Last night I interviewed Danielle LaPorte for a guest post I’m writing for Write To Done. A few minutes in, I thought:
wow. I am really NOT doing this right, or well.
I’m awkward. I’m a bombshell in text but shell-shocked in person, and my darlings, I bombed this interview. I was abrupt and awkward and interrupt-y. The only thing that saved it was my subject.
Danielle LaPorte gives good quote.
Two Different Kinds Of Un-journalism
Earlier in the week, I interviewed
Josh Hanagarne for the same forthcoming piece. My interview with Josh went sideways, too, but not in the same way.
That interview with got wayward and unruly and sprawled across the couch like a long-legged, lazy teenager. And then it emptied my fridge and drank all the milk and after that I’m pretty sure I agreed to co-write a useless e-book or a manifesto or learn German or read Proust or have a baby or something that’s going to take a mofo lot of time.
(Note to Janette Hanagarne: There will be no baby. I don’t even like your husband like that. Swear.)
Still, I was in this interview rather than on top of it so maybe it was a win. I got good, useable, quotable stuff AND a new project. That is good. My journalistic focus, professionalism, and objectivity: not so good.
This is okay with me because objectivity is a myth at best and at worst just weak. It is pretentious – who can write without a point of view?? who would want to read that??? – and results in split the difference journalism.
Split the Difference Journalism
Arianna Huffington says that the essence of vivid journalism lies in “getting away from the notion that truth is found by splitting the difference between the two sides, that there is always truth to both sides.”
In other words: get a point (of view). Split the difference journalism is staid.
Split the difference journalism is tepid and disingenuous. It requires you to camoflage your point of view in service of our golden calfs, Critical Thinking and Objectivity. It’s crap. It’s officious. I know because I wrote some officious crap when I was trying to be objective. My review of Lessons from the Fatosphere, for example, is bullshit. Utter bullshit. “Pretty good book”, my ass.
Truth is, I loved the book. I love Marianne Kirby and Kate Harding. How could I be objective? Why should I? How is it more honest to find fault just to find fault? How is that kind of review more honest or balanced than when you make no secret of your passion or your perspective?
(Dear Readers: You MUST read Lesson from the Fat-o-Sphere. Go now and buy it.)
Observation 1. Trying to be objective and A Journalist makes me lie. I doubt this is unique to me.
Observation 2. Split the difference journalism: blech.
Observation 3. I was a mess when I interviewed both Josh and Danielle, but in two completely different ways. What gives?
Interviews. Journalism. What the Eff is My Problem?
When I interviewed Danielle, I had questions; I knew the story; I had a script; I had my journalism hat on. What could be the problem?
In short: all of the above.
I was so focussed on getting through the interview, and getting the questions answered, that I didn’t stay in the interview. I started it like it was already half-way finished. I tried to sell the house while neglecting to the basic housekeeping like introducing the piece, it’s working title, and where and when it will appear. That’s just bad manners.
What else did I do wrong? What would I do, differently and better, next time?
Oh, my darlings, I’m so glad you asked. I now have a list. It is not short but I’ll give you the short, bleedingly urgent version. I embrace public humiliation in order to save you from the same fate. How very JC of me.
How To Interview Someone Better than I Did. The List.
- When you’re organizing the interview, be clear about how much time you need and how much time can be offered. That way you can plan an appropriate number of questions and won’t need to rush through. Allow time to digress a little.
- Introduce yourself and the purpose of the interview. Give a little background. State the name of piece.
- Explain how you’re capturing the interview: recording? notes? photographic memory? Wishbone?
- Chat. Enjoy. Connect.
- Don’t be a slave to the script. Your interview questions are just the start. They’re there when you need them. But a really great, revealing, interesting interview results from the connection, the wandering, the digression. Follow the breadcrumbs. Eat them.
- Have faith that you’ll get something you can use. Don’t be so outcome oriented that you are half out of the interview before it gets going. In other activities it is called foreplay.
- Chat. Enjoy. Connect. Digress.
- Be in the interview (and the universe!), not outside of it or worse, on top of it.
- Fuck professional, boring, faux-objective journalism. What’s your objective in conducting the interview? To get a story so you can tell a story. Stories are based on an experience. You want your interviewee to give it up, get naked and give you great quote, so you need to go there too. Do it. Mmmmm.
The Real Story. That’s What Interviews Are About.
