First things first, why do you write?

 

WT: I hated to write all through high school and college. I’d write a sentence and scratch it out immediately, because it was dumb and awkward. But I found out that writing could be my own way to say what I wanted and needed to. So I had to get over myself (still working on that) and put words on paper no matter how awkward it felt.

 

JG: Well, you’ve clearly come a long way since then! Which authors/books inspired you most as a child?

 

WT: Island of the Blue Dolphins was my all-time favorite. The Jungle Book, of course, though I didn’t like it when Rikki-Tikki-Tavi killed the mother cobra and her eggs. I loved a book called Golden Dog, about a girl in Australia who spends her days with all kinds of animals, and then, White Ghost Summer, also about a girl who moves from the city to a big house near a park where there are horses. I read nonfiction, too, about dinosaurs and reptiles around the world.

 

JG: Reptiles, and especially lizards, hold a special place in your heart. An Amazon search reveals you’ve written three Young Adult novels, all with a theme of connection with animals: Lizard Love (2008), The Sundown Rule (2010), and Blue Iguana (2014). Of which novel are you most proud, and why?

 

WT: I’m proud of the Prologue to Lizard Love, which is the story of the origin of my love for wildlife. The rest of the book is awkward at times, like the character. I was trying so hard to learn to write fiction! But I did it, and though I didn’t feel completely satisfied, it’s still a great story. The Sundown Rule is well crafted and I’m proud of that, and happy that I got to tell about some of the wildlife in the Midwest, and how I love crows. It’s actually a ‘middle grade' novel, pre-coming-of-age, and that voice comes more easily to me than the teen voice that’s so complicated and filled with angst. I love Blue Iguana because I got to tell about some amazing lizards, and about how one very sensitive young person begins to find her place in conservation work. One of the best compliments I received about the book was that it “brings to light what would otherwise go unnoticed.”

 

JG: I have a young nature-loving daughter; I will buy her a copy of Blue Iguana for Christmas. I know she’ll love it. And then I can read it myself! In your essay you wrote that, as a six-year-old girl, you wanted a frog to know you were his friend. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wished an animal to know this, that I could be trusted and meant no harm. And I think you’ll agree there are few greater privileges than being trusted by an animal.

 

Your words “When a praying mantis visits my rose bush, I stop what I’m doing and go outside to see her closely—to see her head turn to see me” reminded me of my great liking for jumping spiders. Have you ever watched one, let it walk over your fingers? If you do, you’ll see it turn its head, or look up at you. They’re fearless and so appealing. Tell me, what is your most memorable encounter with an animal, whether wild or pet?  

 

WT: We are definitely kindred spirits! I adore jumping spiders, and yes, being trusted by an animal is an immense gift. If only we humans could all see that!

 

What we tend to forget is that animals look at us, too. Dogs study us to know our emotions and indeed, jumping spiders watch us with great curiosity. When we think we are the only ones who see and feel, we isolate ourselves by disregarding the emotional lives of animals –we harden ourselves when we are indifferent to what they endure by our unchecked expansion on the planet. Actually, in the essay, I wanted the frog to know that I was his friend, but more than that –I wanted him to know that I loved him.

 

My memorable encounters are so numerous! But I’ll tell you about meeting a rhinoceros iguana named Mao in 1991. I entered his enclosure and sat down on a rock, just to watch him –he was so big, more than twenty pounds-- a magnificent lizard with a real presence. He came to me and investigated my sneakers, and presented himself for a rub. When he climbed into my lap and tilted his head to see into my eyes with his gray ones, I never wanted to leave him. Ten years later I was finally able to provide a home for rhino iguanas. The lizard in the photo is Sebastian, Mao’s grandson.

 

JG: I have to say, I hadn’t heard of rhino iguanas before I met you. They are imposing animals, dragons brought to life. How do you feel that fiction and non-fiction books can appeal to readers to care about wildlife and nature?

 

WT: Whether fiction or nonfiction, the connection we have to animals needs to be emphasized. Readers must not believe that we are separate from animals. The “natural world” is not some other world; it’s the one we all live in, and all beings, human and non-human, have not only a purpose in the ecosystem, but a right to exist and thrive for their own sake.

 

Nonfiction can give readers a portrait of animals in the wild, showing their lives and ways of being, inviting curiosity instead of fear. For instance, a rattlesnake is not a cold-dumb creature that slithers through the bush with no intent but to bite people, but is in fact a sentient vertebrate animal, like us, that bears live young, and can experience fear, pain, contentedness, and more.

 

I love a good story. Fiction can really go into the emotional experience of our connection with animals. In a story about a child and an animal, we are free to follow the characters on a journey of discovery, loss, struggle, triumph, and love. And citing Cousteau again, “we protect what we love.”

 

JG: You wrote “Scientists who want readers to care about biodiversity loss can take a lesson from my favorite authors, those whose passion for wildlife gets readers to laugh, cry, and take action.” I long to know now, who are your favourite authors? 

