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Read MoreWrite Where It Hurts: How To Get Published in The New Yorker
WRITE WHERE IT HURTS: HOW TO GET PUBLISHED IN THE NEW YORKER
Getting work published in The New Yorker is a dream for many writers. WNW Member Marco Kaye was on the phone with his mom when their email came through: "I didn’t even tell her right away. I guess I wanted to play it cool--something I am terrible at doing, by the way--and it felt surreal. I think I was shaking." Now Marco's a regular contributor to The New Yorker's "Daily Shouts," and is nearing the completion of his first novel.
Marco tell us why he branched out from copywriting, and how the processes of copywriting and creative writing, while similar, require the flexing of completely different muscles. He also offers great advice for aspiring writers: "You need to make sure something is right before you send it out. You need to take a piece of writing all the way. Writers are so eager to be published. And now anyone, anywhere can be published instantly, on so many forums. But I think there is long-term value in the quiet, difficult work of shaping self-started projects over the course of weeks and even years. This writing comes from deeper waters."
It's clear that Marco basks in the solitary writer's struggle that intimidates so many: "I rent my own office space in Hoboken, which looks like a 50’s gumshoe detective office--frosted glass door with my name in gold letters--and I love it. Being alone is food for the true writer. Instead of office parties, you party everyday with a demon called Your Mind. Less chips and guac, more anguish and fun."
Tell us about your creative background. Who is Marco and how did he get here?
I wanted to be an English major at UVA, but I didn’t get in, so I “rebelled” by majoring in Art at my state school, University of Delaware. While there, I discovered a great program called Visual Communications. Though we technically trained as art directors, I am color blind and my classmates always squinted whenever looking at one of my designs. Writing came easier for me. My first real ad job was for Jeff Kling, back when he was at Euro RSCG. Then I worked at Wieden Portland for four years, and then I moved back to NYC to freelance and go back to get my Master’s in Creative Writing. I put rebelled in quotes because my parents were like “go for it.” Years later, when I told them I wanted to write novels they were like, “That’s awesome. Do what you want to do.” I’m like, “Don’t you want to question these moves at all?”
Years later, when I told [my parents] I wanted to write novels they were like, “That’s awesome. Do what you want to do.” I’m like, “Don’t you want to question these moves at all?”
What led to your decision to move into creative writing and pursue your MFA? Are you still taking on freelance copywriting work?
When I started working at Wieden, I became serious about creative writing. Just before getting a job there, I had my first piece accepted on McSweeney’s. Something about the agency’s atmosphere, along with Portland’s bookish culture (sometimes I would walk through Powell’s City of Books on my lunch break just to get from Couch to Burnside), made me want to continue writing. Kevin Jones introduced me to the whole idea of an MFA. I had never considered it before. Once I got accepted into NYU, I realized my goal was to see if I could work on fiction that was longer than four pages. Three hundred and some pages later, I’m almost finished with the novel I started there.
And yes, I am constantly freelancing! I really love freelance to jump SWAT-like in and out of projects, and still find time to devote to writing.
Writing a novel or short story uses a completely different muscle than advertising. You put ideas out of your head and shuffle around in darkness to find the light switch.
As someone who’s now well-versed in both, how is the creative process for writing ads similar to and different from writing fiction or literary essays?
Lawrence Weschler, one of my NYU professors, asked me if advertising was fiction or nonfiction. I really loved this question because it is hard to answer! On one hand, you’re aiming at some truth. Thoughtful brands want to be authentic. On the other hand, fiction needs to be there to surprise and entertain. Writing short humor (i.e. for New Yorker or McSweeney’s) is very similar to advertising in that you start with a clear, simple concept. The writing process means following and seeing what surprising paths it can take you down. Colin Nissan and Mike Lacher are amazing at it. Both are also copywriters.
Writing a novel or short story uses a completely different muscle than advertising. First emerges a character, feeling, image, or environment. And then you’re focusing on language, the way to express it all. Then a situation. An idea is maybe the third or fourth most important thing. You put ideas out of your head and shuffle around in darkness to find the light switch.