Once upon a time, I had a long and steamy online flirtation with a hot man. When we finally met, I couldn’t get it together. I really liked him so I couldn’t say a damn thing. It was too high-stakes. I wanted a specific outcome too intensely to relax. I got frustrated – with myself – and blurted out the great blurt of all blurts:
I wish we could just fuck and get it over with so I wouldn’t be so tongue-tied and shy.
I know. I’m classy. I understand that some people frown on sex as an icebreaker. I absolutely accept the validity of that position. Really, I do. Because the truth is, real – not sex – is the ice breaker. Real is what you need to get, to get connected.
Interviews are much the same except that I’m not looking for great sex (swear!), I’m looking for a great story.
Five $&*#ing Lessons I Learned from Being a Bad Interviewer
- Fuck journalism.
- Fuck objectivity. It is a lie, anyway.
- Fuck my pretensions (please).
- Be human. Give some love. Show up. Keep it up.
- Mistakes are surprisingly nutritious.
So, as a direct result of my how-not-to-interview debacles, that’s the how-to-interview list. Now, to turn back time.
Except, of course, I don’t really want to turn back time. I prefer to eat my mistakes whole which is just good advice. I did it today.
Today, I was on the other side of the interview. I was the subject. I was trying to land a new writing gig and the interviewer asked me: how are you at interviewing people?
I was honest. I got real. I said:
You know what? I cocked it up last night. Here’s why. Here’s what I learned. Here’s what I’m gonna do better next time…
(Note: I realize that some people think that saying ‘cocked up’ in an interview is inappropriate. I totally accept the validity of that position. Really, I do.)
The gig: I got it.
The guy: he loved me long time.
Real. It works. And that’s how you interview someone.
__________________________
My interview with Danielle was for an accidentally epic how-to-get-a-book deal series with from advice from published authors to a wannabe (that’s me). Here’s a list of all the pieces in that monster series.
The how-to-get-a-book-deal piece, in full:
How to Get a Book Deal. An Evolutionary, Biblical Approach. (This Is Why I am a Writer And Not a Scientist.)
The How To Get A Book Deal Interviews, with:
* I also did phone-interviews with Josh Hanagarne and Gretchen Rubin but get very, very sad when I think about doing more transcription
**My phone interview with Gretchen Rubin – in which she gave me some personal advice that really landed with me – inspired me to be a little nicer, online. Gretchen Rubin is my Jiminy Cricket.
Guest Posts at Write To Done (these triggered this whole series):
Guest Post at Write to Done: How to Get a Book Deal: Part 1 – Printasauraus Rex Vs. The Blog: Publishing 2.0
Get Thee A Blog, and A Big One: Guest Post At Write to Done

Photo: I (heart) balancing rocks by James Jordan.
Work life balance: what a waste of time.
Googling “work-life balance” is like getting dropped from the sky, hard, probably by aliens, into the middle of an August cornfield: the stalks (and the stakes) are so high and plentiful that you can lift your eyes to the sky and see the heavens – the end of it all, sweet haysoos – but not much else.
(Did you know that there are “corn-maze consultants”? Neither did I until I googled directions to my local corn-maze at which point I discovered, to my surprised and delighted horror, that there is an entire corn-maze INDUSTRY. There is art, too, but only pilots and Canadian geese can appreciate the hidden wonder of it.)
I digress. I’m glad that corn-maze consultants can invent jobs around their passion for vegetables. That’s the only explanation for this phenomena, really. I’m convinced that some dude got carried away with the ‘do what you love’ philosophy and voila! a new niche.
I’m also willing to bet that corn-maze consultants are intensely, overwhelmingly busy 2-3 months of the year and just basically make peace with the fact that their lives have gone tilt-a-whirl. They don’t chase work-life balance when it is time to rock out the cornfield.
(I do believe I’m going to have to interview a corn-maze consultant to find out if it is as glam as all that. Maybe it is rock-star. Maybe there are secret drug lairs and groupie grottos and THAT is what you’re trying to find when you pay your $5 and wander around for two hours, getting your shoes dirty and thinking: I just paid $5 to wander around in some guy’s field. Effing hell. What a racket.)
The other criminal racket that perturbs me is the work-life balance syndicate. It has franchises everywhere and it is selling you (me) turn-key, uninspired solutions:
1. Outsource your life. Increases your expenses to pay for services so you can have time.
2. Simplify your life. Reduce your expenses so you don’t have to work as much and can have time.
The objectives are the same the but the approaches are vastly different. And neither approach works for me.
