev is part of my slow exploration of the Russians. Herzog’s book was gifted to me by a friend who knew I love movies, and I’m looking forward to getting an intimate look at how Herzog thinks about his art.
When I found out Edith Wharton was a prolific ghost story writer, I went straight to my favorite local bookstore, First Light Books, and bought Ghosts. Lastly, I bought Shakespeare’s four major tragedies a few months ago; after college I stupidly donated my complete works of Shakespeare, but Penguin’s paperback line is beautiful and gives me an excuse to re-buy them.
Oh, and the stuffed ice cream cone was a Christmas gift my six year-old daughter sewed for me!
Stuart Ziarnik’s chapbook, The Vulture (Kennesaw State University Press), won The Headlight Review’s 2021 Chapbook Contest. His fiction has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, Third Wednesday, Space City Underground, and Suddenly, And Without Warning. He won the 2024 George Dila Memorial Flash Fiction Contest and was awarded a 2024 Poet & Author Fellowship by the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. He lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter.