The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire #75: Lola Kirke

"If what you write is authentic to you, you might lose people. But you will undoubtedly find yourself. Decide if you can handle that."

Since 2010, in various publications, I’ve interviewed authors—mostly memoirists—about aspects of writing and publishing. Initially I did this for my own edification, as someone who was struggling to find the courage and support to write and publish my memoir. I’m still curious about other authors’ experiences, and I know many of you are, too. So, inspired by the popularity of The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire, I’ve launched The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire.

Here’s the 75th installment, featuring

Lola Kirke

, an actress, singer-songwriter, and the author of Wild West Village: Not a Memoir. -Sari Botton

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Lola Kirke. Photo by Ohad Kab.

Lola Kirke

is an acclaimed actress and singer-songwriter. Wild West Village is her first book.

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How old are you, and for how long have you been writing?

I’m 34 years old. I started what would become my first book about five years ago. But I’ve been journaling since I was a little girl, because, as the dazzling Gwendolyn quips in The Importance of Being Ernest: “One should always have something sensational to read on the train.”

What’s the title of your latest book, and when was it published?

It’s called Wild West Village and Simon and Schuster published it January 28th.

What number book is this for you?

#1, baby.

How do you categorize your book—as a memoir, memoir-in-essays, essay collection, creative nonfiction, graphic memoir, autofiction—and why?

Well, the cover of my book explicitly states that it’s “NOT a memoir, unless I win an Oscar, die tragically or score a Country #1.” But that’s only because I believe the collective understanding of the memoir to be a very loaded one. When you have careers in other public-facing fields like I do, you’re only supposed to write about your life once it’s nearing its end or you’ve passed other agreed upon milestones. Typically its only acceptable for younger people to write a memoir after they’ve survived kidnapping or done well in the Olympics.

It’s easy to forget that the memoir is a vital literary form, pioneered by many people of all ages and stations. Mary Karr. David Sedaris. Lucia Berlin. People who felt that life itself contained enough meaning without inventing scenarios from which to derive it, the way a novelist might. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with novels, I’m just not smart enough to write one. So I guess I prefer the term “memoir-in-essays,”—it really does make me sound smarter than I am/intellectually superior to most people, which is why I got into the biz in the first place.

You might say my book about trying to get ordinary needs and wants met (like being loved and accepted) in an extraordinary world (the kind where Courtney Love both accidentally sets fire to and floods your childhood home, because she has, for some reason, moved in with your family).

What is the “elevator pitch” for your book?

The elevator pitch for my book is the same as the excuse I give every time someone gets mad at me: “I’m just sifting through larger than life personalities in search of my own identity!” I scream, tears streaming down my face. But you might also say it’s about trying to get ordinary needs and wants met (like being loved and accepted) in an extraordinary world (the kind where Courtney Love both accidentally sets fire to and floods your childhood home, because she has, for some reason, moved in with your family).

What’s the back story of this book including your origin story as a writer? How did you become a writer, and how did this book come to be?

Well, I’ve been writing songs since my late teens. I’d even taken a stab at a couple of screenplays (one that might be the worst ever written, about a Midwestern father forced to confront his homosexuality after a family trip to Florence and a boner sustained while viewing “the David.” Can you imagine? I was 16 and had never even heard of the Midwest!) Prose, on the other hand, has always intimidated me.

Then, during lockdown, a friend started sending out daily writing prompts wherein you could write anything you wanted so long as you incorporated a single pre-determined word, like “spatchcock” or “whippersnapper.” I appreciated the challenge of working them into stories, which were mostly about my life. (I’m very self involved). Then I’d force my brand new boyfriend, a man whose house I essentially declared Squatters’ Rights in for the totality of the pandemic, to listen to me read them aloud—a fabulous way to get to know each other, if you ask me. (Don’t ask him because he will undoubtedly have a different answer.) The experience almost felt Scheherazad-ian—as if my stories were keeping us alive! Except in this tale, I was both captor and story teller. So, yeah, that’s how I started writing.

Initially, this book began as a novel in which I fragmented the four women in my family into people very much like the three Judd women—Wynonna and Naomi, the mother daughter country duo responsible for much of my favorite music, and Ashley, movie star of my youth and modern day mental health activist. Personally, I think most things, including my thoughts and feelings, sound more compelling with a little twang, which is why I often affect one. My agent disagreed. So I pivoted and wrote my book instead.

