Jennie Nash is a writer, keynote speaker, and writing coach based in California. Her second novel, The Only True Genius in the Family, comes out this month. Here Jennie shares her tips on dealing with writer's block, shifting genres, and more.
Urban Muse: The Only True Genius in the Family explores the complex relationship between three generations of artists. Are you from a creative family yourself?
Jennie: No, actually, I’m not. My dad spent 30 years as a professor of environmental studies, so he is an intellectual and an outdoorsman. My mother is a great appreciator of the arts – music, especially, as well as literature, architecture and painting – but I can’t imagine her with a paintbrush or a camera in her hand. I like to paint and make jewelry and knit, but I’m not very good at any of it. I’m just fascinated with the creative process – with how artists are able to evoke emotion from nothing but a few lines or a little bit of color. I’m really drawn to the whole idea. I suppose it mirrors what I’m trying to do with my writing.
All that being said, my oldest daughter has a keen artistic ability. She can make a few lines on a flat piece of paper seem alive, but she’s only 16, so who knows what she will do with that skill in her life. The key scene in The Only True Genius in the Family (where the mom paints on the daughter’s painting and the daughter then destroys the work) was inspired by something that happened with my oldest daughter in real life. She was in first or second grade, and it was a beautiful pastel drawing of a cat. I tried to “fix” the whiskers, and she tore it up.
UM: How important do you think genetics are in determining artistic potential?
Jennie: I don’t believe that artistic potential is passed on through chromosomes the way blue eyes might be, but I think it’s passed on through environment. The crucial ingredient to making art of any kind is permission. You have to believe that you have the right to do it and to keep doing it. If you grow up in a home where writing or painting or taking pictures is valued, then I think you inherit that sense of permission, that belief that making art is something worth doing. My dad used to spend many hours in his study writing articles and books on an Olivetti typewriter. I grew up to the sound of him typing and grew accustomed to the idea of someone sitting alone in a room putting words on a page for other people to read. I doubt I would have become a writer without that sound and that example. It was the thing that gave me permission, and it is embedded in my bones.
UM: You've written both fiction and non-fiction. Any suggestions on shifting gears between the real and the imaginary? Or does this come naturally to you?
J: The initial shift was very difficult for me precisely because of the idea of permission. It took me many years to allow myself the time to write stories that were grounded in the imagination rather than ones that were grounded in fact. Now that I am doing it, however, it feels very familiar. The skills and instincts you need for writing fiction are very similar to the ones you need for writing fact. There’s always a beginning, middle and end. There’s always the need for narrative drive. Structure matters no matter what. And you can’t wiggle out of doing the hard work of trying to figure out what, exactly, you want to say, and what the best way of saying it might be.UM: Any tips on dealing with writer's block?
J: I have three:
1.) Know your point. Really know what you are trying to say. I make maps and word clouds and draw pictures to try to get at it before I write a single word. I talk about my ideas with wise and indulgent friends. I think it’s the most important part of the job.
2.) Don’t be afraid to wander. If you write 25 pages that don’t work, that’s okay. If you spend a day aimlessly wandering through the yarn store looking at baby alpaca, that’s okay. Creativity doesn’t follow a straight line.
3.) Keep your antenna out. I know it sounds like new age craziness, but the universe will send you what you need. I was fishing around for a career to give a certain character, and was trying out all kinds of jobs and couldn’t decide and couldn’t move forward. That’s the definition of writer’s block, right? Well, in one week, I heard three stories about people who make hats – and because I was paying attention, because I was listening for it, I thought: that’s it: she’ll be a milliner. This has happened to me too many times to count.UM: What are some of your favorite books?
J: I love Marc Salzman’s The Soloist about a cello prodigy confronting the limits of his talent; Kasuo Iguro’s The Remains of the Day about a butler measuring the worth of his life of service; and Anne Patchett’s Bel Canto about the affect of a beautiful singer on a group of hostages. Recently, I was utterly blown away by Abigail Thomas’ A Three Dog Life, a memoir of the years following her husband’s brain injury, and by Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge, about a prickly, aging New England woman. All of these books have a dark edge to them, a sadness at their core. All of them deal with some way with the interplay of passion and regret.Thanks so much for sharing your insights, Jennie! Congrats on the book launch, too.