We dream colors while sleeping in the curl of an egg.           —from “Myth” (Forms of Intercession) Blues tend to fade without dissolving.           —from “Withholding” (Forms of Intercession)

Jayne Pupek has published two books in 2008. Tomato Girl, a novel, is just out from Algonquin Books. Forms of Intercession, poems, was published this year by Mayapple Press. Both her poems and the novel tell stories that possess the strange inevitabilities of dreams and myths.

Tomato Girl begins with a prologue in which the narrator recalls a time long past, and the macabre image of a dead infant. From this riveting and dramatic start, the novel proceeded to engage and to move us. In the remarks that follow, Pupek shares with us insights into the characters in Tomato Girl, her writing process, the impact of her career as therapist, and other fascinating subjects.

Valerie Fox: The short, titled chapters/sections in Tomato Girl work well to highlight imagery and to establish the trajectory of story. How and why did you decide on this style?

Jayne Pupek: I began writing Tomato Girl more or less on a whim. Until then, I had written very little fiction other than short pieces, or “flash fiction,” which were often more like prose poems than actual short stories. My writing focus has always been poetry, and I think the need to title each chapter is purely reflective of that. Typically, each poem in a collection is titled, so when I began writing Tomato Girl, the chapters just seemed incomplete to me without a title.

VF: Other than your main character Ellie, is there a character that you especially enjoyed creating? Can you describe that character and how he/she came about or your feelings about him/her?

JP: I try not to become overly attached to any of my characters. This may be tied to my years of work in mental health, where some degree of objectivity is required to treat clients. I enjoyed creating Julia, Ellie’s mentally ill mother, because it was fun to let my imagination run wild with her bizarre behavior and thought processes. Tess, too, was interesting to create, because I wanted her to be both the villain, if there is one, but also vulnerable. I think most people have a combination of good and bad traits, and as much as possible, I try to present characters that way.

In terms of how characters come about—they somehow just show up when I need them. I don’t write with an outline and take very few notes before I begin. I learned to first write as a poet, and I think poets, generally speaking, are more willing to give voices free reign. Writers who begin as journalists, technical writers, or novelists may approach the process differently.

VF: You mention people having good and bad traits. 11 year old Ellie pretty much only has good traits. How can a person surrounded by so much suffering and anger be like this? She reminds me of a kind of protector--do you think of her that way?

JP: Partly I think Ellie’s relative goodness is due to her age, and to our cultural belief that children are basically good and/or innocent until they are “experienced” or “educated” in the ways of the world. Also, in making Ellie both the narrator and main character, it is essential that the reader trust her, which is easier to accomplish if Ellie is perceived as good. The other issue you mention—Ellie as protector—is also quite true. Children in fragile family situations go to great lengths to keep their parents together, and Ellie is no exception. Her job is made monumental by her mother’s mental illness and her father’s infatuation with Tess. And yet Ellie protects her parents fiercely. I’ve seen the same patterns in my work in mental health.

VF: That voice of Ellie’s is intriguing and powerful. The setting you choose also appeals. It’s the fairly recent past, a time within people’s living memory or within their parents’ generation’s living memory. What makes you settle on how to deal with big issues like this? Or specifically, what were some of the challenges you encountered with the choices you made?

JP: I tend to make these decisions by instinct as opposed to lengthy analysis. My work as a therapist trained me to think quickly and move forward with whatever choice I made. I spent more than a decade treating incarcerated sex offenders, and with a population like that, and in an environment like that, there isn’t the luxury of mulling over every response. I approach my writing much the same way, by listening to my characters and following my best hunches about what is needed next. As a writer, I do have the luxury of going back over what I’ve written. I also enjoy the great fortune of having both an amazing agent and truly brilliant editor. They deserve a lot of credit.

VF: Is relatability or empathy something you think about as you write or edit?

JP: Not so much with poetry, because I don’t think characters are as pivotal to poetry, but yes, with fiction. Absolutely. As a writer, I think I owe it to readers to give them characters that at least have the potential to matter to them. People largely read novels to have an emotional experience, and that is virtually impossible unless one can form a bond with at least one character. This may be less critical for some genres, like suspense, where plot may be the most important factor. Literary fiction is much more likely to be character driven.

