The first thing I learned about interviews is to not put my recording device directly on the table. If someone taps on the table, that sound will resonate through the surface. It will be very loud in your recording. 

Who to interview? 

If you’re writing about a specific topic, make a list of experts and/or people with lived experience. Take some time to research who is out there. Who would you like to speak with most? Put them at the top of the list and work down from there. 

Contact people one at a time, or for a bigger piece, maybe in twos or threes. Wait until you get a response before moving on. You don’t want to contact 30 people and end up only interviewing two of them. This wastes your time and theirs. 

Profiles vs. Other Pieces 

A profile focuses on a single person. For instance, I interviewed astronaut Robert Thirsk for a profile piece in INSPIRED 55+. Since the article was mainly about him, I didn’t interview anyone else. 

For something longer or less focused on an individual, you’ll want multiple interlocutors. Try to vary the perspectives you get. 

When I wrote about women in British Columbia who sail their own boats, I cast a wider net to see who might be interested in providing a quote. I included women who sail, of course. I also included comments from people who worked in the marine industry. 

Since my aim was to provide commentary from a variety of people, I didn’t end up interviewing most of my interlocutors in any detail. Think of it like a deep dive versus an overview. 

Balancing Interviews and Other Information 

For the women who sail article, quotations from interviews only made up a small portion of the text. The meat of the piece relied on other research and information. The quotes were there to enliven the story and make it real (Look! These are actual humans!). 

Context for the quotes is key. Introduce the topic first. Then expand on it with some contextual or factual background information. What point are you trying to make? Your quotes should support the point if each paragraph where they appear. 

Here are four tips I’ve gleaned from my interviewing experiences. 

Get a Good Recording 

This might seem obvious, but as I said, things can interfere with your recording that you may never have thought about (like someone gently tapping a table, which sounds like gunshots when you play it back).  

Where should you meet? While a cafe seems neutral and appropriate, they tend to be noise-riddled spaces. Even seemingly quiet cafes might have coffee grinders, or someone’s dog might start barking outside (or inside), or a baby might cry, or there might be that one customer whose voice carries through the whole place above all other conversation. Even if your recording comes out well, you might find yourself distracted throughout the interview. 

A better place to meet is a library study room, an office, or (if appropriate) at someone’s house (unless there is also a risk of barking dog/crying baby, or yard work, or neighbors vacuuming…) 

Outside can be okay if it’s sheltered from traffic noises. And wind. Wind is the worst possible thing for a recording. If you are going to be outside, put a sock or glove over your recording device. There’s a reason those film boom mics have big fuzzy things on them. (Fun fact apropos of nothing: The fuzzy things are called dead-cats.) 

Take Notes as You Go 

Even though you are recording, jot down anything that jumps out at you in the moment. When you’re watching a person speak and hearing their words for the first time, things can resonate in a way that gets lost with just a recording. Especially if it’s only audio, with no visual. 

Taking notes by hand has also been shown to help with memory (see https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-writing-by-hand-is-better-for-memory-and-learning/ ). Actively taking notes during an interview helps you focus. It speeds you through your writing process, because when you sit down to write, you will already retain more of what was said. 

The things you write down can also help you focus your article (book chapter, etc.). These are things that you found significant or meaningful. Maybe it was a particular turn of phrase. Maybe it was a fact that you didn’t know before. Maybe your interlocutor said something that contradicted what they said in a different conversation, or that you read about them. Or maybe there’s something you want to follow up on later, but you don’t want to interrupt them in the moment. 

Don’t Transcribe Everything, Just What You Need 

Once you have your recording, you’ll want to go back over it. Transcription takes way longer than you think (unless you’ve done a lot of transcription, in which case you know why professional transcribers charge so much). Instead of trying to capture every word, just play back the recording and transcribe the passages you will actually use. If you need general information instead of exact quotes, then you can take notes like you would in a lecture. Except you can pause the speaker (which would have been helpful when I was in university). 

Even better, if you’re recording the meeting on a video call service, turn on captions. This will automatically generate a transcript of your conversation. Sure, the transcript will contain some minor errors, but that’s what the recording is for. Anyway, you’ll only end up using a few pieces.  

Which leads me to the next point. 

