8 Questions for ... Eliza Anderson

A hijacking of Eleanor Anstruther's interview questions.

8 Questions is an interview series by the British writer Eleanor Anstruther of well-known authors using the Substack platform. This post playfully adopts Anstruther’s questions to introduce new subscribers to Two Houses. Two Painters. Two Parents and provide readers with an insider's view; Anstruther has not vetted this interview in any way. She has, however, recently serialized her latest novel, Fallout, which is based on the Greenham Common women’s peace encampment. Dear Reader, if you are among those who attended Quaker girls’ summer camp with Eliza Anderson in the 1980s (and, even if you are not), Eliza highly recommends subscribing to Anstruther and lapping up that poignant and comic read. (Greenham women everywhere!)

Now, on to the 8 Questions for … Eliza Anderson

Eliza Anderson. Unfinished self-portrait at age 14. 1982. Graphite on paper. ©Eliza Anderson

1. Why Substack?

I needed a way to clean my office. While drafting my memoir about life with my late parents, I’d clogged it with drawings, letters, photos, newspaper clippings, etc., excavated from my mother’s Soho loft. I have empty file cabinet drawers ready to help me sort. But when I touch these things, they tend to tell more stories. I thought if I had a way to get down those stories, I’d feel motivated to attack and sort the piles. Of course, I’m also building a platform for Two Houses, A Memoir of Art and Divorce, and Substack is an excellent way to keep me writing while finding a community of writers and readers. But alas, those piles remain.

2. How long did it take you to find your groove?

I don't know if I have! Right away, I felt rewarded, however. I had started with a WordPress blog but felt I was writing into a void. On Substack, I decided to sign up everyone I could think of and let them opt-out as desired. I even posted on FaceBook how my subscribing them was the birthday present I was extracting from friends and family. In this way, I began with close to 150 readers. Over the last 15 months, just a handful have unsubscribed, while Substack has brought me hundreds more. That approach was pretty audacious, but from what I can tell, writers must endlessly self-promote. Ironically, that does not come naturally to me. Maybe because I grew up in the shadow of big artist egos?

3. How has it changed you?

Substack has been a profound experience for a host of reasons. Two Houses shines a bright light on the dark crevasse where I’d lived between my divorced painter parents, a place that was neither his nor hers and entirely hidden from view. Their divorce cut me in two because I loved them both, and they wanted nothing to do with each other. Writing here, I stitch myself whole; I put their lives and paintings side by side in front of a readership that includes people from their lives and art careers. This is a completely out-of-bounds act in the logic of my family and my parents’ professional lives. It feels wildly transgressive. But now my readers see from my point of view and understand that my father, once a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, was once married to another accomplished painter. Many knew my mother as just a nude or head on my father’s canvases. Two Houses. Two Painters. Two Parents. is an act of love for them and myself.

Lennart Anderson. Portrait of Mimi. 1964. Oil on panel, 13″ x 11″ ©Estate of Lennart Anderson/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

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I go between my parents as I would two worlds. I have two identities. They do not talk to each other; they do not know who I am with the other.

– Eliza Anderson, Two Houses, A Memoir of Art and Divorce

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Mimi Weisbord. Portrait of Lennart. 1958. Oil on canvas, 24″ x 18″ ©Estate of Mimi Weisbord

4. What mistakes have you made?

I don’t know yet. But I have made social faux pas. Before I understood this platform, I embarrassed myself with Margaret Atwood. In my mother’s loft, I found evidence that my mother knew Atwood in the early ‘70s when my mother was producing women’s poetry programs for WBAI-FM. Of course, I wanted to know more and reach Atwood, so I subscribed to her substack and left a comment unrelated to her post (before DM was available). I said something to the effect that I doubted she was reading post comments herself, etc., and that it was unlikely she’d even see my message, but I explained who I was and some of what I’d found. Well, she replied pretty quickly, with nostalgia for that era, confirming she knew and remembered my mother. I was over the moon excited but also deeply embarrassed. I had no idea the platform was an authentic way of communicating with authors. I’m now enthralled with this aspect of Substack.

5. To pay or not to pay?

This month, I turned on the option for readers to pay for a subscription. I have been afraid that if I had paid subscribers, I’d feel anxious, which would get in the way of what I’m doing here. I’ve felt the need to be sure I can write from my own center of gravity. A few days ago, I got my first paid subscription. It was thrilling to feel that kind of support for what I’m doing here, and that has made me thoughtful. At this stage, financial support provides the kind of ego boost that will fuel rather than hinder writing freely. (Readers, I am ready!)

6. What artistic and technical choices have you made?

My posts are all bits of memoir, save for this one. I’m exploring new ways to use and interact with my parents' art. When I began writing my memoir (a separate body of work), I didn’t dare include their art at first. My parents were always very sensitive about their work, as all artists are. I’d been raised with those lessons. It took a long time to dismantle the “hands-off” feeling. Now, I love that Substack offers a way to showcase them while enabling me to emerge as my own artist.

7. What’s been the effect on your writing?

The platform provides an occasion to write, continue trying things, and take risks. I’m always thinking about how to work differently with my material. Having a ready audience plays a big part in that engine. However, the dopamine hit of self-publishing and immediate reader feedback is intoxicating and a bit dangerous. I fear letting pieces go too soon. (I can keep working on them, but for what purpose? I’m not sure.) Many of my readers are very accomplished writers and artists. It’s wonderful, and the comments I receive are often so insightful — a big motivator to keep developing as a writer. Also, people who knew my parents sometimes email me about my posts. Recently, very old friends of my mother’s found me on Substack, which led to some profound sharing. I also found Victoria Olsen here, who is writing about her artist father, Earle Olsen, a painter who knew my father. Substack is an incredible space for me.

8. In it for the long haul?

I cannot imagine giving up the community I have found here. If Substack morphs and destroys itself, that’s a separate issue, but I hope to find more like-minded writers and readers, and next month, I have plans to meet up with Gregory Garretson in Lisbon. He writes Living Elsewhere and has been recommending my work and growing my list (especially since one of his posts went viral). He and I are children of the ‘70s, and I can’t speak for him, but Substack is the best old-school “pen pal” arrangement I’ve ever had. I have readers in so many countries now; it’s thrilling. I feel like I’ve found my people.