VF: While character may be less pivotal in poetry overall, in your poems characters are quite vivid. I’m speaking of both the narrator as a persona, but also the “characters” that turn up (the therapist, the examiner, Sylvia Plath). I read Forms of Intercession before Tomato Girl. But when I reread it after reading the novel, I couldn’t help but connect up the ideas and stories here with those in the novel. For instance, in “Inkblots,” the narrator fears the blots that escape the page and fly around like bats. “One by one/they fly off stiff white cards/and circle the room.” (The image kind of makes me chuckle as it sounds like “batty.”) But reading it after the novel, I make a strong connection with Ellie—it helps to provide a sort of backstory here. And interpreting your work is open to this—that is, you allow space for that. Were you working on the two books simultaneously? Were you actually working consciously with similar problems or ideas? Or, put another way, do you yourself relate the personae in the poems to the characters in Tomato Girl?

JP: Only a few of the poems in Forms of Intercession were written at the same time that I was writing Tomato Girl. Most of the poems were written after I wrote the novel.

I don’t relate the personae in the poems to the characters in Tomato Girl in any direct way, but I’m sure there are commonalities. A writer’s experiences invariably find their way into his or her work, especially in terms of images and themes, perhaps in other ways, too. For instance, in “Inkblots,” are Rorschach cards used by psychologists and psychiatrists. These cards are familiar to me because of my graduate studies in psychology and work in mental health. Had I been an accountant or a physician or a palm reader, I may not have written that poem; I may have written others that I won’t (or can’t) write because certain images aren’t part of my psyche and/or experience. I think most writers draw on what they know and things they’ve seen. It’s not terribly hard for me to take images from either book and point to where many of them originated. Something I learned many years ago relates to this: During my early days as a therapist, I used to worry that I’d miss something important, or that I’d hear something and not realize that it was important. A more experienced therapist told me not to worry too much about that, because people tend to repeat what is important to them. I think that may be true of writers, too: we repeat the things that matter to us, the things that impressed us in some way.

VF: Most of the characters in Tomato Girl seem bound by so many unwritten rules—rules with the power of laws. What are these rules based on? And did you feel like you needed to overemphasize them for your chosen time frame, 1960s. To what extent are such rules still in existence today in a town like Granby?

JP: I’ve spent my entire life in the rural South. We have a lot of rules, more or less understood by everyone here, which often are linked either to the Bible or to a sense of family honor. A funny example: When my husband, who is not from the South, took me to meet his friends in D.C., he reminded me that it wasn’t expected that I greet people that I didn’t know. I literally spoke to everyone who crossed my path—on elevators, on the subway, on the street. In the South, it is considered rude not to greet people, and reflects poorly on your family and your upbringing. Even the feelings of DEAD relatives matter here. As I told my husband, if I neglected to speak to people who crossed my path, nearly a dozen of my dead relatives would be turning over in their graves. In the South, your family is always watching. Your dead relatives are always watching. And God, of course, is always watching.

These rules are still in existence today in rural areas, but not to the degree that they were in the 1960s and 1970s. I’ve tried the “dead relatives turning over in their graves” spiel with my children. They are too savvy to fall for it.

VF: I love how you mention “whim” in one of your previous comments—it demonstrates the joy you take in writing. Are there any parts of writing that you don’t enjoy? Or that you find least enjoyable? Is there a part of writing that is absolutely your favorite part?

JP: I completely love writing poetry—I’m captivated, enthralled, hypnotized, obsessed, love struck, smitten—all of the above. I haven’t yet decided if I like writing fiction—the answer differs depending on which day I’m asked. Seriously, the work of a novel takes many months to complete, and that means living with the same characters and story for the duration. Poems are smaller and self contained; the poem I’m working on today will not likely have anything to do with the poem I’ll write tomorrow. Just by nature of the process, writing a novel is tedious. It’s like being married a long time, and sometimes you look at your spouse and say, “My God, you’re still here?” And you don’t know whether you are relieved or stunned. Maybe both. I’m writing another novel now, and the process is becoming easier, and less tedious, so perhaps I simply needed practice. Novel writing is new to me. I’ve written poetry since I was old enough to hold a pencil and scribble first words.

VF: The seasons are highly significant in your work, thematically, as setting and backdrop. They are a sort of constant turbulence or drama occurring while so much personal drama is occurring inside the houses and minds of your characters. Does this emphasis grow out of anything in particular? And if so, what?