Identify the Most Fitting Quotes 

In my experience, you will inevitably end up with more than you can use. Unless you’ve conducted an extremely focused and specific interview, you won’t be able to use it all. Anthropologists have boxes of unused notes and data in their attics (or digital boxes in their dusty digital basements). You can never use it all. 

When I interviewed puppeteer Tim Gosley for Inspired 55+, we spoke for about an hour. The article was 800 words. For comparison, this article you are currently reading is about 1,000 words. 

In that contained space, I had to introduce Tim, give some information about his life, patch in a few quotes, give some more information, describe him a little, and detail some of his work. In 800 words. So yeah. Most of what we talked about, no matter how fascinating, never saw the light of day. 

This limitation is actually helpful though. Once you pull a few quotes, you can think about how they connect. What is the theme of your project? Where is the focus? Do you want readers to know what it feels like to be in this person’s presence? Are you more interested in facts about their childhood? Do you want to convey their voice and follow the topics that they emphasized themselves? 

For me, this process is iterative. I pull some quotes, I write a few lines about the person or the topic, then I see what quotes might fit with that, or how I will get to the next segment or subtopic. Even when I pull interesting quotes, I end up with more than I can use. 

At least in your early drafts you don’t need to worry too much about word count. Write a little more than what you need. Then pare it down to its clean essentials. Don’t be afraid to make a mess. It’s a bit like collage. The picture will gradually emerge as you tame it. 

The more interviews you incorporate into your work, the smoother this process will become for you. One final tip though: Interviews are exhausting. They can be brilliant and fun, or (rarely) tedious and boring, but they are always tiring. Don’t schedule more than two on the same day. Really you should only do one a day, if you can help it. That way, it’ll stay fresh in your mind. 

Interviews can add depth and polyvocality to your nonfiction writing. Get a solid recording and integrate the right quotes to support what you’re trying to say. Then send your work out into the world and figure out who you’ll interview next! 

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(How to Give Gentle and Helpful Feedback to Writers.)

5 Common Naysayer Notions

1. Writing is frivolous and a waste of time.
2. Your writing is bad.
3. You should write something else.
4. Nobody reads anymore.
5. There are way too many books out there already.

Arguments for Doing the Work Anyway

Writing is frivolous and a waste of time.

What should you be doing with your time instead? If you’re not neglecting your “real” responsibilities, like, say, feeding your children, your time is yours to do with as you please. Also, writing is fun. Anything could be considered a waste of time by someone who doesn’t enjoy that activity.

For some people, watching a basketball game is “frivolous and a waste of time.” Playing with Lego is “frivolous and a waste of time.” Complaining that other people are wasting their time writing is definitely frivolous and a waste of time. And if you need more convincing that writing is not, in fact, a waste of time, there’s a mountain of pretty compelling evidence that writing helps you think more clearly and aids in recovering mentally and physically from traumatic events.

Your writing is bad.

First of all, your writing is probably not that bad. But even if it is, so what?

You have to be bad at stuff before you can be good at it. A student starting medical school would be a bad doctor. A baby taking their first steps is a bad walker. Instead of telling them to stop trying, we encourage them to walk as much as possible (or, you know, to finish medical school before hanging out their shingle).

The best way to no longer be bad at writing (if you even are bad at it) is to do more writing. Not less. Not none. More. Practice makes perfect. Keep going.

Click to continue.

You should write something else.

This one usually comes with “helpful” advice about why their suggestion is better than whatever you are currently writing. Maybe it’s another genre, a different kind of story or poem, or something with a different tone. It could be anything, even just a small change to your character or setting.

Usually, in my experience, this advice comes from people who are not writers themselves. They are readers who like to read a certain kind of story/poem/memoir/whatever. Or they are more business-minded than art-minded and have no idea what it feels like to be passionate about a creative idea. Writing is hard at the best of times. Why would you make it harder by writing something other than the thing you actually want to write?

Nobody reads anymore.

I recently went to the Leipzig Book Fair. There are over 2,000 exhibitors, mostly book publishers. The space consists of five halls that are each 20,000 square meters (~215,000 square feet). Each. If nobody’s reading, nobody told the Leipzig Book Fair.

Statistics show that people in various countries spend over 300 hours a year reading books. And that’s just books. That doesn’t include browsing some niche poetry webzine or scrolling through fan fiction online.

