Pulitzer Winner Jennifer Senior on Knowing Your Voice (Ep 8)

In this Write Big session of the #amwriting podcast, host Jennie Nash welcomes Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist Jennifer Senior for a powerful conversation about finding, knowing, and claiming your voice.

Jennifer shares how a medication once stripped away her ability to think in metaphor—the very heart of her writing—and what it was like to get that voice back. She and Jennie talk about how voice strengthens over time, why confidence and ruthless editing matter, and what it feels like when you’re truly writing in flow.

It’s an inspiring reminder that your voice is your greatest strength—and worth honoring every time you sit down to write.

TRANSCRIPT BELOW!

THINGS MENTIONED IN THIS PODCAST:

* Jennifer’s Fresh Air interview with Terry Gross: Can’t Sleep? You’re Not Alone

* Atlantic feature story: What Bobby McIlvaine Left Behind

* Atlantic feature story: The Ones We Sent Away

* Atlantic feature story: It’s Your Friends Who Break Your Heart

* The New York Times article: Happiness Won’t Save You

* Heavyweight the podcast

SPONSORSHIP MESSAGE

Hey, it’s Jennie Nash. And at Author Accelerator, we believe that the skills required to become a great book coach and build a successful book coaching business can be taught to people who come from all kinds of backgrounds and who bring all kinds of experiences to the work. But we also know that there are certain core characteristics that our most successful book coaches share. If you’ve been curious about becoming a book coach, and 2026 might be the year for you, come take our quiz to see how many of those core characteristics you have. You can find it at bookcoaches.com/characteristics-quiz.

EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

Jennie Nash

Hi, I’m Jennie Nash, and you’re listening to the Hashtag AmWriting Podcast. This is a Write Big Session, where I’m bringing you short episodes about the mindset shifts that help you stop playing small and write like it matters. This one might not actually be that short, because today I’m talking to journalist Jennifer Senior about the idea of finding and knowing and claiming your voice—a rather big part of writing big. Jennifer Senior is a staff writer at The Atlantic. She won the Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 2022 and was a finalist again in 2024. Before that, she spent five years at The New York Times as both a daily book critic and a columnist for the opinion page, and nearly two decades at New York Magazine. She’s also the author of a bestselling parenting book, and frequently appears on NPR and other news shows. Welcome, Jennifer. Thanks for joining us.

Jennifer Senior

Thank you for having me. Hey, I got to clarify just one thing.

Jennie Nash

Oh, no.

Jennifer Senior

All Joy and No Fun is by no means a parenting book. I can’t tell you the first thing about how to raise your kids. It is all about how kids change their parents. It’s all like a sociological look at who we become and why we are—so our lives become so vexed. I like, I would do these book talks, and at the end, everybody would raise their hand and be like, “How do I get my kid into Harvard?” You know, like, the equivalent obviously—they wouldn’t say it that way. I’d be like; I don’t really have any idea, or how to get your kid to eat vegetables, or how to get your kid to, like, stop talking back. But anyway, I just have to clarify that, because every time...

Jennie Nash

Please, please—

Jennifer Senior

Someone says that, I’m like, “Noooo.” Anyway, it’s a sociology book. Ah, it’s an ethnography, you know. But anyway, it doesn’t matter.

Jennie Nash

All right, like she said, you guys—not what I said.

Jennifer Senior

I’m not correcting you. It came out 11 years ago. There were no iPads then, or social media. I mean, forget it. It’s so dated anyway. But like, I just...

Jennie Nash

That’s so funny. So the reason that we’re speaking is that I heard you recently on Fresh Air with Terry Gross, where you were talking about an Atlantic feature story that you wrote called “Why Can’t Americans Sleep?” And this was obviously a reported piece, but also a really personal piece and you’re talking about your futile attempts to fall asleep and the latest research into insomnia and medication and therapy that you used to treat it, and we’ll link to that article and interview in the show notes. But the reason that we’re talking, and that in the middle of this conversation, which—which I’m listening to and I’m riveted by—you made this comment, and it was a little bit of a throwaway comment in the conversation, and, you know, then the conversation moved on. But you talked about how you were taking a particular antidepressant you’d been prescribed, and this was the quote you said: “It blew out all the circuitry that was responsible for generating metaphors, which is what I do as a writer. So it made my writing really flat.” And I was just like, hold up. What was that like? What happened? What—everything? So that’s why we’re talking. So… can we go back to the very beginning? If you can remember—Jess Lahey actually told me that when she was teaching fifth and sixth grade, that’s around the time that kids begin to grasp this idea of figurative language and metaphor and such. Do you remember learning how to write like that, like write in metaphor and simile and all such things?

