Interview with Amy Neswald

Amy Neswald recently came to the University of New Hampshire as a featured author in the English Department’s Writers Series, and after the reading, our fiction editor, Heidi Turner, sat down with Amy to talk about craft, career, and being a multimodal storyteller. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

Thank you so much for sitting down with me! First off, your career has spun in different artistic directions—Broadway, film, and now fiction. What are some tangible things that you think have carried from creative pursuit to another? 

One of the things I learned on Broadway was how to tell a story, and how to tell a story really quickly, because you only have [the space] between the cues to get a story out. I think that is one of the biggest lessons that I’ve carried over. With screenwriting, of course, you have quite a bit more time to get a story out, but it is also a really efficient form of writing and much more disciplined than fiction. It’s about knowing the story you want to tell, having a really strong idea of how to express character really early, and setting the scene, so that even (like in the theater) if you don’t get to finish the story [in the moment], the idea will linger and you can finish it off later. Also, knowing where to leave off and where to end your story. Let the audience finish the story for themselves. 

At this point in the interview, Amy’s dog Sadie jumped into frame, and of course we talked about dogs for a bit and I mentioned that, by sheer coincidence, Barnstorm’s Editor-in-Chief also has a dog named Sadie. We eventually got back on track.

There’s an instinct in the creative fields to pick which pursuit is going to be “the hobby” and which is going to be “the job.” What do you think about that?

I don’t think it works that way once you get out of school. There are a lot of multi-modal creatives and in particular storytellers out there. It’s a matter of “the story gets to choose how it wants to be told.” Then it’s just a matter of whether you have the time to learn the new skill to tell it that way, or finding other people [to work with]. 

That’s a good point. Fiction is a much more independent process than screenwriting or filmmaking. What do you think is your strength as a collaborator versus the “capital A” Author?

I think as a filmmaker I am kind of the “boss” of my crew—the lead, I should say. Obviously, everyone has a different skill they bring to the table and they’re all really important, but there is one “project manager,” and that’s the director. As the writer and the director, I’m kind of “doubled down” on that role. My strength as a collaborator and as an author feed off each other: I’m really nimble on my feet and I’m willing to change course if something isn’t working. It was a learned skill—a hard-earned skill—as a writer, because you fall in love with what you’re writing and then dig into what’s not working because it could be so cool. In collaborative works, you have to cut that out really early because all these people are giving you their time and energy and creative thought. 

Honestly, I don’t think I’m a very good writer. I’m slow, I need a lot of input, it takes me a really long time to write a story. But I do know that once I get my stuff in front of people and I start to hear how they’re reacting to it, I go into that collaborative process mode and really hear what’s not working, and start to figure out whether what’s not working is worth saving. I no longer get attached to my stories. I’m all about the audience—I want to tell the stories I want to tell, but if the audience isn’t getting it, why bother? 

You teach college workshops and courses. How has your process evolved as a result of teaching? 

Sadly, I’ve gotten really lazy! I’m telling my students “this is how you write a screenplay!” and I’m skipping all the steps. But it’s a real reminder of process and giving oneself due process. When I was in college or at the MFA program [at the University of New Hampshire], people would bring work in and it would get assessed not on where it was at, but where people thought it “should” be. I’ve been thinking about that a lot—we’re asking people to workshop unfinished work and yet oftentimes we’re workshopping them like they’re finished or close to finished. I insist that people [in my workshops] approach the work where it’s at, and I’ve given myself that leeway in my own writing: don’t get it good, get it written. I’m also slower [as a writer] because I think each draft should focus on one thing. I don’t try to shove everything [character, scene work, etc.] into one revision. 

As a published author, you now have the freedom of trying to get a manuscript published versus trying to get individual pieces published. What is different between those two processes? 

What’s interesting is that I Know You Love Me, Too is a collection of short stories, and so the short stories never end. Once it was time to sit down and edit—that’s a different part of your brain. That’s the fun part, the part that’s like, “oh, puzzles!” I got to continue working on other short stories [during that editing process]. Now that I’m working on a novel, I’m discovering I’m a short-form writer. I love the story I’m trying to tell, but it’s my first really long story. I think I’m trying to see it as a really long short story—not a lot happens in each chapter of a novel. It’s a pacing thing. 

I find a lot of the books I re-read are YA books because things happen, people make decisions and act. 

We should probably take a lesson from YA! (laughs) And also if you think about theater and screenwriting—an hour and a half theatrical production or two hour movie is really when you think about it, are really short stories. It’s an intense moment that results in great change in our characters. Most of our narrative consumption is a short story—it looks long because it’s an hour and a half movie, but it’s really a short story that’s been filled out. Novels are a whole new beast. It’s work. 

It truly is an industry. 

I mean, yeah. I had a blue-collar job, working in the theater. Actors especially might think it’s elevated, but it’s not. It’s a blue-collar job: you show up, and the job doesn’t happen if you don’t. You do the same thing over and over again. There’s an element of art to it, but it’s a craft, and the craft is more important than the art. People who are born and bred more intellectually can be really precious. But you’re going to write another thing. If one thing doesn’t work, there’s going to be another thing. 

Absolutely. I’m so excited to continue reading your work and see what comes next. It’s a joy to talk to a multimodal creator who is a craftsman in multiple ways. 

Thank you! And keep in touch.

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Amy Neswald’s debut novel-in-stories, I Know You Love Me Too, is available now.  

Amy Neswald is a fiction writer and screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Rumpus, The Normal School, Bat City Review, and Green Mountain Review, among others. She is a recent recipient of the New American Fiction prize with her debut novel-in-stories I Know You Love Me, Too, to be released in December 2021. Prior to moving to rural Maine, she had a long career as a wigmaster for Broadway shows. She teaches creative writing at the University of Maine in Farmington and continues working on her next novel and a collection of short films.