There’s a hidden assumption in both solutions: that you have enough disposable income that you can make sacrifices and pay to gain time; or that you have enough disposable income to spend frivolously and therefore those expenses can be pruned judiciously in the service of free time.
Either way, both formulations pivot on the assumption of enough, or more than enough. I suspect the eternal work-life crisis comes from the hidden truth that many don’t have enough (any!) disposable income to outsource anything, and, given that information, you’d be safe in assuming that there are few, if any, expenses that can be ‘simplified’.
I also suspect the quest for balance displays a truly sad truth: that we’re doing too much of what we don’t like, and isn’t rewarding, and not enough of the cosmically important stuff. So the seeking of work-life balance is really about taming the job and the bastards that wear you down. ‘Cuz when you love it, really love it, yes you need rest, but even the work doesn’t feel like work. Because it is play, mostly.
I’m not there yet. I know I’m not alone.
So, what to do when you’re workin’ 9-5 (I am all about 70s women, this week!), raising semi-humans (that’s what they feel like, this week!) and trying to break out and charge after your vision? (And let’s not bitch that we’re busy: Kelly Diels, I’m a-talking to you.)
Balance? How weak.
Let’s think about balance. Think about teeter totters. Equilibrium is hard to come by, and when it does, you just want to start bouncing up and down again. I know this for a fact. I have kids. The thrill is in the wobble.
(Did you know that teeter totters are an endangered species in North American playgrounds? No word of a lie.)
Think about tightwires. Think about raised bars. Sobriety tests and white lines. Skating and weak ankles. Weak ankles, period.
When I set up a situation where it is imperative that I don’t wobble or fall, I’m in trouble. It helps not to mull on it (bad blog post! bad!) and just keep going. Hold on. Move. Holding on is a form of movement but it is most definitely not balance. Hold. Run. Charge. Close your eyes. Leap. Leap-frog. Keep it hoppin’.
I’m lucky. I’m in love, with my life, my kids, my work, my dream and my extras. They’re all wearing me out just as fast as they fuel me. It is a bizarre high-speed stasis.
Define it all as life and you’re good. Overscheduled, overwrought and overwhelmed, yes, but at least then you’re not guilty about your lack of balance. Feeling conflicted about being conflicted and guilty about feeling guilty is a lot of work.
Guilt, in general, is a waste of time and energy. It is a smokescreen for a real emotion. Dig a little deeper and you’ll find something real, like anger. Sadness. Aspiration. Those are worthwhile. They’re fuel for something bigger and better.
In the end, the quest for balance is bogus. Love your burdens. Love them hard. And when your loves knock you down or your weak ankles trip you up, stop worrying about balancing – ‘cuz you’re not – and bounce.

I
Me: I’m trying to find my people.
Friend: I would have thought that you’re trying to find yourself.
Me: I’m not trying to find myself. That’s a battle I surrendered, long ago.
I lied. I only raised the white flag recently, after being provoked by Kate Harding’s excellent essay/polemic/battlecry, The Fantasy of Being Thin. Charge!
The reality is, I will never be the kind of person who thinks roughing it in Tibet sounds like a hoot; give me a decent hotel in London any day. I will probably never learn to waterski well, or snow ski at all, or do a back handspring. I can be outgoing and charismatic in small doses, but I will always then need time to recharge my batteries with the dogs and a good book; I’ll never be someone with a chock-full social calendar, because I would find that unbearably exhausting. (And no matter how well I’ve learned to fake it — and thus how much this surprises some people who know me — new social situations will most likely always intimidate the crap out of me.) I might learn to speak one foreign language fluently over the course of my life, but probably not five. I will never publish a novel until I finish writing one. I will always have to be aware of my natural tendency toward depression and might always have to medicate it. Smart money says I am never going to chuck city life to buy an alpaca farm or start a new career as a river guide. And my chances of marrying George Clooney are very, very slim.
None of that is because I’m fat. It’s because I’m me.
Exactly. So I know who I am. I don’t always know who I will be but I’m well acquainted with the basic context.
Still, I know all of this from the inside out. Naturally I’m curious about the view from outside.
II
Lindsey at
A Design So Vast often plucks my melancholy, needy cords. We share a dilemma: we worry about what other people think.