Jennifer Senior

Oh, that’s funny. Do I remember it? I remember them starting to sort of come unbidden in my—like they would come unbidden in my head starting maybe in my—the minute I entered college, or maybe in my teens. Actually, I had that thing where some people have this—people who become writers have, like, a narrator’s voice in their head where they’re actually looking at things and describing them in the third person. They’re writing them as they witness the world. That went away, that narrator’s voice, which I also find sort of fascinating. But, like, I would say that it sort of emerged concurrently. I guess I was scribbling a little bit of, like, short story stuff, or I tried at least one when I was a senior in high school. So that was the first time maybe that, like, I started realizing that I had a flair for it. I also—once I noticed that, I know in college I would make, you know, when I started writing for the alternative weekly and I was reviewing things, particularly theater, I would make a conscientious effort to come up with good metaphors, and, like, 50% of them worked and 50% of them didn’t, because if you ever labor over a metaphor, there’s a much lower chance of it working. I mean, if you come—if you revisit it and go, oh, that’s not—you know, that you can tell if it’s too precious. But now if I labor over a metaphor, I don’t bother. I stop. You know, it has to come instantaneously or...

Jennie Nash

Or that reminds me of people who write with the thesaurus open, like that’s going to be good, right? That’s not going to work. So I want to stick with this, you know, so that they come into your head, you recognize that, and just this idea of knowing, back in the day, that you could write like that—you… this was a thing you had, like you used the word “flair,” like had a flair for this. Were there other signs or things that led you to the work, like knowing you were good, or knowing when something was on the page that it was right, like, what—what is that?

Jennifer Senior

It’s that feeling of exhilaration, but it’s also that feeling of total bewilderment, like you’ve been struck by something—something just blew through you and you had nothing to do with it. I mean, it’s the cliché: here I am saying the metaphors are my superpower, which my editors were telling me, and I’m about to use a cliché, which is that you feel like you’re a conduit for something and you have absolutely nothing to do with it. So I would have that sense that it had almost come without conscious thought. That was sort of when I knew it was working. It’s also part of being in a flow state. It’s when you’re losing track of time and you’re just in it. And the metaphors are—yeah, they’re effortless. By the way, my brain is not entirely fogged in from long COVID, but I have noticed—and at first I didn’t really notice any decrements in cognition—but recently, I have. So I’m wondering now if I’m having problems with spontaneous metaphor generation. It’s a little bit disconcerting. And I do feel like all SSRIs—and I’m taking one now, just because, not just because long COVID is depressing, but because I have POTS, which is like a—it’s Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, and that’s a very common sequela from long COVID, and it wipes out your plasma serotonin. So we have to take one anyway, we POTS patients. So I found that nicotine often helped with my long COVID, which is a thing—like a nicotine patch—and that made up for it. It almost felt like I was doping [laughing]. It made my writing so much better. But it’s been...

Jennie Nash

Wait, wait, wait, this is so interesting.

Jennifer Senior

I know…it’s really weird. I would never have guessed that so much of my writing would be dampened by Big Pharma. I mean—but now with the nicotine patches, I was like, oh, now I get why writers are smoking until into the night, writing. Like, I mean, and I always wished that I did, just because it looked cool, you know? I could have just been one of those people with their Gitanes, or however you pronounce it, but, yeah.

Jennie Nash

Wow. So I want to come—I want to circle back to this in a minute, but let’s get to the first time—well, it sounds like the first time that happened where you were prescribed an antidepressant and—and you recognized that you lost the ability to write in metaphor. Can you talk about—well, first of all, can you tell us what the medication was?

