Sincere thanks to Anaïs for everything shared in these illuminating responses, especially the entirety of this stirring definition of the role of the writer: “To tell the truth, even when no one wants to hear it. To ask questions that don’t have easy answers. To document, to distort, to imagine, to entertain. To warn. To take note when history repeats itself. To hold up a mirror and, occasionally, to smash it.“
Would you please tell us a little about your writing process?
Most ideas take root when I least expect it—something I hear, read, or live through. I don’t recognize them right away. They lurk, germinating in the background, and then, it’s inevitable, they strike when I’m driving. Always when I’m driving. Suddenly, I have to write.
I tend to dive straight in—outlining comes later, like cleaning up after an enthusiastic cooking experiment. I aim to write daily, though with two small children, “daily” sometimes means jotting down a sentence between snack negotiations or going to bed way too late. I don’t need a dedicated space, but I imagine that would be nice. I’ve written in coffee shops, waiting rooms, and, more often than not, my car—idling outside my daughter’s therapy sessions, parked in grocery store lots. Apparently, cars are my muse. I might need to explore that in my next essay.
What is the best piece of advice you have received? Or, what is the best piece of advice you would offer an aspiring writer?
Put your phone down and observe. That’s when you’ll notice the things worth telling stories about. Writers aren’t just inventors, we’re collectors—of moments, gestures, overheard conversations, the way light falls at a certain hour. If you’re not paying attention, you’ll miss it.
Also, read everything. Read beyond your comfort zone, read what you love and what unsettles you. And then—write. Don’t wait for permission. Don’t wait for inspiration to arrive like some grand, mythical beast. It won’t. It sneaks up on you when you’re doing the dishes–or driving–when your mind is just loose enough to let it in.
What is the role of the writer in society?
To tell the truth, even when no one wants to hear it. To ask questions that don’t have easy answers. To document, to distort, to imagine, to entertain. To warn. To take note when history repeats itself. To hold up a mirror and, occasionally, to smash it.
What have been your most meaningful or profound experiences as a writer?
Finishing a story is always satisfying—mostly because I wasn’t entirely sure I would. It’s like crawling out of a cave and realizing the world is still there. That, and hearing from an editor, “You can’t write about this,” because it’s too much or people don’t want to read about this. That’s when I know—I absolutely need to write about it.
Are there any downsides to being a writer?
Writing is like quicksand—hypnotic, consuming, mildly terrifying. You tell yourself you can get out anytime. You can’t. There’s the solitude, long hours inside your own head, which can be a gift or a slow descent into existential dread. There’s rejection, constant and inevitable, to keep your humility in check. Some days, the words flow. Other days, the blinking cursor mocks you, and Ubering seems like a viable career. Actually, I should look into that—imagine the material. Though, would it be weird to pull over mid-ride to jot something down? Just a second—five stars appreciated.
The real curse though, is that you can’t turn it off. The mind hoards details—the way someone stirs their coffee, the silence after bad news, the smell of rain that tugs at something unnamed. It’s exhausting. Sometimes it pulls me out of the present.
But when the right words land, when a story that lived only in my head suddenly exists in the world—that’s it. That’s the magic. And so I chase it, again and again.
Where are the best places to live / visit as a writer?
In my head—unfortunately, I have to take it everywhere. But a café with strong coffee, a quiet library, or a train ride with interesting strangers helps.
Which question do you wish you were asked more?
Would you like a cup of coffee? Because the answer is always yes.
Anaïs Godard is a Franco-American fiction writer, winner of the 2025 Mike Resnick Memorial Award, and an essayist. Her work appears in McSweeney’s, Fractured Lit, Creation Magazine, and elsewhere. She contributes feminist book reviews to CALYX and co-founded @nastywomenLA to amplify women’s voices.