Chip’s Writing Lessons #58
IN THIS ISSUE
Writers Speak | Vladimir Nabokov on wearing out erasers
Interview | 4 Questions with Lois Kapila
Craft Lesson | How to cope with emotional interviews
Writing to Savor | “The Black American Amputation Epidemic” and “Tethered to the Machine,” by Lizzie Presser, ProPublica
Tip of the Week Redux | Look back to solve your story’s problems
WRITERS SPEAK
"I have rewritten, often several times, every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.”
— Vladimir Nabokov
INTERVIEW | 4 QUESTIONS WITH LOIS KAPILA
Lois Kapila
Lois Kapila is the editor and a reporter at the Dublin Inquirer, an independent reader-funded newspaper in Dublin, Ireland. She has worked at The Statesman newspaper in Kolkata, India, and freelanced for anywhere that will publish her. In 2019, she was shortlisted for the Orwell Prize for Journalism and European Journalist of the Year.
What is the most important lesson you’ve learned as a writer?
To not be afraid to think. It sounds stupid, but for a long time I think I was scared to think, as if by asking questions about what I’d been told or engaging too deeply with what I was reporting on would be biased in some way.
It took me a while to get past that, to realize it was okay to not just be a scribe, and to clock that following a fair, journalistic process—and thinking a lot and asking plenty of questions along the way to all kinds of people—was the most important thing that helps you get as close to the truth of something as possible.
What has been the biggest surprise of your writing life?
That I’m doing it. I still can’t get over the fact that I’m lucky enough to have a job where I get to meet, and listen to, and talk to, so many people. I hope I always stay surprised. I dread the day when I take that for granted.
If you had to use a metaphor to describe yourself as a writer, what would it be and why?
Can I be a mapmaker? Trying to chart out the world so we can see where we stand and where we’re headed or could go—although, I’m thinking ideally more here-be-monsters than AA road map.
Or maybe a glassblower, training for years and years to craft something simple and clear. (I guess that’s also turning hot air into something beautiful, hmmm…)
What’s the single best piece of writing advice anyone ever gave you?
Write drafts. Horrible messy drafts. And start them straight away and don’t get hung up on how ugly they are. That, of course, is one of the many things I’ve learnt from you by the way, Chip.
Like pretty much everybody reporting and writing these days, I’m so pressed for time, and if I don’t start writing as soon as I start reporting, I don’t have the breathing space to revise and cut and rearrange and spot gaps.
CRAFT LESSON | HOW TO COPE WITH EMOTIONAL INTERVIEWS
Like countless others, my heart went out to the victims and families and friends of those who lived and died in the shocking June 24 collapse of the Champlain Towers South condominium in Surfside, Florida. I also had in mind the reporters who descended on the scene and faced the painful task of interviewing survivors and the loved ones of those dead or still missing.
In my two decades as a newspaper reporter, I became well-acquainted with that aspect of the job. At one point, if you’d asked me about my beat, I’d have replied, “Death.”
More times than I can count, I was dispatched to write about those left behind after the unthinkable happened: a child killed by a school bus; the bride-to-be caught in a deadly crossfire between police and a desperate parolee, and a high school friend of a serviceman killed during the failed 1980 mission to rescue American hostages held captive by Iranian revolutionaries, My father had died when I was 10, and revealing that fact often proved an effective way to show empathy for people I imposed on at one of the worst moments of their lives.
Death binds.
When I was teaching at The Poynter Institute, a reporter once emailed to ask about the appropriate response when a subject breaks down and begins to cry during an interview, a common occurrence.
“I’m not a very touchy-feely person,” the reporter said, “so I feel as though it would come across as fake or forced if I were to make myself give the subject a hug or touch their hand or something similar to that. But I feel so heartless simply continuing the interview while they dab at tears.
“Most often, these subjects are essentially strangers whom I have engaged in an emotional interview, so I feel as though I would be crossing some sort of line by moving closer to them or touching them or crying with them as though we were close friends.”
For help, I touched base with Joe Hight, then managing editor of The Oklahoman and no stranger to covering trauma in the news.
As a reporter and editor, he covered the first mass Post Office shooting in 1986 in Edmond, Oklahoma, the 1995 domestic terrorist bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City and the aftermath of killer tornadoes.
He was also president of the Executive Committee of the Dart Center for Journalism and Trauma.