There are way too many books out there already.

Imagine telling a chef there is too much food out there already. You know what else there’s a lot of? Nail salons. Investment companies. Pickleball courts. Clothing brands. Truthfully, there are a lot of books. A lot of stories, poems, weird unclassifiable word art. So what?

No one has written what you will write. No one has said it exactly like you. Having tons of books in the world is not a real problem. If anything, we need all the books we can get. It’s not a zero-sum game. Your readers want, or will want, the exact thing that you have written, not (only) some other thing that someone else (or a machine) wrote. That’s what makes them your readers.

Don’t waste time arguing with the naysayers. Instead, take your irritated energy and put it into your writing. Create something new and awesome—or even something derivative and mediocre.

Get out there and show the naysayers that you are a writer, no matter what stage of learning or skill you are currently at. Then do it again. And then, again. And again.

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(How to Give Gentle and Helpful Feedback to Writers.)

Both stories and cocktails have their basic and essential elements. These might be plot elements that slot the story into a genre like romance or Western. They might be types of characters or tropes that are neither genre-specific nor entirely original. They could be structural elements or the very language we use.

Drinks also have classic ingredients that tell us what kind of drink they are. A martini is dry vermouth plus gin or vodka. You chill it in ice and then pour it into a glass. Variations and additions exist, but these essential elements tell us it’s a martini, as opposed to, say, a fuzzy navel. A martini should be stirred, not shaken. Unless it’s shaken instead of stirred.

On top of this basic mix comes the garnish. The garnish is an olive. Or three olives. Usually speared on a toothpick.

Or it’s a lemon peel. Often the peel is rubbed around the rim of the glass and then dropped in the drink.

One garnish makes the drink a little salty. The other gives it a citrus kick. Same drink, two different garnishes.

The Telling Detail

These garnishes are the telling detail of the martini. The choice of one or the other (or neither!) changes how the drinker experiences the drink. The same is true in how we describe people, places, and things in our writing.

Here are four examples from published works that show how the telling detail brings characters and settings to life:

“And when they came to a halt, it was outside an office building that had been completed so recently it probably didn’t even have a vermin problem yet.” –The Turnglass, Gareth Rubin

This detail of the absence of vermin tells us about the building in question, while also contrasting it against the norm in this setting.

“Rocks clattered under their feet and under their hands, for they had to clamber.” –The Farthest Shore, Ursula K. Le Guin

Through the sensory detail of “clattered,” we feel and hear what the main character feels and hears. Not only that, but we see them moving through the landscape, and we simultaneously learn how this particular landscape differs from where the characters were before.

“Leonard, a graduate student, studied English at Georgetown, closing books and then mounting them on his bookcase as if in a display of difficult prey bagged.” –”Garden” in Three Thousand Dollars, David Lipsky

This apparently simple detail is a goldmine. The “as if” imagery tells us a lot about the character’s achievement mindset. The detail that Leonard has a bookcase where he keeps all his books (rather than, say, selling them to recoup costs) shows that he has enough money to engage comfortably with his studies. The fact that he displays his books shows that he enjoys airing his accomplishments to other people, or perhaps that he likes to look back on what he has accomplished. The simile contrasts his intellectual achievements with a more physical, traditionally masculine activity (hunting).

“I take inventory of the room. No window, a side table, one door. No other furnishings. This isn’t a standard hospital room. Maybe government.” –Havelock, Andrew Buckley

The telling detail in this example is the absence of things one might normally find in a hospital room. That absence is what tells the narrator, and the reader, that this isn’t a normal hospital.

The telling detail contains more than a simple description. It makes your character or setting specific and vivid. It tells us something significant, which is why it’s called the telling detail (in case you hadn’t figured that out yet).

The more specific your detail, the more it will bring your story to life. The best ones are those that carry layers of meaning. Just like the olive and the lemon peel, the right detail can elevate each story moment in exactly the right way.

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(5 Things to Know When Writing With Friends.)

Don’t be that person who makes them nervous. Here are five tips to help you give feedback that is both compassionate and useful.

