Interview of Susan Orlean
SO: I don’t think so. I have this process that I go through every time I’m going to work on a piece. I hear an idea. I think, “Oh I love that. That’s the greatest idea in the world.” Then I completely panic and have commitment phobia and think, “Uhh, uhh, I don’t know. I don’t know.” It’s not as good as I thought and I don’t want to commit to doing it. And then I get very estranged from the idea. And then I think, “It will be really short. That’s what I’ll do.” And then while I’m working on it, I end up being surprised that the story opens up to me. I do it every time. I never even realized it until my editor said, “Now you’re in that phase where you start thinking it’s not a good idea.” And I started thinking, “Oh, is that a phase?” I didn’t realize. So I don’t think I’ve gotten better. I think I get more worried when I choose stories than I ever used to. Because I am more aware of what’s required of me.
RB: Is it that you compete with yourself?
SO: Oh, absolutely. On one hand it gets you all excited. And you think, “I can fly.” I’ve done this story and it really worked out well, but what happens is I get performance anxiety. Then I’m always afraid that I can’t do it again. I can’t get a story to bloom the way that one did. Sometimes, it’s actually difficult. I don’t have writer’s block. I get performance block.
RB: Can you list some standout works of literary non-fiction? What are the great works?
SO: That’s pretty easy for me to say. In no particular order, Travels in Georgia, by John McPhee, which I’ve probably reread a hundred times. Over and over again, just a really remarkable piece of writing and reporting and voice and everything. Alex Wilkinson’s Big Sugar. I don’t want to say it’s a classic, that sounds so stupid. It’s the embodiment of what it’s about. Up in The Old Hotel, by Joseph Mitchell. The White Album, by Joan Didion. Killings, by Calvin Trillin. Killings to me was really a terrific book and a great idea and I read that a thousand million times. There’s a lot of non fiction that I love. I think Mark Singer is great.
http://www.identitytheory.com/susan-orlean/
B: It's a wonderful balance. I am interested to know what happens to you after you've created a project, for example after you completed The Orchid Thief, you say in the book many times over that you refused and declined any offer of plants. Does anything in your experiences hold-over in your life?
SO: It does, absolutely. Part of that was a kind of sense of ironly about resisting, because Laroche kept taunting me, saying "You're going to get hooked," and I would say to myself, "No, I'm not, I'm just going to prove to you I'm not." But I feel like each experience is prominantely woven in my sense of who I am and what my life is full of. It's inevitable that each story changes me in some way, and usually leaves some imprint that never goes away.
Whether it's just the knowledge of a place or experiences that are unforgettable, or even new interests and tastes that I find I can't quite shake, even though the story is over. It always happens that way. I think if you really throw yourself into a story, you can't really help but have it really change you and stay with you.
http://www.bookbuffet.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/news.article/article_ID/AF24C41C-F68C-43BB-B59D354E17EDA7A9/index.html
RB: Is it that you compete with yourself?
SO: Oh, absolutely. On one hand it gets you all excited. And you think, “I can fly.” I’ve done this story and it really worked out well, but what happens is I get performance anxiety. Then I’m always afraid that I can’t do it again. I can’t get a story to bloom the way that one did. Sometimes, it’s actually difficult. I don’t have writer’s block. I get performance block.
RB: Can you list some standout works of literary non-fiction? What are the great works?
SO: That’s pretty easy for me to say. In no particular order, Travels in Georgia, by John McPhee, which I’ve probably reread a hundred times. Over and over again, just a really remarkable piece of writing and reporting and voice and everything. Alex Wilkinson’s Big Sugar. I don’t want to say it’s a classic, that sounds so stupid. It’s the embodiment of what it’s about. Up in The Old Hotel, by Joseph Mitchell. The White Album, by Joan Didion. Killings, by Calvin Trillin. Killings to me was really a terrific book and a great idea and I read that a thousand million times. There’s a lot of non fiction that I love. I think Mark Singer is great.
http://www.identitytheory.com/susan-orlean/
B: It's a wonderful balance. I am interested to know what happens to you after you've created a project, for example after you completed The Orchid Thief, you say in the book many times over that you refused and declined any offer of plants. Does anything in your experiences hold-over in your life?
SO: It does, absolutely. Part of that was a kind of sense of ironly about resisting, because Laroche kept taunting me, saying "You're going to get hooked," and I would say to myself, "No, I'm not, I'm just going to prove to you I'm not." But I feel like each experience is prominantely woven in my sense of who I am and what my life is full of. It's inevitable that each story changes me in some way, and usually leaves some imprint that never goes away.
Whether it's just the knowledge of a place or experiences that are unforgettable, or even new interests and tastes that I find I can't quite shake, even though the story is over. It always happens that way. I think if you really throw yourself into a story, you can't really help but have it really change you and stay with you.
http://www.bookbuffet.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/news.article/article_ID/AF24C41C-F68C-43BB-B59D354E17EDA7A9/index.html
