Question of the Month: Unplugging

by Susan Henderson on October 14, 2015

Talk to me about your experience with social media, the good and the bad.


I’m just back from California, where I worked on my book with some truly brilliant people. (Special thanks to David Ulin, the best line-editor I know.)

I have been unplugged from social media since April of this year. It’s been good for me in ways I’d hoped and in ways I never expected. My goal when I made this decision was to take back the time I frittered away online and apply it to my novel-in-progress.

What I didn’t expect was to find out that social media did not steal my time so much as it clogged my head.

Let me explain what I mean.

Whenever I signed on to FaceBook or Twitter, I would scroll through feed. What I liked about this was a quick sense of catching up with friends and writers and the world. What I didn’t realize until I let it go of this habit was how much it affected my thinking and my mood.

Every time I checked in, I would absorb the daily happenings, medical scares, triumphs, political rants, looming deadlines, vacation photos, linked articles, world news, and so on of the roughly 5,000 people posting in my feed. And I would respond as best I could, hopping between congratulations to a friend who’d won an award and sympathy to a friend who’d hospitalized a family member. I fretted about my responses. They always felt rushed, but I had to move along. That list would grow hour by hour and never stop.

When I moved from the online world to my novel, my head was so full I could no longer find the thoughts and feelings that were mine before I’d opened the computer. I didn’t even realize the effect of this until I stepped away from it.

And so, when I unplugged, it was not so much that I gained time but that my thoughts and feelings were uncluttered. More accessible. I could be more present with my work, and more importantly, with the people sitting across from me in real life.


So just quickly, for those of you wondering how I’ve been… Mr. H and I are feeling all the newness of our now-empty nest. We miss the boys and their friends and the noise and the chaos of a much busier life. We eat on the front porch more, where there’s only room for two, and watch storms and walk through museums and see cheap afternoon movies and plan trips to visit the boys. Right now we’re all dealing long-distance with the deep grief of losing one of our beloved pets. Something that doesn’t feel real yet and still catches me by the throat. I’m relieved we’re seeing both boys this month. I want to hold them so badly.

I know many of you are also curious how the book’s going. I want to talk at length about the writing process, and the process of writing this particular book, but not now, not while I’m still in it. All I can say is I’m working deeply on it. I’m allowing the process to be what it is, one of discovery, of digging, of circling back to early pages after I know more. While I keep loose deadlines in mind, my real goal is not to finish at a certain speed but rather to make this book the best it can be.


Before I go, I’ll share with you the books I read since going off-line:

Connie Mayo, The Island of Worthy Boys (I blurbed this beautiful book!)

Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water

W. Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage

Kate Atkinson, Life After Life

Vladimir Nabokov, Speak Memory: An Autobiography Revisited

John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

Sara Gruen, At the Water’s Edge

William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury

Annie Jacobsen, The Pentagon’s Brain: An Uncensored History of DARPA

Saeed Jones, Prelude to Bruise

Harold Michael Harvey, Justice in the Round

Kent Haruf, Our Souls at Night

John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, Nate Powell, March: Book One and March: Book Two

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

David L. Ulin, Sidewalking

Ford Maddox Ford, Parade’s End

Saeeda Hafiz, The Healing: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Yoga

Jen Grow, My Life as a Mermaid

Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward Angel

Monica Wesolowska, Holding Silvan

Therese Anne Fowler, Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald

Brett Easton Ellis, American Psycho

F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood

And I re-read these books:

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

Flannery O’Connor, A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories 

So that’s a little about my world. Would love it if you’d catch me up on your life and your writing and your experience with social media before I disappear again.


Question of the Month: Nest

by Susan Henderson on April 4, 2015

Anyone here have kids leaving the nest, or already flown? How is it for you? For your children? I don’t just want to hear your stories; I need to hear them.