1. Be specific.

The most helpful feedback points to specific things in the text. Instead of saying, “I found it boring,” highlight exactly where your attention started to drift. Instead of “This character is unbelievable,” try something like, “I’m finding it hard to understand Brenda’s motivation for quitting their job.” This technique also helps you discuss the writing through a less emotional lens. It’s about the writer and their writing, not your own feelings.

2. Include positive comments.

Some people think “critique” means identifying all the bad parts or revealing all the flaws. The word “critique” comes from French, where it means “examining the merits” of something, usually art. It’s only when “critique” migrated to English that it took on these judgy overtones. Part of your job as giver-of-feedback is to say what the writer has done well. Again, be specific. Congratulate them on finishing the piece. That’s already an achievement.

3. Offer questions and suggestions.

It can be tempting to show your writer buddy how to do it better. Avoid this temptation. Just ask questions and offer your commentary. Don’t rewrite the text in your own voice. Every writer has a style. Rewriting the text makes it yours, not theirs. If you want to modify the text, use Track Changes or another method that retains the original version. But don’t just make changes. Say why you think the change improves the text. Be sure to state clearly that these changes are only suggestions. It’s up to the writer to decide what works for them.

4. Focus on a few big things.

It’s most helpful to focus on a few areas for improvement. Too much feedback can lead to information overload—or, in the worst case, despair. You don’t want the other writer to give up on the piece just because it needs a polish. Pick a few points to focus on. Big-picture stuff like plot holes or inconsistent characterization. Never proofread or “fix” grammar mistakes, unless they’ve explicitly asked you to. That stuff comes at the very end, once the final draft is nailed down. There’s no point in fixing stuff that might be cut out or rewritten, and it leads the writer’s attention in the wrong direction. It can also come off as pedantic or teacher-y, even if you mean well.

5. Thank them for trusting you with their words.

We writers care about our writing. Sometimes to the extent that any negative comment feels like a knife to the chest. Death by a thousand cuts. Putting our work out there, even showing it to one other person, takes courage. Keep that in mind, always. Acknowledge their trust in you. Doing so can alleviate some anxiety around getting feedback. Almost any piece of writing can be improved. An early reader always has thoughts on how to do that. But start out by recognizing that they have just handed you a piece of their heart. Handle with care.

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(What Basketball Taught Me About Writing Microfiction.)

To me, collaborative writing sounds suspect, like something I wouldn’t enjoy. But since I’ve never actually tried it, I decided to check my prejudices. I asked some writers what they like about co-writing.

What Co-Writers Have to Say

Finnian Burnett (The Price of Cookies) has been collaborating with Andrew Buckley (Havelock) on a series called Queer Tales of Shakespearean Proportions.

“Collaborative writing gives me accountability and a built-in support system,” Finnian says. “Writing with Andrew means the work gets done faster because he’s counting on me. Writing by myself means the work doesn’t always get done because I’m my own accountability, and let’s face it, I run a pretty loose ship.”

But Finnian believes that different projects need different approaches. “Solo writing means I can dig into the dark places in my soul and throw them onto the page,” they explain, “without wondering if someone is debating whether or not to insist I need more therapy.”

K. A. Mielke co-wrote a YA novel, Victory Lap, with Riley Alexis Wood. “I wouldn’t say collaborative writing is for everyone,” K. A. says, “but as a writer who thrives with beta reads, I love having the on-demand feedback that co-writing allows. Plus it’s just such a joy to share in the creativity of writing with a friend!”

Benefits of Co-Writing

So a lot of writers find cowriting useful and enjoyable. Here are some reasons why:

1. Accountability and structure. This one is obvious, at least for me. External deadlines can be a boon.
2. Instant feedback. Someone will warn you right away if you’re straying off track or writing yourself into a corner.
3. Moral support. Encouragement from your peers goes a long way to staying motivated.
4. Shared joy and excitement over the project. We all need community that cares about our writing, and who will care more than a co-writer?

Benefits of Writing Solo

Now that I’ve set aside my prejudices and explored the benefits of co-writing, here are my arguments for staying solo:

1. No instant feedback. Some people like instant feedback, but others find it stressful and even inhibiting. It can be easier to get words down if you know no one else will see them until you’re ready.
2. Total creative control. You get to decide one hundred percent of what happens in the story. When you do get feedback, you can discard whichever bits don’t suit your aims.
3. Mental playground. Ever since I was a kid, writing has been a fun solo activity. If it ain’t broke and all that.
4. Solitude. What can I say? I’m an introvert. Writing is when I get to not interact with people.

