8 Questions for... Mary Roblyn

Writer, Interrupted

Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash

“Navigating grief after my husband died, I returned to writing and found joy. It’s never too late to do what you love.”

Mary Roblyn

writes Writer, Interrupted.

1. Why Substack?

I had never heard of Substack until I got an email with a link to George Saunders’ Story Club. No idea who sent it. But who could say no to George? I subscribed. Then I discovered the brave new world of Substack: a platform for writers. And while there were some famous people there, anyone could sign up. I’d been a writer from the age of seven. I wrote quietly: a few published pieces, including poems, short fiction, and essays. I had multiple versions of a novel stashed in drawers. Although I had an MFA, I didn’t teach. I was never paid for my writing. Still, I was a writer.

The need to earn a living, raise a family, and care for others are all worthy pursuits. But they can get in the way of a full creative life. Life happens. We get interrupted. I worked in a variety of jobs: as a book publicist, in philanthropy, government. None fulfilling, some horrendous. Raised a daughter and son, now adults. In 2022, my husband was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. He died in April 2023. We were married for forty-three years. The grief was intense. But in some paradoxical way, it opened my heart. I can’t explain it. I became aware that writing and grieving are expressions of love. I had to write my way through grief.

I wrote a comment in

George Saunders

’ Story Club about my husband’s request that I read “Sticks,” a Saunders story, to him. He was in hospice at the time, close to dying. After I’d finished reading, he said, “Don’t ever stop writing. Or I will come after you.” And he meant it. It broke his heart that I wasn’t pursuing my dream.

George responded, “Aww jeez, Mary, you made my day/week/month.” My heart almost stopped. Talk about getting permission from on high! At age 67, with no subscribers, no online presence, and no literary profile, I started Writer, interrupted. I sent out my first post on November 3, 2023.

2. How long did it take you to find your groove?

I had no clear focus at the beginning. I wanted to share my experiences through the prism of grief. To let readers know that age is not a barrier to success, and that interruptions do not last forever. There are plenty of books about grief, but none of them told my story. Here was an opportunity to write it. I could develop my understanding, polish my writing, and placate my husband’s ghost. Things did not go smoothly at first. Late one night, after hitting “publish,” I danced around the house with my cat, telling her that she’d be eating Fancy Feast forever, because I’d just sent off the most brilliant thing since Hemingway. We were going to be rich! The next morning, I read it and was mortified. I took it down, fast.

There is no roadmap for Substack. I just picked a topic and went with it. The oven door falling off as I made Christmas dinner. Thirteen ways of looking at socks. What it felt like to pick up my husband’s ashes, discovering that they were still warm. People found me; many of them subscribed. I discovered a community of warm, generous humans who were also writers. As I became more committed, I worked with Sarah Fay to analyze my strengths and to develop a growth strategy. Early in 2024, I came to know Maya C. Popa, the brilliant poet, teacher, and founder of Conscious Writers Collective. She became my biggest cheerleader. Five months after I sent out my first post, she selected Writer, interrupted as a Substack Featured Publication. That is the greatest honor of my life.

3. How has it changed you?

I’ve found my life’s work. I’m surrounded by engaged, generous, stunningly talented writers. Every day, I’m grateful for the opportunity to do what I’ve been put on earth to do. I get to write. What could be more wonderful?

4. What mistakes have you made?

I took an unscheduled break in February: four chaotic weeks of insomnia, terrible diet, no exercise. In my bathrobe all day. Writing, not writing, trying too hard to write. It was excruciating. I wish I’d let my readers know what I was going through. But I was terrified to send an email acknowledging failure.

Of course, my readers are wonderful. They’re incredibly supportive and understanding. I was able to put out a post in March that got a great response. During my hiatus, I ended up writing four extra posts to put in my queue. I was able to give myself some respite care. And I learned how important it is to put my health first. Especially sleep.

5. To pay or not to pay?

Substack’s algorithm changes roughly five times a week. I can’t move that fast. I’m not ready to become a Substack multiplex. Readers don’t come to Writer, interrupted to choose among eight brands of soft drinks and three sizes of popcorn. Do they want chats and threads? Should I bombard their inboxes? Videos, livestreams, podcasts? Tote bags? Haha, look what happens when you give me money!

I know my writing is good. I believe it’s worth paying for. However, as the author of a literary Substack, I’m in a challenging situation. It takes as many as sixty to eighty hours to compose an essay I’m proud of. My essays run around two thousand words or longer. That means I need great readers. Mine are the best. But clearly, not everyone can afford a paid subscription. I offer occasional discounts and am always willing to help people on fixed or limited incomes.

The NPR model is one option. I’ve changed my paid-subscriber offerings to a few extras, such as short posts and threads. In these difficult times, people need a place to connect. I hope to provide that. Sarah Fay has encouraged me to consider going in other directions, including off-Substack options.

6. What artistic and technical choices have you made?

I focus on personal essays. Poetry is my first love, and I sometimes add a few poems into the mix. I use my own photos to accompany the text. I’m not a great photographer, but I do my best and hope it works out.

Integrity matters. My goal is to write from a place of kindness. One drop of meanness or snark will poison a piece of writing. I’m sitting on posts I wrote more than a year ago that I won’t send until I’ve addressed any remaining ill feeling. One post explores ambiguous loss, a topic that doesn’t get enough attention. I need to scrub a few identifying details before it goes out. That’s another rule: Don’t make anyone a villain. I fail a lot but I try (as Beckett says) to “fail better.” If the universe gives me laughter or joy, it’s my responsibility to share it. Even if — especially if — it’s personally embarrassing. There’s an incident in one of my posts that involves a certain device. I laughed harder than I ever have in my life. There was no way I could keep that story (“The Ghost who Came in from the Cold”) to myself.

My design skills are minimal. I used Canva to create my banner and that square thing I believe is called a favicon. (See what I mean!) I’m working with a professional web designer to refresh my site.

7. What’s been the effect on your writing?

Immense. Writing is my center. I now have a reason to write every day. My subscribers are a true community, not just an audience. They keep me going. They sustain me. I want to give them only my best work.

Writing on Substack gives me a place to share my message: Interruptions are not forever; writing and grieving are acts of love; you are not alone. If I can do this, so can you.

It’s never too late.

8. In it for the long haul?

I hope so! I’ll be turning sixty-nine soon, and I feel like I’m just getting started. Substack keeps me young.

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