Order the book…

What were the hardest aspects of writing this book and getting it published?

Knowing when to stop writing and what doesn’t need to be written have proven to be the most humbling parts of writing. As far as getting it published, I was extraordinarily lucky to have it land in Carina Guiterman’s hands at Simon and Schuster very early in the process.

How did you handle writing about real people in your life? Did you use real or changed names and identifying details? Did you run passages or the whole book by people who appear in the narrative? Did you make changes they requested?

I always wanted the focus of my work to be on the writing itself rather than on who is being written about. For that reason, all names in my book have been changed (with the exception of one anecdote about Joan Didion and a few others mentioned briefly in the introduction). Despite that, as soon as publication became a real thing, I knew this book would be complicated for many, and often still debate with myself about the ethics of having turned people I know (and love) into characters in my story. Mostly, I come down on the side of perspective, which is something I value deeply. We all have our own. Sometimes, like a heart or a soul, it is all we have. Sharing our perspectives with intentionality can be a very generous thing. But even though one perspective can greatly influence another (or a whole load of them), it remains a mere perspective. Especially perspectives about the past. After all, memory itself is a form of fiction. Not fact.

Ultimately, I did choose to share the book with my family and the response was both heartbreaking and life-affirming. For some, it remains difficult to see the value of personal expression, especially if its conflicts with their personal expression. Sharing my work with my sisters, on the other hand, has helped me dispell lifelong beliefs about my own unlovability and granted me a type of sisterhood I have spent my life craving. I have learned I don’t have to be please people to be worthy. That being an artist often means being a source of displeasure for others. And that’s a risk I’m willing to take for my authenticity and truth. My sisters have had my back throughout the process of my understanding that.

As for changes requested, while some requests were made in a more loving manner than others, it is my experience that all of them have, in their own way, improved my book, and for that I am grateful. That said, I was discerning with who I offered changes to. At a certain point, you have to have your own back and accept, embrace even, the innately confrontational nature of the form. For me, approaching this with as much integrity and love as I tried to approach the writing itself with, has been a great and meaningful challenge.

Who is another writer you took inspiration from in producing this book? Was it a specific book, or their whole body of work? (Can be more than one writer or book.)

I would have never thought to write without reading Eve Babitz. Sex and Rage. LA Woman. Slow Days, Fast Nights. I like Black Swans too. I am also partial to Lucia Berlin (Manual for Cleaning Women), Mary Gaitskill (Bad Behavior) and of course, Joan Didion. Mostly I want to read books about good women being bad and going on adventures.

Initially, this book began as a novel in which I fragmented the four women in my family into people very much like the three Judd women—Wynonna and Naomi, the mother daughter country duo responsible for much of my favorite music, and Ashley, movie star of my youth and modern day mental health activist. Personally, I think most things, including my thoughts and feelings, sound more compelling with a little twang, which is why I often affect one. My agent disagreed. So I pivoted and wrote my book instead.

What advice would you give to aspiring writers looking to publish a book like yours, who are maybe afraid, or intimidated by the process?

If what you write is authentic to you, you might lose people. But you will undoubtedly find yourself. Decide if you can handle that.

What do you love about writing? 

I love being able to laugh at my own jokes in the privacy of my own office.

What frustrates you about writing?

How many words can acceptably fit in a sentence. (Too few!)

What about writing surprises you?

How effective it is when it’s real.

Does your writing practice involve any kind of routine or writing at specific times? 

I burn a lot of incense, then have to open a lot of windows so the fire alarm doesn’t go off. After a certain amount of hours have passed, I will indulge in a small wheel of cheese.

As for changes requested, while some requests were made in a more loving manner than others, it is my experience that all of them have, in their own way, improved my book, and for that I am grateful. That said, I was discerning with who I offered changes to. At a certain point, you have to have your own back and accept, embrace even, the innately confrontational nature of the form. For me, approaching this with as much integrity and love as I tried to approach the writing itself with, has been a great and meaningful challenge.

Do you engage in any other creative pursuits, professionally or for fun? Are there non-writing activities do you consider to be “writing” or supportive of your process?

I think I do a lot of writing while walking. I also think I do a lot of writing while drinking, but usually its very bad so I delete it later and start over.

What’s next for you? Do you have another book planned, or in the works?

I want to write a novel about a woman who writes a memoir. Both will have Southern accents.

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Check out all the interviews in The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire series.