Two autumns ago, my oldest went off to MIT. I can’t count how many times I passed his empty room or sat at the dining room table beside his empty seat and just started crying. I waited for phone calls, emails, texts, but his life was not about missing what he’d left behind and waiting to hear from us. His life was full, fast-moving. He was stretching his wings, deciding for himself how he would spend his day, how he would decorate his dorm room, who he’d share his time with, what he would choose to study. Each time he comes home, he is new and changed in remarkable ways—deeper, with more life experience, and more opinions about the world and the direction of his own life. He left for college thinking he wanted to be a mathematician, but he’s since fallen in love with the space where quantum physics meets quantum computing. And more importantly, his friends, the music he creates in his free time, and the larger world interests him as much as his studies.

Now it’s my youngest’s turn. He just said yes to the Eastman School of Music, where he’ll study jazz guitar. That’s a photo of the beautiful school up above and a shot of one of the concert halls below. He got an absolutely massive 4-year scholarship and will be a part of a tight-knit conservatory, only 500 undergrads total, most of them classical musicians. Soon, he’ll begin his great adventure and spread his wings. Our home will be so terribly quiet.


My youngest has always been creative. Even before he discovered the guitar, he’s been all about creating art of one kind or another. When he was small, he loved costumes, wearing several a day.


He went through a phase of patterning and sewing shirts. I’d find needles and thread under his pillow and realize he was only pretending to go to sleep. As soon as we left the room, he would thread a needle and get to work.

He tried to create board games and often wrote the first chapters of novels. He’d say things like, “This one’s Treasure Island meets The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

For a while he loved gourmet cooking—especially intricate recipes and anything requiring a blow torch. And there was a drawing phase. He drew these at eleven.


He loves watching, critiquing, writing, editing and scoring films. (He’s quite the expert at mixing batches of fake blood!)


But it’s his love for playing the guitar that’s been constant over the years. He’s had amazing teachers, all gifted artists themselves: Ed LozanoCarl RoaPatrick BrennanNils WeinholdRick Stone. And there are the teachers he’s never met, those artists he listens to when he walks around wearing his ear buds: Jim Hall, Wes Montgomery, Django Reinhardt, Charles Mingus, Art Blakey, Mike Stern, George Benson, John Scofield, Snarky Puppy.

Next fall, as he lugs his guitar through the Eastman hallways (this original Maxfield Parrish is hanging in one of them!), he’ll start to grow and change in ways I will be so interested to discover. But until then, I only hope that time will slow down, because I love this here and now in the nest.



Question of the Month: Discovering the Story

by Susan Henderson on October 6, 2014

How many of you know precisely what you’re writing about when you begin a novel?

Lantern Parade -- Thomas Cooper Gotch, ca. 1918

I love this painting, Lantern Parade by Thomas Cooper Gotch, because it reminds me of how my stories develop.

Say you’re driving or taking a shower or trying to fall asleep (these are the times most of my stories come to me), and suddenly you see an image in your mind that looks like this painting. Compelling but not quite in focus, much of it in shadow. You love the image, the mood it evokes. But mostly it engages your curiosity.

Where are they going? Is this festive or solemn? Are they silent or singing? You can’t quite see it all, but you slowly start to feel the ground under a patent leather shoe. Whose shoe? Is it broken-in or bought only for this occasion? Why are you drawn to this one girl? Will this be your narrator? Someone important to your narrator? Or simply someone who’s symbolic of… what? Sometimes images don’t hold your interest. They’re too straight forward. But this one has more and more lurking in the shadows. Who are those boys standing above it all? What are they standing on? Is it chilly or humid? What will I see in the daytime? What of this procession will be left on the ground. And where are we?

This is often how it starts… an image or scene, a voice or question comes to you, trembling and underdeveloped. You don’t even know what it is you’re holding in your mind, but it’s got you.

And from here, you are following characters and details, looking under blankets and stones. Where does this one go after the parade? What does she keep in her pockets? Who is she meeting or avoiding? You can do this for hours, weeks, okay, years. Sometimes you even think you’ve got the story figured out.

And then, aha, you bump into that one crucial object or put two unlikely characters together and something clicks. That initial image that had so entranced you has attached itself to something fierce and unsettled at your core. Your story has brought you to a question or conflict that nags at you, that lies tangled in the gut. It’s brought you to something you’re afraid to voice, something that makes you want to shut your eyes, but you are going to follow it anyway. Now you have urgency. Now you have a journey that’s not only for these characters you’ve come to know, but one you must follow to the end because there’s a stake in it for you, an answer you’ve been seeking.