 

WT: There are so many wonderful writers doing fantastic work for animals and the environment! And to be honest I am not up-to-date on my reading! I think of things I’ve read that resonate, like Severn Cullis Suzuki’s 1992 speech at the Rio summit, and Joseph Bruchac’s poem, “Birdfoot’s Grandpa.” Then some of my favorite authors are Martine Leavitt, who wrote Blue Mountain, about bighorn sheep and their struggle to survive. Terry Tempest Williams –her passion for what’s happening to wildlife is unrivaled in its vividness and strength. I love Jane Goodall’s book Through A Window, and Jerry Spinelli’s book, Wringer, which perfectly captures a boy’s choice to stand up for what he believes. Joseph Monninger’s Hippie Chick is about a girl and her connection to manatees –it’s fabulous. I admire Temple Grandin’s work, I look forward to what Robin Moore writes next, and then one of my very favorites is Sy Montgomery.

 

JG: I thought I was well-read when it comes to nature writers but you’ve given me a treasure trove of works to investigate. I recently finished Meadowland: the private life of an English Field, by John Lewis-Stempel, and I found myself envying the author’s profound connection with his meadow; he is one of its residents, as much as the vixen, the mouldywarp (mole), the curlew. You describe how a place you knew as a young child was dug up by bulldozers and how the animals you had known were being run over by increased traffic. What is your coping strategy to deal with this kind of change and the resulting heartache?

 

WT: Good question –I am glad to know that I am not alone in having a rough time coping. I carry terrible images in my head that I have to push away all the time. There’s no escaping the heartache. But I remind myself that it’s okay to be happy. I tend to my lizards and tell them I love them and do all I can to give them a good life. I get back immense comfort and joy. Being kind to animals and people whenever possible helps. And then, writing.

 

JG: Coming now to the craft of writing, in our conversations before this interview you mentioned that, as a writer, “learning to trust your voice is one of the hardest things.” Could you elaborate on this statement?

 

WT: We don’t live in an era or culture that encourages us to trust our instinctual, emotional natures. We are intellect-driven. In my early education I got it in my head that my creative impulses were awkward and sentimental and not good. But in the Vermont College MFA writing program, I learned that emotion carries the energy that’s needed for a good story, and that learning to trust my voice means trusting my instinctual nature. If you really think about what makes a book great, it’s the emotional connection you form with the characters, or the subject. The same can be said about painting, sculpture, photography, a great performance in theater or music. And nature –being in the forest or the sea or the desert is coming home, in essence, and connecting with wildlife is connecting with what is instinctual.

 

Watching a spider build a web –that privilege of being trusted by an animal– connects me with my humanity. All of this is inchoate; words can’t quite get there. The closest I can get is to say that I feel grace. All the sad feelings, all the happy ones merge together so that I feel whole and present with my feet on the ground. This is being alive and to feel the relatedness to all life puts me at ease and I don’t feel so alone. It’s also a big part of why I live with lizards. My lizards are tame; their fight-or-flight response is not driving them (though biological ones do), yet they are still wild animals. Not domestic. I pay attention to their eye and head and body language that is showing me how they are feeling. A relationship of respect means that I don’t get bitten and my exchanges with them are meaningful, more equal, more being-to-being, less keeper and kept.

 

JG: You also mentioned in our correspondence that “working with a good editor has been the best education, and my most fortunate gift.” I’d love to hear a bit more about this experience. How did you meet your editor, and what makes a good editor in your opinion?

 

WT: I met Stephen while I was in the MFA Program. He saw the story I was trying to write before I did. But rather than tell me, he asked questions to help guide me in understanding the story for myself, since after all, it was my story and I was the one who needed to write it. A great editor knows that a writer needs to grow into his or her ability and that may take one, two, or even more books. And so I am very fortunate, because today’s economy does not allow for such patience in publishers!

 

JG: The best books on craft in your opinion are Robert Olen Butler & Janet Burroway's From Where You Dream. Also, Brenda Ueland’s If You Want to Write. Why these in particular?

 

WT: Both emphasize the connectedness between imagery, emotion, and energy. Ueland’s book is intensely supportive of the human spirit, imagination, passion, and how to bring all this to the craft. One of many great things she says about the struggle to write a scene is that it is not yet deeply enough imagined. This is exactly right: until you can really see what’s happening in your mind’s eye, you will grapple with words on paper or screen, and that’s not where the story is happening. Joan Didion said, “The picture in your mind tells you what’s going on in the story. It tells you, you don’t tell it.” From Where You Dream –the title says it all. The book follows a workshop led by Butler and offers one way of organizing the structure of a story through seeing it scene by scene. It’s a great approach that helps you feel less overwhelmed when you begin, or even revise a story.

 

JG: I have yet to read From Where You Dream, but yours is the second recommendation of this book so I will get hold of a copy. Please tell us a little about your next writing project?

 

WT: The story I’m working on now has been simmering on the back burner for a long time. I’ve filled notebooks with bits of dialogue and images, feelings, and lots of questions. Why this story? What must I say? What does my character really want? That’s not always clear. But now I think I’ve got it. And there are definitely lizards in the story!

 

JG: Lastly, what advice would you give to writers wishing to connect their readers with nature?