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, it was Paxil, which is actually notorious for that. And at the top—which I only subsequently discovered—those were in the days where there were no such things as Reddit threads or anything like that. It was 1999… I guess, no, eight, but so really early. That was the bespoke antidepressant at the time, thought to be more nuanced. I think it’s now fallen out of favor, because it’s also a b***h to wean off of. But it was kind of awful, just—I would think, and nothing would come. It was the strangest thing. For—there’s all this static electricity usually when you write, right? And there’s a lot of free associating that goes on that, again, feels a little involuntary. You know, you start thinking—it’s like you’ve pulled back the spring in the pinball machine, and suddenly the thing is just bouncing around everywhere, and the ball wasn’t bouncing around. Nothing was lighting up. It was like a dis… it just was strange, to be able to summon nothing.

Jennie Nash

Wow. So you—you just used this killer metaphor to describe that.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, that was spontaneous.

Jennie Nash

Right? So—so you said first, you said static, static energy, which—which is interesting.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, it’s... [buzzing sound]

Jennie Nash

Yeah. Yeah. Because it’s noisy. You’re talking about...

Jennie Senior

Oh, but it’s not disruptive noise. Sorry, that might seem like it’s like unwanted crackling, like on your television. I didn’t really—yeah, maybe that’s the wrong metaphor, actually, maybe the pinball is sort of better, that all you need is to, you know, psych yourself up, sit down, have your caffeine, and then bam, you know? But I didn’t mean static in that way.

Jennie Nash

I understood what you meant. There’s like a buzzy energy.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, right. It’s fizz.

Jennie Nash

Fizz... that’s so good. So you—you recognized that this was gone.

Jennifer Senior

So gone! Like the TV was off, you know?

Jennie Nash

And did you...?

Jennifer Senior

Or the machine, you know, was unplugged? I mean, it’s—

Jennie Nash

Yeah, and did you? I’m just so curious about the part of your brain that was watching another part of your brain.

Jennifer Senior

[Laughing] You know what? I think... oh, that’s really interesting. But are you watching, or are you just despairing because there’s nothing—I mean, I’m trying to think if that’s the right...

Jennie Nash

But there’s a part of your brain that’s like, this part of my brain isn’t working.

Jennifer Senior

Right. I’m just thinking how much metacognition is involved in— I mean, if you forget a word, are you really, like, staring at that very hard, or are you just like, s**t, what’s the word? If you’re staring at Jack Nicholson on TV, and you’re like, why can’t I remember that dude’s name?

Multiple speakers

[Both laughing]

Jennifer Senior

Which happens to me far more regularly now, [unintelligible]… than it used to, you know? I mean, I don’t know. There is a part of you that’s completely alarmed, but, like, I guess you’re right. There did come a point where I—you’re right, where I suddenly realized, oh, there’s just been a total breakdown here. It’s never happening. Like, what is going on? Also, you know what would happen? Every sentence was a grind, like...

Jennie Nash

Okay, so—okay, so...

Jennifer Senior

[Unintelligible]... Why is this so effortful? When you can’t hold the previous sentence in your head, suddenly there’s been this lapse in voice, right? Because, like, if every sentence is an effort and you’re starting from nothing again, there’s no continuity in how you sound. So, I mean, it was really dreadful. And by the way, if I can just say one thing, sorry now that—

Jennie Nash

No, I love it!

Jennifer Senior

Yeah. Sorry. I’m just—now you really got me going. I’m just like, yeah, I know. I’m sort of on a tear and a partial rant, which is Prozac—there came a point where, like, every single SSRI was too activating for me to sleep. But it was, of course, a problem, because being sleepless makes you depressed, so you need something to get at your depression. And SNRIs, like the Effexor’s and the Cymbalta’s, are out of the question, because those are known to be activating. So I kept vainly searching for SSRIs, and Prozac was the only one that didn’t—that wound up not being terribly activating, besides Paxil, but it, too, was somewhat deadening, and I wrote my whole book on it.

Jennie Nash

Wow!

Jennifer Senior

It’s not all metaphor.

Multiple Speakers

[both laughing]

Jennifer Senior

It’s not all me and no—nothing memorable, you know? I mean, it’s—it’s kind of a problem. It was—I can’t really bear to go back and look at it.

