In our Spotlight On series, we chat with a member of the Writing NSW community to celebrate their success and learn more about their writing practice. This month we put the spotlight on Fiona Kelly McGregor, multidisciplinary writer, artist and critic, whose latest novel Iris was shortlisted for the Miles Franklin Award. Fiona spoke with our Administration Officer, Nevenya Cameron, about publishing across different forms, writing historical fiction and queer identity in literature.

Your writing career spans eight publications over three decades. How has the publishing process changed since writing your first novel, Au Pair, compared to your most recent work, Iris?

The most obvious change has been from analogue to digital. Sending bulky manuscripts through the post as opposed to a file on email. Also the massive reduction in print media and reviews in general, and the rise of social media which enables many more voices – but also I fear, the cursory and more commercial response. Changes have also been determined by how diverse my books have been. I’ve had many different publishers largely due to this, also due to the changing landscape of the industry (my first publisher McPhee Gribble was sold). It’s a volatile industry, always vulnerable to the distant capitals of the Anglo empire.

I write across a variety of genres: novels, short stories, essays, memoir, travel, cultural critique and art criticism, and across a variety of styles from classical/traditional prose to experimental. So, the differences in those books largely determine the publishing process – how much editing is necessary, what sort of marketing and publicity, and so on. My publishers have varied from small independents to big multinationals which also affects publicity, marketing and distribution. Sometimes I haven’t even had a publicist – those books don’t sell.

The difficulty many people have in coming to terms with these differences in my work has impacted the process in the sense that it has been hard to break this weird multifarious body of work down to a soundbite for the public. People often prefer one genre over another, no matter the author. Also, in Australia, multidisciplinarity is not well recognised. And our small population hampers things.

Finally, there is a huge difference in how books that feature queer content are publicised and received, and therefore how I’m pitched as the author. LGBTIQ is now a box – literally on many forms – and while it sometimes feels contingent, it certainly is a lot easier. In any case, the job of the writer is to deal with whatever is there.

Writers are often told to write what they know. How did you diverge from or lean into this advice when writing historical fiction in Iris? 

Writing fiction means imagining yourself in the shoes of your characters. In those deep places you find very personal stuff, confronting and meaningful and enlightening. So it can be just as much of a psychodrama to write historical fiction as contemporary fiction. I am all my characters; none of them are me. I didn’t set out to write historical fiction because I was especially interested in the genre – I don’t read it much to be honest. I only wrote the novel because I was captivated by Iris Webber’s story and wanted to tell it, and after many years of consideration and research, I decided the best form to tell it in was the historical novel.

Writing queer identity from a modern understanding is very different to writing from a historical standpoint without the knowledge and vocabulary we now have. How did you balance this to ensure the voice in Iris remained authentic to portray the experience of a queer person in the 1930s?

I think the fundamental thing is to not impose contemporary concepts and language onto characters from earlier times. You need to present them as they were able to present themselves – with all the attendant restrictions, because those restrictions are part of the story. We’re all constructed by our social context to a large degree and I’m just as interested in that social context as in individual characters. But writing from this far in the future also gives the advantage of hindsight. You can use that to great effect. Whatever you do though, don’t lie. Also, in stories like this that are drawn from proscribed, marginalised and hidden lives, from people who were not able to speak up, time sometimes serves up more information than was known when they were alive, which is a great advantage.

You have published multiple fiction and non-fiction books, travelled on international performance art tours and been involved with critique and curation in the Australian arts scene. How do these distinct creative avenues intersect, and what effect does managing these have on your writing practice?

It’s difficult juggling all of those things: none pay well. So in the past decade or so I’ve had to abandon my performance art practice. Money buys time and there isn’t enough of either. Performance art is more expensive in general in that you need a crew, photomedia to document, and it requires more post-production. Applying for grants alone can take weeks – months. I feel my energy lessening as I age, and the performance I did was very demanding. I’m disconcerted by ageism. I think for the foreseeable future I won’t be attempting hybrid or experimental works because I don’t imagine I could get them published. I’m also happy with the novel, essay and short story forms right now – they feel so rich with potential, and I still feel like a beginner trying to learn, wide-eyed, nervous, sometimes excited.

With your involvement in the upcoming 2024 Sydney Biennale, who are the artists and writers currently inspiring your writing practice?

There are so many incredible artists it’s impossible to answer this question fully. If I think off the top of my head of artists and writers who’ve inspired me this past year it would include: Emily Kam Kngwarray, DJ Gemma, Grace Yee’s Chinese fish, Raoul Peck’s TV documentary Exterminate All the Brutes, Cesária Évora, Rachel Cusk, Kafka, Juan Rulfo and Alice Oswald.

What advice would you give to someone wishing to publish literary reviews on Australian fiction?

Wow that’s a tough question! Well, be prepared to earn very little money. But be brave and be honest. Read, read, read, so you are informed. Also read the good reviewers – I think Sydney Review of Books and the smaller independent journals have the best criticism. Know that we need you; critics are a fundamental part of the literary landscape.

Fiona Kelly McGregor has published eight books, including Miles Franklin, ALS Gold Medal and NSW Premier’s Award-shortlisted Iris, Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards-shortlisted Buried Not Dead, The Age 2010 Book of The Year Indelible Ink, critically acclaimed travel memoir Strange Museums and the award-winning short story collection Suck My Toes. McGregor’s essays, articles and reviews have featured in The Monthly, The Saturday Paper, Art Monthly, Artlink and more. McGregor is also known for an extensive repertoire of performance art and many years curating events in Sydney’s alternative queer culture.

Here’s where you can read more Spotlight On.