When do you work best?

I’m resolutely a morning person: That’s when my mind is at its most clear, and I find that the capacity for distraction is minimal in those early hours.

How has your practice changed over time?

When I began my writing practice a decade ago, it was — somewhat begrudgingly — as a food journalist, even though writing about film had been my aspiration since I was a child. Though I’ve since found my way back to writing about film, I’ve made peace with my days as a food writer — the hard lessons it taught me early in my maturation as an artist, the community it gave me.

What fuels you?

The memory of my father, who died young and didn’t live long enough to realize all of his artistic ambitions. My passions are mine and mine alone, not an extension of his, but I want to make a living as an artist in a way he could not due to the cruelty of circumstance. 

What material do you work with and why?

I try to treat writing as a tactile practice, which is to say that I do my best writing offline. My most surprising sentences come to me when I’m sitting with a pen and pad, free of digital distraction.

How do you get unstuck?

I journey off the page and watch a really great movie — usually one with a commanding central performance. My aspiration is to transmit whatever emotions a skilled performer expresses into my own writing. 

Where do you find inspiration?

The archives, which force me to reckon with how little I know and make me strive to educate myself and, ultimately, my readers — about our past. 

Who has influenced you and your work?

Arundhati Roy, whose writing taught me how pliant and playful language could be. 

Who do you hope to influence?

A reader who may view the world in a completely different way than I do — I write so they might see the humanity of my subjects (and, in turn, my own). I want them to understand the shared struggles we face; perhaps we can start to forge solidarity through that acknowledgment.

Why are you an artist?

Because I’ve been pretty lousy at everything else I’ve tried my hand at — and, more seriously, because I haven’t found a more healthy channel for my obsessions. I can’t imagine any other way to make sense of our reality — with its joys and pains — than to write about the lives of people who fascinate, beguile, and move me, and have taught me so much about how to survive. 

What advice would you give other artists?

Write fan mail to your fellow artists whose work inspires you, even if they don’t respond in kind. Some of our work can be awfully isolating, and the process of creating is a lot less painful when we know that a stranger — especially someone who understands this particular, peculiar struggle we’ve opted into — has been moved by our work. 

What question would you like to ask other artists?

How do you protect your peace — particularly from the pollutants of social media, bad faith critics, and those who want you to see you fail?