Q&A with Sharni Wilson

Sharni Wilson stunned us with her story "Only Crying" with its cerebral dialogue and evocative imagery. Mina EL Attar speaks with Wilson about motherhood: both in her piece and in her life.

Did a personal experience inspire this story, or was it influenced by something external, like another work of fiction?

I remember a man I didn’t know well saying to me in a café, as a child cried: ‘You must find that so hard to hear, as a mother.’ I was touched by his words, but in actual fact, since I became a mother, children crying doesn’t bother me as much as it used to, because it became an everyday occurrence that I had a lot of experience with, as a natural part of life. Before I had a baby myself, I would hear one crying and assume there was something wrong, maybe they were in pain, and it would stress me out no end. Back then I didn’t have the familiarity with all the rich variety of crying, out of hunger, tiredness, frustration, wanting to be allowed to touch and explore, not wanting to be strapped into a car seat. I came to realise that crying is normal, and because I heard it every day, it sounds cold but to be honest I got better at blocking it out, or at least many cries wouldn’t bother me because I could tell that they weren’t signalling mortal trouble.

But that said, one thing I find really difficult is when a mother chooses to ignore her child’s crying, for whatever reason. Of course, there are many situations in which this is unavoidable (for example driving on the motorway), but it could also be a deliberate choice. I’m not trying to pass judgment on anyone’s parenting, I know it’s hard and parents have to find what works for them and their children, but that’s what I was trying to capture in this story: the personal experience of combined nails-down-a-blackboard screeches and being told to ignore it.

Lately, there’s been a rise in stories that explore the raw, often unspoken realities of motherhood, including its challenges and the struggles of postpartum depression. Did this trend influence your decision to write this story? Why do you think it’s important to highlight the unfiltered, sometimes brutal aspects of motherhood?

I wrote this story in a panic, because I had a precious opportunity to workshop prose on motherhood with Lucy Caldwell and wanted to make the most of it. Before this, I had consciously shied away from writing too much on motherhood, mainly because I worried it might not be fair to my child, so that is what pushed me back in this direction. I do write more on motherhood and artificial procreation in my hybrid collection, One to Many and other experiments (At the Bay ¦ I te Kokoru, 2024).

Matrescence is an emerging concept: at a time when fewer people seem to be having children, and having fewer children, perhaps it’s easier to step back and take a more objective view, now that it may not be part of our everyday lived experience. Many writers have felt the need to push back on sentimental depictions and the trivialisation of the feminine in literature, so much so that Lauren Elkin asked in the Paris Review in 2018, ‘Why all the books about motherhood?’

So many brilliant writers have tapped into this vein and written on formerly taboo topics: Lucy Caldwell with Intimacies, Elena Ferrante, Taeko Kono, Hiromi Ito, Yuko Tsushima, Rachel Cusk and Maggie Nelson, to name a few. I could write a whole essay on this question: I’d better stop there.

And others have highlighted the raw and brutal aspects of being childless, childfree or child-adjacent, as in the essay collection Otherhood, edited by Alie Benge, Lil O’Brien and Kathryn van Beek.

Once, in a dentist’s waiting room, I remember my daughter putting her hand inside my top for comfort, and another woman saw that and told me, ‘Mine always used to do that too!’ She looked so happy, as if she’d been liberated from thinking that it was just her daughter and not a normal thing. I guess it’s as important as ever to shed light on aspects of shared experience.

I would also be happy to highlight the beautiful aspects of motherhood, and I think this is important as well. But perhaps this kind of writing might be more difficult to find a home for.

When I think about highlighting aspects of motherhood, one thing that also comes to mind is the design of spaces, including cars and buildings, that don’t seem to have been designed with the needs of parents in mind (as in this piece).

I love the subtle yet tension-filled conversation in this scene—the imagery is so evocative that I felt immersed in it, trying to tune out the child’s cries with the characters. Did this moment come naturally in the writing process, or did it take multiple revisions to refine its impact?

Ideally I like to do at least 17 drafts. From the beginning, I had this moment in my head, because it’s something that makes me feel strong feelings: the child crying and no one responding.

Out of interest, I went back and checked my drafts, and this story (first written in mid-2024) has been through 22 drafts, although some were only minor changes.

However, almost all of the original draft has been edited out! Of the first draft, only a few words remain: the reason for that is that the first draft I wrote wasn’t really the story I wanted to be telling at all. I got to the end of the first draft and discovered this story in the last few words, took those few words and started afresh.

I love how the story drops the reader into the middle of the action, creating an instant sense of engagement. Did this originate from a longer piece, or do you naturally gravitate toward beginning stories this way—immersing readers right from the start?

I naturally gravitate towards writing shorter pieces in general, because the writing time I have is mostly little scraps carved out here and there, which make it difficult to finish anything longer that requires more headspace.

This piece began as a short piece and grew slightly longer. It was alternately cut back and expanded through the course of the 22 drafts.

What emotions were you aiming to evoke beneath the surface of this story? How did the process of writing it affect you, and what do you hope readers will feel as they experience it?

As with pretty much all the writing I’ve done, I find it therapeutic to work through thoughts or feelings on a page.

Ideally I wanted to evoke the same emotion in readers as I feel, when I mentally conjure up this scenario; to convey what this evokes in me.

But naturally people respond to a piece of text in different ways. Basically, I’m happy and grateful if anyone reads it, no matter what they feel as they experience it. I realise we all have our own subjective associations with mothers.

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Sharni Wilson

Sharni Wilson is an Aotearoa NZ writer and literary translator. Her work appeared in Landfall and WLT, among others. In 2020 she was a finalist for Lunch Ticket’s Gabo Prize. In 2023 she won the At the Bay | I te Kokoru award for her hybrid collection, One to Many.

Mina El Attar

Mina El Attar, a graduate of the University of California, Los Angeles, and Trinity College Dublin (2024), crafts contemporary short stories that pulse with emotional depth. Her explorations of relationships and friendships, rendered in a captivating stream of consciousness style, invite readers into the intricate landscapes of the human heart.