It’s “a global network that brings together journalists, educators and health professionals to improve media coverage of trauma, conflict and tragedy, as well as the consequences of such coverage for those working in journalism."
As journalists increasingly face emotional interviews after what seems like an unending cycle of mass shootings, wildfires, hurricanes and other catastrophic weather events, Joe’s advice remains timely.
“You are not the only journalist who has struggled or will struggle when interviewing people who become emotional during an interview,’” he counseled.
“Certain interview questions may prompt an emotional response, especially if the subject is remembering a loved one who died tragically. It’s your response afterward that is important.
“Most people don’t need a hug from a stranger, and all of them don’t need a fake or forced response. They need someone who’s compassionate and human.”
I wish that Joe’s wise advice had been available to me as I sat with friends and family who were grieving a loss. I’m grateful, though, that it may offer help for reporters who find themselves, as they inevitably will, in that situation someday. His tips:
First of all, don’t stop the interview because someone cries and you feel uncomfortable. If you do, you might deprive the person from expressing natural and proper emotions.
Simply express again how sorry that you are about the situation or loss and then be especially sensitive to the subject from that point on. Put down your notebook and ask whether there’s anything that you can do to help, such as getting a tissue or a glass of water. (You might even want to bring tissue yourself if you think the interview could become emotional.)
When the subject becomes somewhat composed again, ask softly “Are you okay?” and then “Do you want to continue the interview?” If the answer is yes, politely express that you’re taking notes again and ask the next question in a soft tone. Then be patient and listen.
At the end of the interview, thank the subject for talking to you “during these difficult times.” Then ask if you can call later to check on facts or quotations, and possibly on information that may have been missed.
If the person sobs uncontrollably or cannot respond further, it’s then that you should consider discontinuing the interview until a later time. Before leaving, ask whether the subject wants you to contact someone or needs anything else. Then ask whether it’s O.K. to call or return at a certain time. A simple nod may be the reply.
Finally, if you are troubled by what happened during the interview, be sure to talk to someone who’s a sensitive and trusted listener so you can debrief from the emotions that you absorbed yourself.
WRITING TO SAVOR | “THE BLACK AMERICAN AMPUTATION EPIDEMIC & “TETHERED TO THE MACHINE,” BY LIZZIE PRESSER, PROPUBLICA
Black Americans lose limbs to diabetes at a rate triple to others, an epidemic highlighted in a powerful narrative by Lizzie Presser of the nonprofit investigative news organization ProPublica.
The central character is cardiologist Dr. Foluso Fakorede, a larger than life Nigeria-raised cardiologist who settled in Bolivar County, Mississippi, and has mounted what Presser describes as a lone “militaristic” campaign to stem the tide of amputations among diabetic African Americans.
Presser braids Fakorede’s personal story with a penetrating investigative strain, buttressed by links to studies that document how racial biases in the medical and insurance communities deny Black Americans the kind of care that he provides.
The story was part of a two-part series published last year. The other, “Tethered to the Machine,” tracks a diabetic Black man on dialysis as he desperately tried before and during the COVID-19 pandemic to get on a kidney transplant waiting list in Alabama. Standing in his way: the same tragic barriers faced by Fakorede’s patients.
In June, the stories won the National Magazine Award for public interest. They are tragic and cry out for reform. For journalists and other writers of narrative nonfiction, Presser’s work also stands out as an exemplar of the investigative narrative worthy of close attention.
TIP OF THE WEEK REDUX | LOOK BACK TO SOLVE YOUR STORY’S PROBLEMS
Struggling with a story last week cast my memory to this writing tip from 2019. It’s a helpful reminder worth repeating.
"Remember the upstream theory of problem-solving. If your 17th graph isn’t working, the problem is probably in the 12th graph. If your writing isn’t working, the issue is probably the reporting. If the reporting isn’t working, the issue is probably the story idea.”
Lex Alexander’s advice brought to mind an experience I had writing narratives at The Providence Evening Bulletin. I was struggling with the end of a story when my editor, Joel Rawson, said, “The problem is it ends two paragraphs sooner than you finished the story.” Hand the piece finally worked. I realize now that Joel was following the upstream theory of problem-solving.
Problem with a story? Look back.
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May the writing go well, and may you be well.
Nulla dies sine linea / Never a day without a line
Black Lives Matter