Is It Better to Write Alone?

The answer is a resounding maybe.

How unhelpful. Also I’m kidding. The real answer is that it depends on the project and the writer. Know thyself.

Some beautiful and excellent books have emerged from collaborations. For instance, I Only Read Murder, by Canadian brothers Ian and Will Ferguson, absorbed me completely. The novel Blackout and its sequel Whiteout were co-written by a whopping six people. I know! Six!

In Conclusion

Before going into a collaboration, create a detailed plan together. Who will write what? Is one of you creating the story and the other doing the actual writing? Are you trading off chapters or characters? Is one person writing all the kissing scenes, because they’re really good at that?

What’s your timeline? How will you resolve disagreements about plot choices or anything else that comes up? Whose turn is it to buy coffee?

I can’t tell you whether you should find a co-writer or not. My only advice is to think long and hard about your reasons for doing so and what you hope to get out of it. And determine beforehand how the process is going to work.

As for me, my writer friends will probably continue to co-write without me. I’ll be cheering them on from my solitary sidelines.

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(The Ecstatic Embrace of Influence.)

Nothing happened.

At the time, I was living in Toronto. Canada’s only NBA team, the Toronto Raptors, were fighting their way through the NBA Finals. As they drew closer to winning the championship, I watched more of their games. I’d never been hugely into sports, but my partner’s enthusiasm drew me in. The more I understood the game, the more I enjoyed the skill and suspense. It was anything but dull.

Surprisingly, watching basketball helped me figure out how to write a drabble.

What Is Microfiction?

Microfiction is exactly what it sounds like: bite-sized fiction. It’s a subcategory of flash fiction. While some outlets consider stories up to 1,500 words to be flash fiction, most say it’s closer 500. Microfiction is usually under 300 words. In some cases, it’s 50. Drabbles are exactly 100 words.

While the exact length of microfiction varies, the point is to capture a complete story in a tight, tiny frame.

The Shot Clock

In a game of basketball, each team controls the ball for a maximum of 24 seconds before someone has to take a shot. Score or not, the ball gets turned over to the other team. Now it’s that team’s turn to have 24 seconds to try to score a goal. If the ball is not released within those 24 seconds, an obnoxious buzzer sounds.

The 24-seconds rule originated in 1954 when Danny Biasone, owner of the Syracuse Nationals, convinced the NBA to implement it. He reasoned that in a typical game, each team averaged 60 shots. Divide the total game time by sixty, and presto! 24-second shot clock.

But no one foresaw how much more exciting the game would actually become. Under the new rule, basketball players took way more shots than before. The number of points scored per game increased by almost 14 points. More fans got caught up in watching the game, with its heightened action and tension.

Let It Breathe

Since my first attempt, I’ve written dozens of drabbles. With each attempt, the space for my story seemed to expand, even though the tiny word count stayed the same. Somehow, each word could breathe. My ideas could breathe.

Instead of my previous tight-chested rush to the end, I felt freedom—an invitation to incorporate dialogue and description. I realized I didn’t have to summarize action. Rather, I felt at ease drawing out events, using pacing to pull my readers along.

Pros and Prose

Anyone who watches basketball has heard commentators grumble about players rushing a play. The best players take their time, even when the shot clock is running down. Why? Because they know they only need a second to release the ball. They know what they can do in a second—and what they can’t. They know their options, what has worked in the past, and when it’s worth taking a risk.

The same applies to writing. The more drabbles I wrote, the more I understood the amount of story—story, not words—I can fit into that space. Which of those hundred words can I devote to setting, characterization, a clever detail, or a bit of snappy dialogue?

The Takeaway

Like those basketball players scoring more goals under tighter restrictions, placing constraints on our writing will make our work better. When you only have a few lines to work with, every word must earn its place. Every writing choice must be intentional. And every element (character, action, description, pacing, nuance…) must balance with the rest.

The key to writing microfiction is to understand the game. Just like the basketball pros, tight limits can actually give us more opportunities. As we develop a feel for the form, those limits can liberate us to choose the best play.

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