CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
INTERVIEW WITH EMMA BOGGS
Rappahannock Review Fiction Editors: “Snow Day” mixes the light tone of a man spending time with his daughter with the heavy subject matter of loss. How did you approach balancing the tone of the story? What things changed as you revised?
Emma Boggs: That’s a great question! I knew from the beginning that I wanted six-year-old Hare to be an embodiment of joy and a sweet, silly counterpoint to the trauma Ian is bearing through life. From there I alternated between the lighter scenes featuring Hare and the ones when Ian’s alone with his grief. Eventually I found that Hare’s goofiness exacerbates Ian’s pain. For one, it speaks to the fact that she’s a child and can’t fully understand the loss of her mother or the depths of pain in her father. I’d also imagine that during Ian’s best moments with Hare he winds up longing for Piper to be able to experience their daughter, too.
In general, though, there’s something to be said for the overall contrast of light and heavy moments in any work of fiction. Maybe it’s a basic thing to say, but I think this contrast allows stories to be fleshed-out and fully realized. It seems only natural to have both dynamics present. And joy and sadness have an interesting relationship—weirdly enough, I think there can be a kind of obscene humor within moments of grief. On the other hand, the happier times in life can be shadowed with a sense that that happiness is fleeting.
As far as revisions go, I found that Hare’s personality changed over time. She was a few years older when I first wrote her, and more subdued—she didn’t have a tantrum in the first draft. But there were several reasons it was more “useful” to write her as a six-year-old: her goofy personality allowed a certain lightness, her lamblike innocence could be a stark contrast to Ian’s worldliness, and it gave me the chance for that moment of tantrummy turbulence. I also just truly enjoyed writing her character at six.
RR: There are several scenes throughout the story where we could feel the excitement and care coming off the page, such as Hare’s infectious energy, or the quiet, still moments at night. What part of the story did you most enjoy writing? What kind of scenes get you into the writing mood?
EB: Thank you! I most enjoyed writing—ironically—the most traumatic scene, which is Ian’s memory of Piper’s death. It was fun to play around with the repetitive language and to make the syntax mimic the fragmented, confusing nature of trauma. And I’d say it’s actually scenes like that that get me in the writing mood. As I mentioned, I like messing around with language and dealing with line-level minutia while drafting. I also think my favorite scenes to write are those imbued with meaning or those that become revelatory in some way (about a character, about the plot itself). At the end of the death scene Ian has this line, “Certainty is certainly a liar,” and it stands as both his immediate thought during that instant in the hospital and as a lingering, larger way of thinking and living that’s shaped him even six years later.
RR: Our hearts leapt into our throats when Ian’s panic kicked in as he realized Hare had gone to the pond. What would you say was the most difficult part about writing “Snow Day”?
EB: I actually had the most trouble with the scene at the pond! I wrote it a few times and it just wasn’t working, particularly Ian’s dialogue when he finds her. Eventually I realized I was writing his reaction too mildly—he wasn’t even losing his temper. It became clear that Ian would be angry in that moment, not only at Hare, but (perhaps subconsciously) at a multitude of culminating things: the injustice of Piper’s death, the task of single parenthood he’s been left with, his own flaws as a father, and even at Piper herself. (Of course he loved/loves Piper dearly, but I imagine that the difficulty of parenting without her—and the grief that would shadow everything—would render him secretly mad at her, however paradoxical it may be.)
All that to say, once I rewrote the scene with Ian losing his composure, it finally felt realistic and right.
RR: We often hear there is something each story teaches you, and something that you learn in each story you write. What, if anything, would you say writing “Snow Day” has taught you?
EB: This is an interesting question because I don’t know that I typically think about what I’ve learned from my stories. But what I mentioned earlier—the conflicting and long-lasting nature of feelings surrounding trauma—those are certainly things the story forced me to think through in a new light.
I also like to consider the personality types of characters I’m writing, which I believe can be a helpful exercise in empathy. In “Snow Day” I came to imagine Ian as a phobic six on the Enneagram. (I know, I know, you might be rolling your eyes because the Enneagram’s such a trend, but to be fair I knew it before the big craze happened. And I think it gets a bad rap because it can be misused—but that’s neither here nor there.) Anyway, when I had Ian in mind with that particular personality type, I was able to deepen my understanding of him.
RR: When you are not writing, what type of fiction is your favorite to read? What does a good story look like to you?
EB: There are a lot of things I love in fiction. I’m drawn to characters and writing styles that contain a certain amount of whimsy—the easiest example I can reach for is anything by Helen Oyeyemi. I like diving into stories that span an entire lifetime, such as Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry and The Dearly Beloved by Cara Wall. And I find any story revolving around writers really interesting, too—most recently I read Writers & Lovers by Lily King, and it was truly fantastic.
I’m also a bit of a pessimist—although I think I do a decent job toning it down when I’m out in the world—so I enjoy reading (and writing) fiction that feels optimistic in some way. The other day I encountered a quote by Louisa May Alcott that says, “I’ve had lots of troubles, so I write jolly tales.” It spoke to my soul. Yes please, give me a story that’s meaningful but just as she said—jolly.
Emma Boggs’ work in Issue 8.3: