What is the genesis story of Suddenly Light? Have these stories come together over a number of years or did you write them all with this book, and a unifying theme in mind (for instance, I’ve noticed a thread of capitalist ennui in some stories)?

These stories were written over years – my first one, “Cardinal,” was written in 2017. I won a free mentorship with an author, so for a while I was writing for him. Then I found an agent, and I kept writing, kept entering contests, because now I felt as if I owed him some progress, some work. I wanted a reason to email him every few months with something to say: a new story published, or maybe a longlist somewhere.

Most of the time, the genesis was having somebody to write for. I always needed that purpose. I’ve found, without it, I quickly go adrift, with long stretches of no writing. It doesn’t necessarily bother me; I’ve just noticed it about myself.

I never had a unifying theme – not intentionally, anyway. I do think that certain themes tend to surface again and again. I noticed there are quite a few widows and widowers in this book – why? And then a few stories about children. There is something there I keep returning to. Innocence? And a few stories have characters with no name. Some are allegorical, which was never an aim of mine. I can’t explain any of it.

With recurring themes, it must be because I’m interested in something, or intrigued, or confused by it, so I want to look closer. Sometimes my instinct and my intellect disagree on something, so I want to understand why. I write these characters; I watch them play it out. I want to understand why they do what they do.

Capitalist ennui – yes, good eye. But that feels more like a backdrop for me. I think it’s just part of being alive today. And ennui in general, a kind of existential wandering, takes up a large part of me – the part of me that doesn’t talk, the part that writes. But overall I feel shy about the “isms” – trying to write about important things. Really, to me, writing feels more like exploring, without knowing where I am going.

Can you talk a bit about how a story comes together for you? Where does it begin? You’ve said you never know where your stories will go. Do you every stop and start over if you feel you’ve taken a wrong turn? Is there a point where you stop to assess what is this story about, so you know how to end it?

Looks like I just walked into this question! Yes, I never know where the stories will end up.

My stories seem to start with very small things. Maybe an image, or an observation.

“Bodies” started because I was walking my dogs through a misty field one morning, and I suddenly imagined seeing something in the distance – a body perhaps.

“Cardinal” was about that feeling of visiting someone you’re close to – family, or a friend – and they are not doing so well in life. You feel melancholy, you feel guilty, maybe you blame them a little bit, you wish they would pull themselves up – why do they sabotage themselves instead?

“The Artist” was inspired by a story I read about a boy travelling for many hours and dressing up as his favourite musician for a major concert, but then the concert was cancelled. There was an article in the news because the musician met with the boy later for a photo op.

Then the stories just go their own way.

“Bodies” isn’t necessarily about the body in the field – it feels more about the boy and his mother. It’s that coming-of-age moment where you know more than your parents. Is that a gift, or a burden? Do you tell them? How? It feels uncomfortable to stand taller than the people that made you.

“The Artist” might feel like a “never meet your heroes” story, but it didn’t feel that way to me when I finished. I think the story was more curious about why we want to meet our heroes in the first place – what can they tell us about us, what do we want to know about ourselves. Do we see them, or their path? Are they strange mirrors, in a sense.

If there’s a wrong turn, the story usually just dies. So far I haven’t resuscitated a story. I’m not against it; it just hasn’t interested me yet.

On a more technical note, I’ve noticed there are a lot of fluid shifts in POV in a lot of these stories. Can you talk a bit about your decision to do this and how you pull it off?

Embarrassing to admit – but I don’t know that I make conscious decisions while writing. Clearly a decision was made somehow, but I don’t remember making it. I’m just starting a new paragraph, and there’s this instinct to do something else.

If I had to make a metaphor for what my writing process looks like – I’m pretty shameless about metaphors – I would describe this: Someone sitting at a piano and just trying new notes, stringing things together, until it “sounds” right. It feels right. But not necessarily the awareness or knowledge of why it sounds right – not knowing what happened, or how to replicate it exactly.

I wish I had a better answer.

Interestingly, if I am alone in a room with a piano, this is what happens. I can’t play. But I’ll start putting notes together. I guess it’s not strictly a metaphor then.

Your debut novel, The Clarion, was longlisted for the Giller and made it onto a bunch of best of lists. I assume you count it as a success! What do you think your idea of “success” will be for this book – or what is your idea of success with your writing, generally?

That’s a good question, but also a hard question for me. I am the sort of person with both a fear of success, and a fear of failure. Success – too much attention. Failure – no one reads it; what was the point of all that lonely, lonely work?

After my first experience publishing, I will say the biggest moments are usually when someone notices a small detail in the book, and sees its meaning, knows its purpose. It can come from anybody – a reader who messages me online, a review, an award writeup.

It’s almost as if we’re coming up with a new language with very small details, and what those details mean, little symbols – a new shade of an old colour, a sudden temperature drop – and we are speaking to each other in that language. Seeing the same subtle themes.

Mae Martin has a bit about snow globes – how we collect experiences over our lives into little snow globes, little worlds unto themselves, and they are precious to us, and we show them to people. And for me, I guess the most satisfying gift from writing and publishing is when you find readers who are standing inside those snow globes with you. Snow gently falling around you both.

I think that’s the closest I can get to the description of success. And I like the image.

Are you working on something new now? If so, what can you tell us about it?

Yes, I have a new character; I think about her every day. I see her on the train, I see her walking past me, I see her at her desk, working. I have another character, but I don’t see him as clearly yet – he’s a mystery to me, but I know he’s important somehow. And I have an idea, much like The Clarion – I know why my characters exist.

But my agent closed his agency so currently I don’t have anyone to write for. And so I am not writing. I’m waiting to see what happens with the stories and maybe that will push me into a new direction. I need someone to ask me for things. And then maybe this story, their story, will come out.

Nina Dunic was born in Belgrade and brought to Toronto as an infant. She grew up in Scarborough and Pickering, attended the University of Toronto, graduated from Centennial College for journalism. After the first Star contest win, she received a free mentorship program from the Humber School for Writers — she is grateful for that opportunity.

Her award-winning debut novel, The Clarion, was released in 2023.