Mary Beth Stuller is a triple threat. A writer, teacher, and flower farmer. (What did you think I was going to say?) We first met in a magical fiction workshop smack dab in the middle of our M.A. journey at Johns Hopkins University. Fast forward to our final semester, both pulling our hair out over novels that demand more attention than our busy lives will allow. We sat down and discussed what the writing life looks like when you’re still struggling to even call yourself a writer.

Kara: Writer, Teacher, Flower Farmer. You sound so innocent, but I know better. How did these three professions find their way into your life? 

MB: The writing and teaching parts are natural outcomes of my childhood interests. I wrote my first books at age six. They were illustrated stories about children and their pets. The titles were uninspired. “The Girl and Her Pet” is one, I think. I still have the series in a drawer.

When I grew up, I had to find work that provided health benefits, so teaching English fit my needs, plus the schedule aligned with my children’s lives. Reading classics with students over the years has helped my writing—I hope.

As for being a flower farmer, the short answer is it was an outcome of Covid-19. The long answer goes all the way back to my grandmother’s hydrangeas, my dad’s marigold border to deter critters from his vegetable garden, and the teenage summer I had to cut Dad’s hilly lawn with an electric push mower. Mostly, I love flowers, and I will work terribly hard to grow them and share them. I might as well try to cover my expenses in the process.

Kara: How do you balance your many jobs? I remember you mentioning aiming for a season with each.

MB: I’m doing a lousy job balancing my jobs. It’s difficult because I love them all. Well, not the teaching as much anymore, but I need that income! I remember journalist Barbara Walters once said something like—You can be a good wife, and mother, and professional, but not all at the same time. I am doing all my jobs at a level that is below my aspirations, but I don’t know what to give up. I would love to retire from teaching full time—I can’t imagine ever NOT teaching in some capacity—and then spend my warm months working as a flower grower and my cold months writing. Certainly, tending a flower business is more than a summer gig—it requires attention year round. And writing can consume a person, too, but I like the ebb and flow of seasons dictating how to focus my energy. It’s one reason I like teaching—the schedule has a rhythm to it.

Kara: I don’t know about you, but for me making time to write when there’s no exchange of goods set up can be hard. Meaning we don’t have agents yet, no editor waiting for pages. How do you approach that mentally?

MB: That’s the crazy part of it. Why would anyone put so much effort into a task with little to no dividends? Some writers claim they LOVE the work, that they are in their happy place when words are flowing, and that’s all the joy they need. I’m not that joyful, and I find writing excruciatingly difficult. The narcissist in me wants to share my work with an audience and get validation that what I’ve written was worthwhile—it amused; it entertained; it touched a nerve; and it did it efficiently, simply. So, my goal is to publish in some capacity even if it doesn’t provide a livelihood. I’m giving the novel a go, but if it doesn’t pan out, at least I tried.

Kara: Are you comfortable calling yourself a writer?

MB: Only since I’ve enrolled in the writing program at Hopkins have I dared to utter the word. I used to say things like—I wrote a piece once… But now I call myself a writer in my classroom. I want my students to know I’m credible and that I come from a place of empathy when I ask them to write. I know how hard it is.

Kara: How has teaching influenced your writing?

MB: Most influential were the years I spent as a journalism adviser. In teaching my students journalistic style, I learned how to frame quotations, both syntactically and with descriptions, and how to incorporate interviews (i.e. dialogue) as opposed to just citing texts. Mostly, I learned how to trim wordiness—not that I’m displaying that here—LOL.

Kara: Where are you with your current project? And tell me a bit about it.

MB: I have just completed the best draft of my master’s thesis, which is the first sixty-plus pages of a novel. I want to finish drafting it in the next few months before I head to the Colgate Writers’ Conference in June. I was accepted two years ago, and twice it has been delayed because of Covid-19. If it gets cancelled or modified to be anything less than in-person workshops, I—well, I will have a hissy fit. The outcome of that conference will determine whether I continue with this work or not.

Kara: How do you see this novel functioning in the world?

MB: If my novel were ever to get published, I’d hope it would be accessible to mainstream readers. I respect great, challenging works of literature, but I know I can’t write those—not now. I’d like to think my simple voice is capable of addressing large themes, ones that resonate with readers. Will it change the world—no. I don’t have the power of a Toni Morrison, but I’d be happy to know it made people think about themselves and their relationships.

Kara: What has been the most surprising aspect of writing a book?

MB: How dang hard it is. Of course I wanted to write the Great American Novel. Now, I’m glad I’ll get a degree for trying. It’s not as simple as putting one word after an another—although that will get you a draft. It’s so multi-faceted. From the narrative elements like character and setting to the stylistic elements like literary devices and syntax, it’s challenging to make all parts function like a symphony.

Kara: Do you have a process yet?

MB: I can’t say I have a process for novel-writing since I don’t have a finished project, but for small pieces, I get an idea, bounce it around for a while, draft beginnings or snippets in my head, try to get them in some order so I don’t sit down to a blank page, and then I might bullet thoughts before I forget them. Then I’ll handwrite the piece in a college-ruled notebook, only on the right-hand side. The left side is reserved for revisions. Then I’ll edit it a couple times before I type it up on the computer. I’ll edit on the screen and print it a couple times, marking changes on paper before I enter them in the draft. That fine-tuning is my favorite part, and I’m not close to doing that with my novel, so I feel I’ve a long way to go before I could share it.

Kara: Not to be a total downer, but what if you can’t sell this book? Is it onto the next project or will you pivot?

MB: If can’t sell this novel, I will never attempt to write one again. I will pursue short stories and personal essays, and perhaps some journalism—or hybrid pieces.

Kara: If you could spend the majority of your time doing anything at all, money aside, what would you do?

MB: I would buy a house near the beach where I would tend a small and tidy garden and write my novels—or short pieces—in a beautiful and comfortable home office. I would also take classes in Spanish, painting, and piano. At low tide I would walk the beach.

Kara: Favorite book. Favorite author. Favorite flower.

MB:  Impossible to answer. Here’s my best attempt under pressure.

Book: Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. This was my gateway text to wordplay and humor.

Author: Not my favorite of all time, but I spent my formative years as a writer reading the novels of local great Anne Tyler. I’m pretty sure she influenced my style and subject matter.

Flower: This is going to hurt all the other flowers’ feelings. I grew dahlias this year for the first time—how could I not be wooed? But, out of sentimentality, I’ll say my favorite is our state flower: the black-eyed Susan. It is so dependable and cheery and its petals so intensely yield-sign yellow, and their flower heads fascinate with their black texture.