Jennie Nash

Wow.

Jennie Nash

So—so the feeling...

Jennifer Senior

I’m really giving my book the hard sell, like it’s really a B plus in terms of its pro…—I mean, you know, it wasn’t.

Jennie Nash

So you—you—you recognize its happening, and what you recognize is a lack of fizzy, buzzy energy and a lack of flow. So I just have to ask now, presumably—well, there’s long COVID now, but when you don’t have—when you’re writing in your full powers, do you—is it always in a state of flow? Like, if you’re not in a state of flow, do you get up and go do something else? Like, what—how does that function in the life of a writer on a deadline?

Jennifer Senior

OK. Well, am I always in a state of flow? No! I mean, flow is not—I don’t know anyone who’s good at something who just immediately can be in flow every time.

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

It’s still magic when it happens. You know, when I was in flow almost out of the gate every day—the McIlvaine stories—like, I knew when I hit send, this thing is damn good. I knew when I hit send on a piece that was not as well read, but is like my second or third favorite story. I wrote something for The New York Times called “Happiness Wont Save You,” about a pioneer in—he wrote one of the foundational studies in positive psychology about lottery winners and paraplegics, and how lottery winners are pretty much no happier than random controls found in a phone book, and paraplegics are much less unhappy than you might think, compared to controls. It was really poorly designed. It would never withstand the scrutiny of peer review today. But anyway, this guy was, like, a very innovative thinker. His name was Philip Brickman, and in 1982 at 38 years old, he climbed—he got—went—he found his way to the roof of the tallest building in Ann Arbor and jumped, and took his own life. And I was in flow pretty much throughout writing that one too.

Jennie Nash

Wow. So the piece you’re referring to, that you referred to previous to that, is What Bobby McIlvaine Left Behind, which was a feature story in The Atlantic. It’s the one you won the—Pul…Pulitzer for? It’s now made into a book. It has, like...

Jennifer Senior

Although all it is like, you know, the story between...

Jennie Nash

Covers, right?

Jennifer Senior

Yeah. Yeah. Because—yeah, yeah.

Jennie Nash

But—

Jennifer Senior

Which is great, because then people can have it, rather than look at it online, which—and it goes on forever—so yeah.

Jennie Nash

So this is a piece—the subtitle is Grief, Conspiracy Theories, and One Family’s Search for Meaning in the Two Decades Since 9/11—and I actually pulled a couple of metaphors from that piece, because I re-read it knowing I was going to speak to you… and I mean, it was just so beautifully written. It’s—it’s so beautifully structured, everything, everything. But here’s a couple of examples for our listeners. You’re describing Bobby, who was a 26-year-old who died in 9/11, who was your brother’s college roommate.

Jennifer Senior

And at that young adult—they—you can’t afford New York. They were living together for eight years. It was four in college, and four—

Jennie Nash

Wow.

Jennifer Senior

In New York City. They had a two-bedroom... yeah, in a cheaper part... well, to the extent that there are cheaper parts in...

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

The way over near York Avenue, east side, yeah.

Jennie Nash

So you write, “When he smiled, it looked for all the world like he’d swallowed the moon.” And you wrote, “But for all Bobby’s hunger and swagger, what he mainly exuded, even during his college years, was warmth, decency, a corkscrew quirkiness.” So just that kind of language—a corkscrew quirkiness, like he’d swallowed the moon—that, it’s that the piece is full of that. So that’s interesting, that you felt in flow with this other piece you described and this one. So how would you describe—so you describe metaphors as things that just come—it just—it just happens. You’re not forcing it—you can’t force it. Do you think that’s true of whatever this ineffable thing of voice—voices—as well?

Jennifer Senior

Oh, that’s a good question. My voice got more distinct as I got older—it gets better. I think a lot of people’s—writers’—powers wax. Philip Roth is a great example of that. Colette? I mean, there are people whose powers really get better and better, and I’ve gotten better with more experience. But do you start with the voice? I think you do. I don’t know if you can teach someone a voice.

Jennie Nash

So when you say you’ve gotten better, what does that mean to you?

