The “Redemption 2021” Interviews: Sonya Moor

In spring 2021, we asked writers to submit their previously rejected short stories that—as all stories do—deserve another chance. One such story came from French and British short fiction author Sonya Moor, whose story “Women’s Business” won third place. Revolving around a female narrator’s doctor’s visit, “Women’s Business” is a brilliant, razor-sharp tale about resilience.

Moor recently chatted with Silver Apples intern Rose Cohen about her writing process, what feelings she hopes to elicit from readers, and what the red, white, and blue color palette represents in her work.

Where are you from, where are you now, and how did you get from A to B? How did you arrive at writing short stories?

Sonya Moor: I’ve lived most of my life in Paris, so I guess that’s where I’m from now. I was born in London and moved a few times in the UK before settling in France. School may be where I got hooked on short stories. We studied Katherine Mansfield’s “Miss Brill”; it fascinated me that, though the plot was scant, something had nevertheless changed by the end.

Short fiction is what I like best as a reader, so it’s what I gravitated towards as a writer. For me, it’s the literary form that feels most like life lived— physical, intense, often curious, confusing or uncomfortable, with odd moments of joy or illumination... I love that the short story…finds intensity in the quotidian— the drama unfolding beside the kitchen sink or at the bus stop.

What inspired you to write “Women’s Business”?

SM: A mix: personal stuff, socio-political stuff, and art. Tension around reproductive rights has interested me since childhood, as I was raised in a Catholic environment where birth control was God’s business alone, then was uprooted and replanted in a Protestant environment where birth control was a woman’s right, but also a duty, and subject to certain socio-economic pressures.

In the small town where I was then living, a poor woman might be criticized for having “too many” children…or a schoolgirl who let pregnancy interrupt the exams she needed to be a “useful” member of society would be shamed. When my peer group started making families, often experiencing complications with conception, pregnancy or birth, I realized that “birth control” was, at best, a misnomer.

Another discovery, when I got pregnant with my firstborn, was that I felt ferocious for the first time. This made me wonder about why society tends to dissociate women, especially mothers, from violence. I thought about the power that comes from violence and whether that was something society sought to curtail.

Much later, a health scare brought this to mind again. I didn’t want tea and sympathy; I found more energy and power in rage. At the same time, I felt humble, vulnerable, [and] aware of how little I controlled life and death. My background is in art, so, as I journeyed my way through this, certain images revisited me, like illustrations for an ongoing internal conversation. When the story took form, they found a place.

If you could elicit one thing from your reader, what would it be?

SM: Discomfort— from the get-go. Short-story writers are often told [to] use titles to hook readers. I wanted, instead, a title that functioned like a single raised finger (you know which one) or a “keep out” sign, but which spoke at the same time of the constraints placed on women and their bodies— a Janus title, so readers didn’t know whether they were being invited in or dismissed.

I notice that you use colors a lot in your writing. Reds, blues, and whites seem to dominate your pages. What role do you think these colors play in “Women’s Business”?

SM: The red, white, [and] blue [colour] palette is recurrent in my writing. White comes up a lot. White is perfection, desirable, and unattainable. It’s also the colour of early childhood memories of hospitalization. It’s a stressful colour, with a strong “push” and “pull.” Red is the same, in that it attracts the eye and signals danger.

Blue is serene— the Virgin Mary, sea, and sky— but is also disembodied, unnatural. It’s a good cover-up colour, when we want to make things look clean, scientific, or professional. Traditionally, it’s used to deny the carnality of women (blue liquid in feminine hygiene ads, for example).

I love that Silver Apples selected blue surgical gloves to illustrate “Women’s Business.”

Can I squeeze in two recommendations for anyone who, like me, is thrilled by this question of how colour can work in writing? Read: A Magpie and an Envelope by Carol Mavor, published by Juxta Press (you will fall in love), and Meander, Spiral, Explode by Jane Alison, published by Catapult.

Describe the road from rejection to publication in Silver Apples Magazine. How many times had your story been rejected before winning? Did you make any changes to your story after initial rejections or rely on beta-readers or a creative writing support system for feedback?

SM: I don’t change stories based on rejections, but rework [them] until they feel right or until I decide I can’t give them what they need. Once “Women’s Business” found its shape, it got excellent feedback from writers [whom] I admire, so I trusted the story, even though it was rejected over thirty times.

When crafting, insights from other writers are the most useful, as the aim is not to please readers, but to find the story’s proper shape. For support, I rely on a critiquing group, which I set up with a fellow writer when we needed more serious focus on our work than we could get from drop-in workshops. I’ve also benefitted from the support of tutors, a mentor, and some trusted editors.

It’s daring and joyous that Silver Apples is disrupting the competition game with “Redemption”— it was such a pleasure to read the selected stories. 

Any advice for writers who were not selected for the shortlist in this competition?

SM: Advice is tricky, as what has been helpful to me might not be helpful to another writer. It’s good to know why you write. If your motivations might be qualified as artistic (a vision you want to realize) or existential (you feel most like yourself when writing), don’t worry too much about competitions and social media.

Focus on your craft. Keep the faith, especially if you’re juggling writing with work or caring commitments. Remember that what you’re doing is important. Nobody else can write like you. Keep reading, keep writing. Don’t stop. (Except if you’re participating in a No C.U.N.T. session – then, you must stop when Gráinne says.)

What does it look like where you write? What can you tolerate and not tolerate about that space?

SM: When I can, I like to work messy, chopping texts and making collages to find the story’s shape or spreading the pages of a story on the floor and walking through to find dead wood to be removed or beauty spots that need to be better presented. For freewriting, a bed is often better than a desk. I can write pretty much anywhere— the upside of having got a dedicated writing space only recently. I do now have a desk, though. It’s wooden and piled high with too many books. On the right side sits my muse, a stone skull called Albert. He reminds me of my motivation: when I write, I feel alive.

Are you working on anything now? What?  

SM: I’ve got scraps of freewriting about: a Dutch landscape and a portrait. These two things have started rubbing up against each other, so maybe something will come of that. I’m also reading and noting in sporadic fits after work, trying to scrabble a PhD proposal together, which all feels pretty graceless and clumsy for a middle-aged woman— I have a lot of catching up to do. But it’s new and fun.

What do you do once you finish a first draft?

SM: I don’t work in drafts. Writing, for me, is more like an art project with an idea or subject I want to explore, preparatory studies, a shape that gradually emerges, guidance from kindly and critical fellow writers, successive doings and re-doings… Michelangelo supposedly freed sculptures from stone. I think it’s the same for short story writers, but we first make the stone, writing many, many words that we will later hack off to free the story. Job done; I start making another.

When did you start writing?

SM: As a child, I wrote many letters, and I’ve written for other people for most of my professional life, but I came to creative writing late, in early middle-age.

What does your ideal writing day look like?

SM: A whole day is a luxury. Having that full day is already quite ideal.  

Do you ever do extensive rewrites?

SM: I don’t have a Stephen King style production line, so there’s no notion of “draft 1” [or] “draft 2” … But I certainly revisit successfully, sometimes over many years, trying to get closer [to] whatever idea or vision I want to realize. The writer Gregory Norminton taught me to keep all failures. This has proved valuable— I realize that there is no such thing as a failure, just material that’s ripening, random puzzle pieces for stories yet to be written…