And also, who are you reading for inspiration as you write?

JP: If this emphasis grows out of anything in particular, it may be that I’ve lived my entire life in rural areas of Virginia, where weather and seasons tend to factor into daily life. My grandparents farmed, and farmers know how weather effects everything from livestock and crops to whether you can hang laundry on the line to dry. My own birth occurred during a March blizzard, and came with stories about how my mother almost didn’t make it to the hospital, so maybe I learned early to pay attention to the sky.

In terms of the craft of writing, I think that using the weather and/or season to create or emphasize a mood is an effective technique, just as it is in films. For instance, s suicide isn’t quite as convincing on a sunny day. If I see a scene in a movie (or read it in a book) where a person is about to jump off a building, and the sky is blue and bright and small birds are singing, my mind says, “This is a joke, a stunt, a fantasy, etc.” If, however, the sky is a wintery gray, and maybe it’s raining, and the only birds around are buzzards circling in the distance, then I’m on edge and sense the danger. Filmmakers use these techniques all the time. Colors, lights, shadows, atmosphere—all very effective. Unfortunately, books don’t come with theme music. The filmmaker has an edge there.

You also asked about reading. My taste in books is quite varied. If you looked on my bookshelves, you might find Stephen King next to William Faulkner and Dean Koontz next to Toni Morrison. I mostly read contemporary fiction and suspense. I love so many writers. A partial list: Kaye Gibbons, Alice Sebold, Patrick McGrath, Joyce Carol Oates, Alice Hoffman, Thomas Cook, Cormac McCarthy, Armistead Maupin, Anne Tyler, Thomas Wolfe, Carson McCullers, Truman Capote, Lydia Millet, and J.M Coetzee. I don’t think Coetzee is mortal. I would iron his shirts...I guess that makes him my favorite. McCarthy runs a close second.

Poets—Sylvia Plath, Sharon Olds, Anne Sexton, Galway Kinnell, Robert Hass, Charles Simic, John Ashbery, Louise Gluck, W.S. Merwin, C.D. Wright, Lisa Spaar, Bob Hicok, Dean Young, Adrienne Rich, Anne Carson, Gregory Orr, Claudia Emerson, Rita Dove, Carolyn Forche, Jane Kenyon, Donald Hall, Tess Gallagher, Jorie Graham, Sarah Hannah....those are a few.

VF: You’ve had a wonderful year in terms of your work—two terrific books out. How has this been influencing you? I’m curious because I know sometimes writers do feel something akin to “post-partum depression” after finishing major projects. Do you need to try a little harder to concentrate? To move on to new projects?

JP: First of all, thank you for your comments about my books. I’m always pleased to hear that someone appreciates what I’ve written. It’s an amazing experience to have both books published in the same year, but I haven’t had much time to dwell on it. I’m grateful to have opportunities to learn and grow as a writer, and this has been a good year in those terms. Judith Kerman at Mayapple is so insightful, and a talented poet in her own right. Chuck Adams at Algonquin is legendary, and I’ve found him to not only be gifted, but generous. My agent, Sandy Choron, is always my first and best reader; she gives me very specific and useful feedback, and helps me to see the bigger picture. I’m in very good hands; my books are in good hands.

I can’t actually imagine myself experiencing any kind of “postpartum depression” or difficulty moving on. I’m always driven toward the next thing. I’m hard at work on two poetry manuscripts that are just about finished, and another novel is in progress. I also have some erotica forthcoming in anthologies to be published by Cleis Press. I’ve been asked to write some reviews. I never experience writer’s block and was raised to have a strong work ethic, so from my perspective, my work is never done. I also have a pretty full life outside of my writing: I’m married and the mother of three children. I have a home, friends, a menagerie of animal companions, and I’m interested in all sorts of things, including films, social issues, nature, and the 2008 elections. I visit a lot of dark material when I write, but I’m not by nature a person prone to depression. I simply couldn’t stand the inertia.

VF: How do you know when a novel (or poem, or story, for that matter) is finished?

JP: Someone once asked the artist Jackson Pollock how he knew when a painting was finished. His response: “How do you know when you’re finished making love?” I’d say that sums it up pretty well. It’s intuitive.