Headlights of a car

This wandering in the dark, hands out, bumping into one thing and then another, is what I love about the work. It’s also what I find maddening. Because you don’t entirely know what you’re doing or where you’re going. E. L. Doctorow described it this way: “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

To be honest here, if you have a profoundly bad sense of direction, a drive in the fog means there’s a good change you’ll lose your way or find yourself upside-down in a ditch. Sometimes there’s a lot of  backtracking, needed repairs, and intense searching to find the road again. Eventually, though, you arrive at your destination. Sometimes it’s a place that surprises you, and sometimes it’s a place that is as familiar as an old soul you lost touch with years ago.

Is your writing process anything like mine or something entirely different? Tell your stories! I always learn so much from them.


If you have a minute, please head over to the Type Rope Walkers blog, where I was invited to share some thoughts on writing. My piece is called, Perseverance: 3 Tips to Help Writers Keep the Faith. Hope it offers help to some of you.


Many thanks for the mentions in Soho Press, Tumblr, and HarperCollins. Many thanks, as always, to all of you who share your stories here and make our lives richer for it!


Question of the Month: Social Media vs. The Real World

by Susan Henderson on September 1, 2014

How has your life changed with social media?


I love many things about email, blogging, FaceBook and Twitter. It allows a shy person with not-so-great hearing to engage in the world without awkward pauses, without misunderstanding what’s said if more than one person is talking. It allows me to work when I need to work and play when I have time to play. It allows me to connect with the writers and friends I feel closest to, even if they live far away. I really do love to hear about your regular lives, not just your book releases, but the struggles of writing in between the triumphs, the pushing through when you’re stuck, the setting work aside to tend to ailing parents. I love hearing about your kids and your hobbies and your favorite recipes. I love how I can get the news in real time on Twitter, even if I have to question the sources. I love (sometimes) seeing the world’s reaction to the news. Actually, I often hate that, but it’s instructive, eye-opening. Social media has been enriching in so many ways. But this summer I took a break from it. No blogging, no FaceBook, no streams of news feed.


With my boys and my parents at The Cloisters.

This summer, my 18-year-old was home after his first year of college. My 17-year-old is about to begin his senior year of high school. I am so very aware of how brief this window of time is, this bridge between boyhood and manhood, this gift of both boys being home for the entire summer. They are changing before my eyes and I want to be here, I want to hear their dreams and frustrations, I want to know their friends and their thoughts, or as much of them as they choose to share.

This summer in a nutshell: Driver’s ed for both boys (yes, we are late getting to some things in our family), summer jobs, guitar lessons, college applications, walks and talks, movies, a basement full of teenagers, too many sleepovers to count, The World Cup, a homemade zombie movie, a trip to Montana for my brother’s wedding, a trip to Hawaii to visit my in-laws, novel editing (with serious help from some genius writers), concerts, wine and coffee on the front porch, barbecues, bonfires, galley reading and blurbing, and face-to-face hanging out with friends. I’m grateful for this time away and that doesn’t mean at all that I didn’t miss you.

I’m going to post some photos and links from the summer and hope you’ll share some of your summer stories in the comments.


My brother got married to the very awesome Molly, with my cousin officiating.


My 18-year-old performed the entire Michael Jackson “Off the Wall” album with his band, Mike Rath and the Grapes (my son being a grape). They had their first rehearsal the day before their gig at NYC’s The Bitter End. Was the happiest show I’ve ever been to… and I hear there will be video of it soon! In the meantime, here’s the tiniest clip from my phone.


I had such a great time in Brooklyn with my friends, Rob Fields and Bridgett Davis (whose new book is EXTRAORDINARY). I’ve known Rob since we were both eighteen!

zombie movie

This is my 17-year-old filming his zombie movie. He wrote the screenplay, directed and edited the film, and composed the music for it. I’ve known for a long time that he’s talented, but this year I realized he’s an artist.


Mr. H played lots of gigs with his band, Bad Mary. They’re playing Arlene’s Grocery tomorrow (September 2nd). Go see them if you can!