We worry about worrying about what other people think.
We’re conflicted. We’re conflicted about being conflicted.
We want to be self-sufficient machines who don’t require praise or reflections from other robots. We should be so grounded that it should be irrelevant. We shouldn’t be so motivated by the perceptions of others or by external validation. We ought to be healthily individuated, dammit.
We ought..we should..we shouldn’t…
Bah.Talk like that is a beauty pageant reply.
III
I slip into beauty pageant replies when I talk about men or dating or the man I’m dating.
When I speak about these things, I’m conscious of the fact that my words and actions are being measured against discourses of The Healthy Independent Individual, The Woman Who Doesn’t Let a Man Define Her, and How To Date Without Appearing Needy or Heaven Forbid Desperate or Even Worse Trampy.
I know that if I say I need a man, that I’m going to hear “you want a man, you don’ t need a man.” Because that’s not healthy. That’s not independent.
When I say that I need praise, I’m going to hear “isn’t that a bit co-dependent?”I’m not even going to go into The Rules. I don’t do The Rules. I do men.
So I often steer my stories into beauty pageant replies to circumvent judgement. I construct the emotionally, relationally healthy narrative.
Or I just don’t say anything at all, because I know that tales of my dating adventures might require a call to the Healthy Relationship Police.
Or I blog it. FTW.
IV
I think it is normal and universal, and yegads, healthy to need to see yourself in the eyes of others. To need to hear it. To require feedback.
It just is, and this is why: it is damn near impossible to get perspective on yourself because you see yourself from the inside out.
We seek perspective. That’s why we have mirrors. Some of them hang on walls. Others are found in the eyes of our loved ones and the impartial gazes of outsiders.
V
I used to say that I was shy. Nobody believes me. Maybe I’m not really shy. Maybe I’m just awkward and groups are not my medium.
So I struggle. It is an effort. It is shocking to me when that effort doesn’t show. I’m not alone.
VI
“There is no such thing as a complete lack of order, only a design so vast it appears unrepetitive up close.” – Louise Erdrich, The Bingo Palace
Think about the difference between these views: Google Earth and Google Street. Then think about the view of the world and the street from inside the house. This is vantage. Perspective. It is a shifty, slippery character.
No one view is more real than the other, no more “truthy” than the other. I see the world from inside the apartment – my own eyes, my own experience, me – more often than any other. That is why external perceptions are so damn interesting. And surprising. And needed.
Objectivity is in short supply when you’re the subject. That’s what subjectivity means. It is personal, partial, limited, incomplete.There is a difference between seeking to find yourself in the gaze of others and seeking reflections of yourself in both inanimate and flesh mirrors.
VII
Maybe the reason we tell ourselves that it is a problem to worry how others perceive us is because we’re trying to reduce an internal conflict.
We think there is a conflict between how a healthily differentiated adult functions (no need for validation, approval, reflections) and how we experience ourselves (embedded in relationships. needy. curious). So we call it cognitive dissonance. We strive to deduce that disharmony. Oil the friction.
But there is no conflict. This is the truth, according to me. There is nothing to reconcile. Shift.
VIII
Still, this conflict is an essential, eternal existential dilemna in western thought: the duality of mind and body.
Inside vs outside. Society vs self. It is grand,
Cartesian, effing
Jude The Obscure, history of thought and philosophy stuff. I don’t even want to go there. Seven years of university extinguished my fire for this subject. It is a thought cul-de-sac.
There are other ways.
You can find a solution in adding to, or fractioning, or fracturing these dyads. Worship the gods of multiplicity. There is no objectivity, no self, no other, and no truth, so stop seeking it. Wait for Godot.
Find Foucault. Tear it up.
Or you can erase the friction and find unity. Define it all as one. There is no distinction between mind and body, self and other. It is all one.
Or you can embrace the poles and oscillate between them. Develop, like justice, a theory of scales. It is both/and. Balance. Forgive yourself. Accept and embrace yourself and all your eternal, contradictory, heat-seeking needs for self-knowledge and the the reflections of others.
Marvel at it. Marvel at the old lady on the bus who speaks frankly and tells you look more put together than you feel. Marvel at the polish that shines all the shinier because you’re constantly working away at it.
IX
Think about oiled wood furniture.
Think about diamonds.
Realize that it is often unremarked effort that produces shine.
You’re privy to the effort so it is not a character deficiency to seek others to note the glow.