8 Questions for... Mary Tabor

Spotlight on "Only connect..."

Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash

Who am I? the tautological q. that begins and ends where it started: I’m Mary Tabor

1.     Why Substack?

After teaching Creative Writing at George Washington University and the Smithsonian Campus-on-the-Mall in D.C, I did a bunch of pro bono teaching and one of my former students (all free for some two years) told me I should be on Substack. I view that as her payment, in a way. So, I looked and thought, Yep, this is the place for me.

I share your frustrations with the glacial pace, as you put it, of the publishing industry, let alone literary magazines. More than 25 of my pieces appeared in those mags, but the time it takes to hear back, let alone trying to find a fit, is more than glacial, if that’s even possible. That doesn’t mean I don’t value that world: I do and have written about its importance here. But that world with the advent of Substack and the Internet seems to be changing, and maybe even losing ground. One of my favorites that published me three times, including the title piece of my collection of short stories (my first of three books, so far), Image, closed its doors after 35 years of extraordinary art and stories, essays that crossed the realms of all beliefs.

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

Longer than it should have. I began by posting twice-a-week before the collaborations I’m in and those I’ll talk about a bit. My point here is this: Studying where you’re going is a smart thing to do and I usually do that, but I didn’t realize how Substack began by soliciting the famed and paying them to join. So I was a bit dumb about all this in the beginning and riding on my heart—not enough on my brain.

3.     How has it changed you?

I believe now in literary companionship. Here’s what I mean: The act of writing is solitary and that’s been key for my work. But we all need a witness to our efforts to close the round. What I found on Substack are folks who believe in the arts and want to help each other—and that’s not the literary world I knew best—though that was part of what I discovered when I first got published in 1987 (I know: centuries ago and before you were born). And even then, I’d come late to the world of publishing (that hard button to click here, as you say) and I talk about that in this essay.

I now have more hope for my work, for yours, for witnesses all over Substack who believe that the risks we take when we write are worth it, that reading all we can, everything we can—matters. Reading has saved my life more times than I might try to outline here, particularly after my son died at age 46 in 2017—and my writing came to a halt while I was overwhelmed by grief. I thought, I’m done!

Connecting—and thus, the title of my Substack—has given me resilience, as I’ve been witness to guests on my Substack, on others including Inner Life and some on fictionistas.substack.com and guest posts elsewhere—like here: Hurrah for you!

4.     What mistakes have you made?

I focused initially on helping other writers, and created an online course to do that, but when I began in 2022, Substack was all about the famed writers who gave this marvel of a site its start. What did any of them need me for?

Not a bit.

My heart still believed in the generosity of others and that the process of writing is an ongoing, changing effort—a deeply human experience. We all have language and consider this: the “word” as Emerson said, “if traced to its root, is found to be borrowed from some material appearance. Right means straight,” “wrong” means twisted. “spirit” primarily means wind … the whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind,” he explains in Nature. Thus, we all own metaphor in our words. So there I was with a course that came to life and then was invigorated by my collaboration with you, Eleanor. I adore talking with you about all aspects of the writing life and those who engage with us. It’s a metaphorical love affair.

Meanwhile, I got more brave and began serializing my memoir on Substack—and that’s how you and many others found me.

5.     To pay or not to pay?

      I actually say quite a bit about this on our post for Rene Volpi. Mostly I’m free but in the course, I do have paid portions. I believe that my generosity will induce others to be generous to me as well. After all, how many paid Substacks can anyone afford, let alone read? So, as I fall in love with others here, I believe love is the answer—even as I say, “Now what was the question?”

6.     What artistic and technical choices have you made

Once the invention is done—and I cannot say enough: Never fool with that!—I edit like crazy, cut and recut, trim and retrim. And this risk again: Say the unsayable at times because the writing life is not a cocktail party. It’s intimacy in the best sense of that word. I share my heart and I read those who do the same. I read books still—gotta do that because they save me—and I learn from that reading. As one example, I think Nabokov’s work and Joyce’s work and Austen’s work and Virginia Woolf’s work and W.H. Auden’s poetry—actually all poetry—teaches like no other teacher can.

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

I write to understand. It’s a search that gives meaning to my life. I admit freely that I’ve got few answers and often define myself by saying, “I’m confused.” I might be satisfied with such an epitaph that my friends would understand to be the statement of one whose search continued until death. The philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre asserts in After Virtue, the importance of respect for what has gone before, the standards, if you will. Writers do indeed have gifts that cannot be taught but great writers have, I believe, all studied. It’s a simple idea that MacIntyre makes plain with this analogy: “If, on starting out to play baseball, I do not accept that others know better than I when to throw a fast ball and when not, I will never learn to appreciate good pitching let alone to pitch.”

8.     In it for the long haul?

 You bet I am. When my son died, I had a novel almost completely finished—when I was struck dumb and stopped in my tracks. I’m now thinking of serializing what I had and writing it live on Substack. And then, there’s our collaboration and others that pop up. It’s like a virtual world of literary friendship.

Love,

Mary

Thank you Mary for joining this conversation.

If you’re a fiction writer and would like to answer the 8 questions, please email me.