How did it feel when you were first published in The New Yorker, a pipe dream for a lot of writers. Is there another publication that you now have your sights on?
I waited a long time to approach The New Yorker. I wanted to create something that felt like it could be right for them, versus tossing an idea their way and seeing if it stuck. So it felt validating in that sense. I was on the phone with my Mom when their email came through and I didn’t even tell her right away. I guess I wanted to play it cool--something I am terrible at doing, by the way--and it felt surreal. I think I was shaking.
Now, I want to finish my novel and get it published.
Write where it hurts. "Print into the bruise," even if you’re writing comedy. “Mistakes,” she wrote, “are little cakes I’m baking.”
What are some tips or advice you can offer to fellow creatives contemplating a similar career shift?
You need to make sure something is right before you send it out. You need to take a piece of writing all the way. Writers are so eager to be published. And now anyone, anywhere can be published instantly, on so many forums. But I think there is long-term value in the quiet, difficult work of shaping self-started projects over the course of weeks and even years. This writing comes from deeper waters. I discovered a poem in Zyzzyva, a literary magazine, by Aliza Rood called “Print Into the Bruise.” What a great title. Write where it hurts. Print into the bruise, even if you’re writing comedy. “Mistakes,” she wrote, “are little cakes I’m baking.”
How does New York influence your writing?
The human panoply bound within this island is the best. I write down things people say. I peek over shoulders at texts. The other day, I passed a woman talking on her phone outside of a pizza place. “Second of all,” she said into her earbud speaker, “my Mom’s dead, so if she called you that would be really surprising.” I don’t take that and stick it into a novel, but I feel the need to jot it down. You have to feel the rhythms of the way people talk. You need to create a whole catalogue of gestures and observations you can pull from at any given moment.
My ideas always come out half-formed and mangy. In fact, I mistrust an idea if it doesn’t change somehow in the writing process.
How would you describe your creative writing style? Do you recognize a signature style that links all of your projects, or do you try to excuse yourself and approach each project as its own entity?
Oh, remember a few answers up how I talked about having a “clear, simple idea”? Well, that was way misleading. My ideas always come out half-formed and mangy. In fact, I mistrust an idea if it doesn’t change somehow in the writing process. For “Announcing MyIlluminati,” I had the thought, “I am President of the Hoboken Illuminati.” That seemed funny to me, this vast conspiracy had more day-to-day foot-soldiers. But as I started to write it, I immediately saw how small the idea felt. So I changed it to a way to get involved locally, not matter where you live.
As for style, that feels like something almost beyond my control. You write from the center nougat of your chocolate-covered interests. You see where it goes from there.
Who are some of your biggest creative idols and influences?
My favorite writers are Lorrie Moore, Sam Lipsyte, Martin Amis, Karen Russell, Vinnie Wilhelm, Philip Lopate and Simon Rich. If that seems like a lot of idols, I welcome a vast list.
What are some things you would tell your high school or early twenties self?
In my novel, Remember the Damps, I speak to a highly fictionalized version of my early-twenties self. I would tell my main character, Reed Ellis, what I would tell myself: you are better than you think.
Being alone is food for the true writer. Instead of office parties, you party everyday with a demon called Your Mind. Less chips and guac, more anguish and fun.
Do you thrive off of being part of a creative community or are you more in your element as a lone wolf?
I rent my own office space in Hoboken, which looks like a 50’s gumshoe detective office--frosted glass door with my name in gold letters--and I love it. Being alone is food for the true writer. Instead of office parties, you party everyday with a demon called Your Mind. Less chips and guac, more anguish and fun.
What books are on your summer reading list, or should be on WNW members?
To anyone in design or advertising, I would recommend Lightning Rods by Helen DeWitt, The Ask by Sam Lipsyte, Ride a Cockhorse by Raymond Kennedy and The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker. All are amazingly funny, extremely perceptive stories.
Anything else you’d like to add?
If you are making work that matters to yourself, the greater chance that work will matter to others. And that’s an amazing place to be.