Jennifer Senior

Yeah. Um, I’m trying to think, like, do I write with more swing? Do I—just with more confidence because I’m older? Being a columnist…which is the least creative medium…

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

Seven hundred and fifty words to fit onto—I had a dedicated space in print. When David Leonhardt left, I took over the Monday spot, during COVID. So it’s really, really—but what it forces you to do is to be very—your writing becomes lean, and it becomes—and structure is everything. So this does not relate to voice, but my—I was always pretty good at structure anyway. I think if you—I think movies and radio, podcasts, are, like, great for structure. Storytelling podcasts are the best thing to—I think I unconsciously emulate them. The McIlvaine story has a three-act structure. There’s also—I think the podcast Heavyweight is sublime in that way.

Jennie Nash

Is that Roxane Gay?

Jennifer Senior

No, no, no, no.

Jennie Nash

Oh, it’s, um—

Jennifer Senior

It’s Jonathan Goldstein.

Jennie Nash

Yes, got it. I’m going to write that down and link to that in our show notes.

Jennifer Senior

It’s... I’m trying to think of—because, you know, his is, like, narratives, and it’s—it’s got a very unusual premise. But voice, voice, voice—well, I, you know, I worked on making my metaphors better in the beginning. I worked on noticing things, you know, and I worked on—I have the—I’m the least visual person alive. I mean, this is what’s so interesting. Like, I failed to notice once that I had sat for an hour and a half with a woman who was missing an arm. I mean, I came back to the office and was talking—this is Barbara Epstein, who was a storied editor of The New York Review of Books, the story editor, along with Bob Silver. And I was talking to Mike Tomasky, who was our, like, city politic editor at the time. And I said to him, I just had this one—I knew she knew her. And he said, was it awkward? Was—you know, with her having one arm and everything? And I just stared at him and went one arm? I—I am really oblivious to stuff. And yet visual metaphors are no problem with me. Riddle me that, Batman. I don’t know why that is. But I can, like, summon them in my head, and so I worked at it for a while, when my editors were responsive to it. Now they come more easily, so that seems to maybe just be a facility. I started noticing them in other people’s writing. So Michael Ondaatje —in, I think it was In the Skin of a Lion, but maybe it was The English Patient. I’ve read, like, every book of his, like I’ve, you know— Running… was it Running in the Family? Running with the Family? I think it was Running in the—his memoir. And, I mean, doesn’t—everything. Anil’s Ghost—he— you know, that was it The Ballad of Billy the Kid? [The Collected Works of Billy the Kid] Anyway, I can go on and on. He had one metaphor talking about the evening being as serene as ink. And it was then that I realized that metaphors without effort often—and—or is that a simile? That’s a simile.

Jennie NashLike—or if it’s “like” or “as,” it’s a simile.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah. So I’m pretty good with similes, maybe more than metaphors. But... serene as ink. I realized that what made that work is that ink is one syllable. There is something about landing on a word with one syllable that sounds like you did not work particularly hard at it. You just look at it and keep going. And I know that I made a real effort to make my metaphors do that for a while, and I still do sometimes. Anything more than that can seem labored.

Jennie Nash

Oh, but that’s so interesting. So you—you noticed in other people what worked and what you liked, and then tried to fold that into your own work.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah.

Jennie Nash

So does that mean you might noodle on—like, you have the structure of the metaphor or simile, but you might noodle on the word—

Jennifer Senior

The final word?

Jennie Nash

The final word.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah. Yeah, the actual simile, or whatever—yeah, I guess it’s a simile—yeah, sometimes. Sometimes they—like I said, they come unbidden. I think I have enough experience now—which may make my voice better—to know what’s crap. And I also, by the way, I’ll tell you what makes your voice better: just being very willing to hit Select Alt, Delete. You know, there’s more where that came from. I am a monster of self-editing. I just—I have no problem doing it. I like to do it. I like to be told when things are s**t. I think that improves your voice, because you can see it on the page.

