| about susan jane gilman |
| Writer, journalist, inadvertent humorist. Born: New York City, Oct. 22, 1964 Career: Have written three nonfiction books, Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven, Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress, and Kiss My Tiara (see bookshelf), contributed to numerous anthologies (again, see bookshelf), worked as journalist, and written for New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Ms., Real Simple, Washington City Paper, Us magazine among others. Won New York Press Association Award for features written on assignment in Poland. Areas of specialty: politics, women’s issues, cultural criticism, arts, satire. Media: Have appeared twice on “The Today Show” for promotion of books. Other television appearances include ABC World News, NBC affiliates in Portland, OR and New Haven, “Connie Martinson Talks Books,” “The Iyanla Show,” “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” Have been on dozens of radio shows across U.S., including WNYC's “Leonard Lopate Show,” WGN in Chicago, Pacifica Radio in Berkeley, the Buzz in Portland, the Kim Wilde Show. |
Currently co-host a monthly book show on World Radio Switzerland in Geneva (see media).
Have done commentary for World News Radio in Washington, D.C.
Fiction writing: Short stories published in Ploughshares, Story, Beloit Fiction Journal, Greensboro Review, Virginia Quarterly
Review, which awarded me its 1999 Literary Award for short fiction.
Sordid past: Worked as Washington D.C. speech writer and as staff writer for Member of U.S. Congress.
Not-so-sordid past: columnist for now-defunct HUES magazine and NYPerspectives newspaper. Taught writing and literature at
University of Michigan and Eastern Michigan University. Also: cocktail waitress, legal aid, food service worker, inept receptionist.
Education: University of Michigan (MFA in Creative Writing), Brown University (BA in Literature) Stuyvesant high school.
Writing teachers: Nicholas Delbanco, Charles Baxter, Al Young, Rosellen Brown, and last, but most pivotally, Frank McCourt. I
learned volumes from all of these great writers and bow before them. I bow before all teachers, in fact. (Don't get me started on how
under-appreciated and underpaid they are...)
Whereabouts: I live in Geneva, Switzerland with my husband, Bob, though I'm eternally a child of New York.
Fun facts: As said child, I was forced to learn Transcendental Meditation (see “Love and the Maharishi” in Hypocrite in a Pouffy
White Dress.) Afraid of clowns and puppets. Kicked out of Betty Owen Secretarial School.
First literary influences: The three Johns: Steinbeck, Updike, and Cheever. Also Dorothy Parker, F.Scott Fitzgerald, Truman
Capote, J.D. Salinger -- the usual 20th century local suspects.
Funny, but... I never set out to write books that made people laugh. My main love has always been literary fiction, and the first book I
completed (which has yet to be published) was a collection of serious short stories. However, even with my darkest work, people
would always tell me that parts of it were incredibly funny. This annoyed me because I considered myself an American Dostoevsky
with Breasts.
But in 1999, I took a writers' workshop at the Bethesda Writers' Center. The first story I submitted was a heartbreaking tale of a
man's addiction, which impressed the class. The second was an absurd story about mistaken identity full of Jews, Rastafarians, and
dental hygienists. To my great irritation, this wowed them much more.
After class, a man pulled me aside. "I have to tell you," he said. "My wife has been battling breast cancer. I read her your story last
night, and it was the first time in two years she really laughed. You've got a gift. Please don't ignore it. Not everyone can make a sick
woman laugh in her hospital bed, and frankly, the world needs it." That's when I finally saw the merit in my own, lurking smart-ass and
stopped fighting it.
Advice for aspiring writers: Don't do it. If you're good at anything else besides writing -- and you have a modicum of passion for it
-- spare yourself. The majority of any writer's life is spent in complete isolation, staring catatonically at a blinking cursor, then
rewriting each sentence fifteen thousand times in what is essentially a codified form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Perversely,
if you do this often enough and are successful at it, people will tell you that your writing "is so simple -- it sounds just like you talking"
and that they, too, now are thinking off "taking a few months off" to write a book. Better to become a process-server, a bartender, or
a taxidermist if you're that masochistic.
| the writer at age 2. |
| Copyright © 2008 Susan Jane Gilman. All Rights Reserved |
