Is the definition of reading changing? i.e., are you really “reading” when you’re on Twitter? 

I’ve always liked the Henry James quote “Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost.”  So whether I’m reading a novel, reading People magazine in the dentist’s waiting room, or reading graffiti on a bus stop shelter, I try and view it all as material–scraps and bits that will resurface later, after being sorted by my subconscious.  It’s probably no surprise, then, that I absolutely consider reading on Twitter to be “reading.”  Twitter routinely points me to articles, pictures, and quotes that entertain, enrage, perplex, and astonish me. It makes me think, and it challenges me to be more witty, more memorable, more to-the-point.  (With that said, Twitter may be the greatest time-suck ever invented, so I do have to log off when I want to write–but as preparation for writing, I’m very glad it exists.)

Do you listen to music as you work, or do you need the sweet sounds of silence to concentrate?

I’ve been thinking about this lately, because my editor asked me to put together a playlist for my novel.  I don’t listen to music when I write at home–I’m always focused on the lyrics, and they tend to interfere with the words I’m putting on the page.  But at the same time, I often go out to work at a coffee shop, and I love it when there’s music playing.  My favorite cafe lets the staff control the stereo, so on a given day you might get anything from Leonard Cohen to Beyonce to the Star Wars soundtrack.  And while, okay, it is actually kind of hard to write while listening to the extended version of the Imperial March, I like not being in charge of the music, and letting the flavors of background noise seep into what I’m writing.  It jolts me out of my own mind-bubble a little.  

Is write’s block real? 

We often try to talk ourselves out of feeling our own feelings.  When we’re upset, for instance, we tell ourselves–or other people tell us–that there’s no reason to be upset, that the car will get fixed or we’ll get another job or that jerk wasn’t good enough for us anyway.  The conclusion, of course, is you shouldn’t be sad.  But the fact is that you are sad, and telling yourself you’re not, or that you have no reason or right to be sad, is counterproductive.  I don’t know anyone who can snap their fingers and say “I’m not sad anymore!” and actually not be sad, do you?  It’s the same with writer’s block–saying it’s not real is essentially saying it’s just a frame of mind, which is true, but kind of irrelevant. You can’t just snap out of it, and there’s no point in telling yourself it’s all in your head when “in your head” is exactly where the ideas need to come from.  Better than telling yourself that writer’s block isn’t real, I think, is to acknowledge that you’re stuck and then try and coax, cajole, or trick yourself out of it. Game-like writing prompts, a walk, reading something new, a workout, caffeine or substance of your choice, or sheer self-bribery–whatever it takes to get yourself going again.

Do you prefer reading paper books or e-books?
 
I have nothing against e-books in principle–I think the more ways we make it possible for people to consume books, the better. But personally, I vastly prefer to read paper books.  I like the heft of them, and the feel of the paper, and the smell of the ink.  I like being able to flip back and refer to the pages I’ve read as I piece together a story, and I like the gradual shift of weight–from right to left–as I approach the end.  I even have firm preferences for particular editions of the same book.  For example, I had an old copy of The Catcher in the Rye, the same one you probably had in high school: a little book with a plain maroon cover.  But I went out and bought another one, the one with the carousel horse on the front, because I like that cover better (the carousel horse is more evocative), and I like the feel of that cover better (thick matte-finish cardstock with a slight texture, instead of slippery gloss), and I like the paper better (thicker, whiter paper, versus the small copy’s thin gray newsprinty pages with ink that smudges), and I think the layout and the font are more beautiful and easier to read.  Admittedly, these are all purely aesthetic concerns–but then, part of the reading experience for me is interacting with the book as an object.  So I’m glad e-books exist, because they make it easier for a lot of people to read in different circumstances–but I’ll always choose paper books.

Want to chat with Celeste? You can catch her for her discussion of moving through time in fiction at The Muse and the Marketplace 2015!

Celeste Ng is the author of the novel Everything I Never Told You (Penguin Press), which was a New York Times bestseller, a New York Times Notable Book for 2014, and Amazon’s #1 Best Book of the Year 2014. She grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Shaker Heights, Ohio, in a family of scientists. Celeste attended Harvard University and earned an MFA from the University of Michigan (now the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at the University of Michigan), where she won the Hopwood Award. Her fiction and essays have appeared in One Story, TriQuarterly, Bellevue Literary Review, the Kenyon Review Online, and elsewhere, and she is a recipient of the Pushcart Prize.