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer SeniorAnd also, I think paying attention to other people’s writing, you know, I did more and more of that, you know, reverse engineering stuff, looking at how they did stuff as I got older, so...Jennie Nash

So I was going to ask a question, which now maybe you already answered, but the question was going to be… you said that you’re—you feel like you’re getting better as a writer as you got older. And you—you said that was due to experience. And I was going to ask, is it, or is it due to getting older? You know, is there something about literally living more years that makes you better, or, you know, like, is wisdom something that you just get, or is it something you work for? But I think what I’m hearing is you’re saying you have worked to become the kind of writer who knows, you know, what you just said—you delete stuff, it comes again. But tell me if—you know, you welcome the kind of tough feedback, because you know that makes you better. You know, this sort of real effort to become better, it sounds like that’s a practice you have. Is that—is that right?

Jennifer Senior

Oh yeah. I mean, well, let’s do two things on that, please. I so easily lose my juju these days that, like, you’ve got to—if you can put a, you know, oh God, I’m going to use a cliché again—if you can put a pin in or bookmark that, the observation about, you know, harsh feedback. I want to come back to that. But yes, one of the things that I was going to keep—when I said that I have the confidence now, I also was going to say that I have the wisdom, but I had too many kind of competing—

Jennie Nash

Yeah. Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

You know, were running at once, and I, you know, many trains on many tracks—

Jennie Nash

Yeah, yeah.

Jennifer Senior

…about to leave, so…, Like, I had to sort of hop on one. But, like, the—the confidence and wisdom, yes, and also, like, I’ll tell you something: in the McIlvaine piece, it may have been the first time I did, like, a narrative nonfiction. I told a story. There was a time when I would have hid behind research on that one.

Jennie Nash

Ooh, and did you tell a story. It was the—I remember reading that piece when it first came out, and there you’re introducing, you know, this—the situation. And then there’s a moment, and it comes very quickly at the top of the piece, where you explain your relationship to the protagonist of the story. And there’s a—there’s just a moment of like, oh, we’re—we’re really in something different here. There’s really—is that feel of, this is not a reported story, this is a lived story, and that there’s so many layers of power, I mean, to the story itself, but obviously the way that you—you present it, so I know exactly what you’re talking about.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, and by the way, I think writing in the first person, which I’ve been doing a lot of lately, is not something I would have done until now. Probably because I am older and I feel like I’ve earned it. I have more to say. I’ve been through more stuff. It’s not, like, with the same kind of narcissism or adolescent—like, I want to get this out, you know. It’s more searching, I think, and because I’ve seen more, and also because I’ve had these pent up stories that I’ve wanted to tell for a long time. And also I just don’t think I would have had the balls, you know.

Jennie Nash

Right.

Jennifer Senior

So some of it is—and I think that that’s part of—you can write better in your own voice. If it’s you writing about you, you’re—there’s no better authority, you know? So your voice comes out.

Jennie Nash

Right.

Jennifer Senior

But I’m trying to think of also—I would have hid behind research and talked about theories of grief. And when I wrote, “It’s the damnedest thing, the dead abandon you, and then you abandon the dead,” I had blurted that out loud when I was talking to, actually, not Bobby’s brother, which is the context in which I wrote it, but to Bobby’s—I said that, it’s, like, right there on the tape—to his former almost fiancée. And I was thinking about that line, that I let it stand. I didn’t actually then rush off and see if there was a body of literature that talked about the guilt that the living feel about letting go of their memories. But I would have done that at one point. I would have turned it into this... because I was too afraid to just let my own observations stand. But you get older and you’re like, you know what? I’m smart enough to just let that be mine. Like, assume...

Jennie Nash

Right.

Jennifer Senior

It’s got to be right. But can we go back, also, before I forget?

Jennie Nash

Yeah, we’re going to go back to harsh, but—but I would just want to use your cliché, put a pin in what you said, because you’ve said so many important things— that there’s actual practice of getting better, and then there’s also wisdom of—of just owning, growing into, embracing, which are two different things, both so important. So I just wanted to highlight that you’ve gone through those two things. So yes, let’s go back to—I said harsh, and maybe I miss—can...misrepresenting what you meant.

Jennifer Senior

You may not have said that. I don’t know what you said.

Jennie Nash

No, I did, I did.