I’m not a fan of the sun (or the beach, really), so when we visit Hawaii, I’m always on the lookout for shade. This is me reading David Ulin‘s gorgeous book at Makapu’u.


We had a two-hour hike in the rain with my boys and their friend, James, who we brought with us to Hawaii.


I loved receiving the spontaneous invitation and then making the spontaneous decision to drive down to LaTrobe and hang out at Steelers’ training camp with my friend, Angela Small, and her beautiful family.


Some quick thank you’s to Sincerely StacieWTF Are You Reading?vvb32readsBeckie and JeremyBlackbird Letterpress, Pretty Little Fofinha,  The Washington Post’s Ben Opipari, and The Merrick Library.

And that’s it from me this month. Except to say: Welcome back, everyone! Looking forward to hearing your answers to the Question of the Month, as well as stories about your summer!


Question of the Month: Hurry, Hurry, Hurry!

by Susan Henderson on May 5, 2014

Why do we get so caught up in a sense that we need to hurry?


I’ve been thinking more about last month’s blog and your comments, and it’s still with me… this slow-coming spring and the idea of planting seeds, nurturing the soil, and having faith in the importance and in the return of each season. It feels like a lesson I’m finally beginning to learn… that the seeds will grow and bear fruit; that the blank page we started writing on, where we first typed those early ideas and dreamed vaguely about a book that spoke to something deep in the soul will become something that speaks to others; that the journey is as important as the destination; that what evolves never takes the path or the shape we expected.

I’ve finished another draft of my book, and it’s starting to feel sturdy in so many ways. The shape of it is now clear and the reason I needed to write it is coming into focus. I’ve never enjoyed writing more—writing without deadlines, without the thought of anyone looking over my shoulder. I love the story I’m trying to pin down, and I even love the dance as parts of it stay hidden or try to squirm away from my control. I’m getting so very close to having the book I dreamed of writing, though I know it’s not there yet. That’s okay.

We have these false ideas of how fast we ought to do things, racing to the end. Sometimes I have to tell myself, “Wait a minute! What’s the hurry?”

I have examples all around me that what I value most, and what lasts, takes time. As I post this, Mr. H and I are about to celebrate our (hold on, I have to do the math) 22nd anniversary—27 years since our first date. Here’s a picture of us during that first year together that I posted on my author page. (I’m going to try to embed the post here but you may just have to click on that link).

Life, when you’ve lived long enough, and relationships, when you’ve seen them through enough ups and downs, can give you tremendous perspective. The strength of a marriage doesn’t happen overnight or because you will it to be strong. Mr. H and I happen to have awesome teenagers, but they didn’t suddenly appear that way. In marriage, as with raising children, it’s about day-to-day being there, listening, being ourselves, making mistakes, forgiving, realizing the one who got in trouble wasn’t always the one in the wrong, trying again, and so on. Books, too. They take time, and each writer has her own pace, her own balance to strike, and her own discoveries to make.

Sometimes the strength of a relationship is in the hard times that were weathered, the lessons learned, the humbling. Sometimes the glory of who your teens have become is where they disobeyed you and followed their own instincts. Sometimes the best writing comes from where you got stuck, when you put it away to let it breathe, when you let your guard down or set aside all the well-meaning advice you were given and wrote without thinking.

I’m still looking forward to weather where I can get rid of my coat, where I can sit on the porch without freezing, where all the seeds I planted break through the soil. I don’t even remember everything I planted. But in the meantime, I will enjoy the now, the tiny changes in color, the thick comforters we still need on the bed, the way the animals press up close at night, and the continued inspiration to dig deeper into this book. I’m fine with the pace of things. And by the way, I’m off in a week to meet with some folks about this book and feel unbelievably excited to place my manuscript into such talented hands!

If this feels like a repeat of last month’s message, it’s because some of us need help in the patience and faith department. :-) Some of us need to be beat over the head with our lessons.

So how about you? Talk to me about hurrying and slowing down and whatever you’ve learned about that, whether in writing or simply in living.


Some thank you’s… to Great New Books and to the fine people who’ve left reviews of Up from the Blue. See you in June!