Jennifer Senior

You did, okay, yeah, because I just know that it was processed as a harsh—oh no, totally. Like, I was going to say to you that—so there was a part of my book, my book, eventually, I just gave one chapter to each person in my life whom I thought could, like, assess it best, and one of them, so this friend—I did it on paper. He circled three paragraphs, and he wrote, and I quote, “Is this just a shitty way of saying...?” And then I was like, thank God someone caught it, if it was shitty. Oh my God. And then—and I was totally old enough to handle it, you know, I was like 44, whatever, 43. And then, who was it? Someone else—oh, I think I gave my husband the intro, and he wrote—he circled a paragraph and just wrote, “Ugh.” Okay, Select Alt, Delete, redo. You know, like, what are you going to do with that? That’s so unambiguous. It’s like, you know—and also, I mean, when you’re younger, you argue. When you’re older, you never quarrel with Ugh. Or Is this...

Jennie Nash

Right, you’re just like, okay, yep.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah. And again, you—you’ve done it enough that, you know, there’s so much more where that came from.

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

Why cling to anything that someone just, I don’t know, had this totally allergic reaction to? Like, you know, if my husband broke out in a hive.

Jennie Nash

Yeah. So, circling back to the—the storyline of—you took this medication, you lost your ability to write in this way, you changed medications, presumably, you got it back. What did it feel like to get it back? Did you—do you remember that?

Jennifer Senior

Oh God, yes, it was glorious.

Jennie Nash

Really?!

Jennifer Senior

Oh, you don’t feel like yourself. I think that—I mean, I think there are many professions that are intertwined with identity. They may be the more professional—I’m sorry, the more creative professions. But not always, you know. And so if your writing voice is gone, and it’s—I mean, so much of writing is an expression of your interior, if not life, then, I don’t know some kind of thought process and something that you’re working out. To have that drained out of you, for someone to just decant all the life out of your—or something to decant all the life out of your writing, it’s—it’s, I wouldn’t say it’s traumatic, that’s totally overstating it, but it’s—it’s a huge bummer. It’s, you know, it’s depressing.

Jennie Nash

Well, the word glorious, that’s so cool. So to feel that you got back your—the you-ness of your voice was—was glorious. I mean, that’s—that’s amazing.

Jennifer Senior

What—if I can just say, I wrote a feature, right, that then, like, I remember coming off of it, and then I wrote a feature that won the News Women’s Club of New York story for best feature that year. Like, I didn’t realize that those are kind of hard to win, and not like I won... I think I’ve won one since. But, like, that was in, like, 99 or something. I mean, like, you know, I don’t write a whole lot of things that win stuff, until recently, you know. There was, like, a real kind of blackout period where, you know, I mean, but like—which I think, it probably didn’t have to do with the quality of my writing. I mean, there was—but, I mean, you know, I wasn’t writing any of the stuff that floated to the tippy top, and, like, I think that there was some kind of explosion thereof, like, all the, again, stuff that was just desperate to come out. I think there was just this volcanic outpouring.

Jennie Nash

So you’re saying now you are winning things, which is indeed true. I mean, Pulitzer Prizes among them. Do you think that that has to do with this getting better? The wisdom, the practice, the glorious having of your abilities? Or, I guess what I’m asking is, like, is luck a part of—a part of all that? Is it just, it just happens? Or do you think there’s some reason that it’s happening? You feel that your writing is that powerful now?

Jennifer Senior

Well, luck is definitely a part of it, because The Atlantic is the greatest place to showcase your feature writing. It gets so much attention, even though I think fewer people probably read that piece about Bobby McIlvaine than would have read any of my columns on any given day. The kind of attention was just so different. And it makes sense in a funny way, because it was 13,600 words or something. I mean, it was so long, and columns are 750 words. But, like, I think that I just lucked out in terms of the showcase. So that’s definitely a part of it. And The Atlantic has the machinery to, you know, and all these dedicated, wonderful publicity people who will make it possible for people to read it, blah, blah, blah. So there’s that. If you’re older, you know everyone in the business, so you have people amplifying your work, they’re suddenly reading it and saying, hey, everybody read it. It was before Twitter turned to garbage. Media was still a way to amplify it. It’s much harder now, so passing things along through social media has become a real problem. But at that moment, it was not—

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

So that was totally luck. Also, I wonder if it was because I was suddenly writing something from in the first person, and my voice was just better that way. And I wouldn’t have had, like, the courage, you know?

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

And also, you’re a book critic, which is what I was at The Times. And you certainly are not writing from the first person. And as a columnist, you’re not either.

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

So, you know, those are very kind of constricted forms, and they’re also not—there are certainly critics who win Pulitzers. I don’t think I was good enough at it. I was good, but it was not good enough. I could name off the top of my head, like, so many critics who were—who are—who haven’t even won anything yet. Like Dwight Garner really deserves one. Why has he not won a Pulitzer? He’s, I think, the best writer—him and Sophie Gilbert, who keeps coming close. I don’t get it, like, what the hell?

Jennie Nash

Do you—as a—as a reader of other people’s work, I know you—you mentioned Michael Ondaatje that you’d studied—study him. But do you just recognize when somebody else is on their game? Like, do you recognize the voice or the gloriousness of somebody else’s work? Can you just be like, yeah, that...?

Jennifer Senior

Well, Philip Roth, sentence for sentence. Martin Amis, even more so—I cannot get over the originality of each of his sentences and the wide vocabulary from which he recruits his words, and, like, maybe some of that is just being English. I think they just get better, kind of more comprehensive. They read more comprehensively. And I always tell people, if they want to improve their voice, they should read the Victorians, like that [unintelligible]. His also facility with metaphor, I don’t think, is without equal. The thing is, I can’t stand his fiction. I just find it repellent. But his criticism is bangers and his memoirs are great, so I love them.

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

So I really—I read him very attentively, trying to think of, like, other people whose kind of...

Jennie Nash

I guess I was—I was getting at more... like, genius recognizes genius, that con... that concept, like, when you know you can do this and write in this way from time to time anyway, you can pull it off.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, genius as in—I wouldn’t—we can’t go there.

Jennie Nash

Well, that’s the—that’s the cliché, right? But, like...

Jennifer Senior

Oh no, I know, I know. Game—game, game recognizes game.

Jennie Nash

Game recognizes game is a better way of saying it. Like, do you see—that’s actually what the phrase is. I don’t know where I came up with genius, but...

Jennifer Senior

No, it’s fine. You can stick anything in that template, you know—evil recognizes evil, I mean, you know, it’s like a...

Jennie Nash

Yeah. Do you see it? Do you see it? Like, you can see it in other people?

Jennifer Senior

Sure. Oh yeah, I see it.

Jennie Nash

Yeah.

Jennifer Senior

I mean, you’re just talking about among my contemporaries, or just as it...

Jennie Nash

Just like anything, like when you pick up a book or you read an article or even listen to a storytelling pack podcast, that sense of being in the hands of somebody who’s on it.

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, I think that Jonathan Goldstein—I mean, I think that the—the Heavyweight Podcast, for sure, is something—and more than that, it’s—it’s storytelling structure, it’s just that—I think that anybody who’s a master at structure would just look at that show and be like, yeah, that show nails it each and every time.

Jennie Nash

I’ve not listened, but I feel like I should end our time together. I would talk to you forever about this, but I always like to leave our listeners with something specific to reflect or practice or do. And is there anything related to metaphor or practicing, finding your voice, owning your voice, that you would suggest for—for folks? You’ve already suggested a lot.

Jennifer Senior

Read the Victorians.

Jennie Nash

Awesome. Any particular one that you would say start with?

Jennifer Senior

Yeah, you know what? I find Dickens rough sledding. I like his, you know, dear friend Wilkie Collins. I think No Name is one of the greatest books ever. I would read No Name.

Jennie Nash

Amazing. And I will add, go read Jennifer’s work. We’ll link to a bunch of it in the show notes. Study her and—and watch what she does and learn what she does—that there it is, a master at work, and that’s what I would suggest. So thank you for joining us and having this amazing discussion.

Jennifer Senior

This has been super fun.

Jennie Nash

And for our listeners, until next time, stop playing small and write like it matters.

Narrator

The Hashtag AmWriting Podcast is produced by Andrew Perrella. Our intro music, aptly titled Unemployed Monday, was written and played by Max Cohen. Andrew and Max were paid for their time and their creative output, because everyone deserves to be paid for their work.

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