One Young Writer's Commencement: An Interview With J. Courtney Sullivan

By Emma Shakarshy
GWN Intern

I first met J. Courtney Sullivan on a rooftop terrace overlooking Manhattan. Courtney's friends and colleagues gathered to celebrate her new book, Commencement, which was published in June by Random House. All book sales from the party were to benefit Girls Write Now—that’s where I fit in. I stood at the book table, tugging at my flowered dress that had seemed professional and chic just a few hours earlier. Surrounded by prominent literary women, I was feeling internships, degrees, and bylines away from my New York Times–by day, published writer–by night career dream. That was until I met Courtney, the bubbly young author who made it impossible not to match her glowing smile. There was no question in my mind; I had to get to know this woman. After ripping through Commencement, I decided to invite Courtney to an interview.

We met at The New York Times, where Courtney assists op-ed columnist Bob Herbert and writes for the Metro, Style, and Book Review sections of the newspaper. This was my first interview ever, and I arrived armed with a green notebook full of questions. As Courtney and I sat down in the cafeteria, I soon realized that the Sullivan spell had been cast again. The conversation flowed smoothly and Courtney’s self-assured, writerly air began to rub off on me. Green notebook aside, I attempted to dissect her seemingly effortless confidence and early success.

J. Courtney Sullivan grew up in Massachusetts and wrote “angsty, terrible short stories” throughout high school. She attended Smith College, a women’s college, and since there was no creative writing program, she majored in Victorian literature, utilizing Smith’s open curriculum to take as many writing classes as possible. After college, Courtney didn’t know many writers, so she used her professors as resources. After graduating, she landed a position at Allure writing “200-word articles about mascara” until she made the jump to the New York Times, where she’s been working for more than three years. 

It became clear after minutes of conversation that there is a unifying thread weaving together Courtney's personal history: women. Courtney says that she “feels drawn by the powerfully focused energy created by a community of women.” As an undergraduate, she wanted to be surrounded by a group of strong, smart women, similar to the community at Girls Write Now, where Courtney serves on the advisory board. She first heard about GWN from her friends Jessica Valenti and Courtney Martin, editors of the blog Feministing. Courtney Sullivan, moved by what she heard, pitched a story on GWN to the Times and, through her work on the article, fell in love with the organization.

Courtney is especially passionate about GWN because she had inspiring women mentors of her own. In high school, she was mentored by a teacher named Maxine Rodburg, who was the first person to introduce Courtney to feminism. She says, “Maxine Rodburg was the kind of teacher who always had 500 books on her shelf for you to borrow. She inspired me to keep writing.” Courtney also interned at the Atlantic and met an older woman named Lucie Prinz. If there was a significant event in women’s social history, Prinz had been there. She shared her “feminist Forrest Gump” adventures with Courtney, who learned from Prinz that it’s possible to take a zigzag path through life. 

Indeed, Courtney knows this “zigzag path” well. She comes from a family of lawyers but says that she never had any interest in entering that field. She always knew she wanted to be a fiction writer but had to find her way there. When I mention her first book, a nonfiction how-to called Dating Up: Dump the Shlump and Find a Quality Man, she rolls her eyes.  Courtney says, “Fiction was always my passion. The rest just paid the bills.” Even writing Commencement wasn’t the journey Courtney was expecting. She started writing the novel, a book about Smith grads and their post-college lives, four years ago. She says that it was originally like Mary McCarthy’s The Group, with a distanced narrator, but that it slowly evolved into a friendship novel, from the intimate perspectives of four women.  The book went through 15 different versions before it was sent to the editor, where it underwent two or three more drafts. When I ask about how Courtney feels about the lifetime of drafts that lies ahead, she admits that it’s a daunting idea. Before, she says, she was “in a state of ignorant first-novel bliss,” blind to the process.  Now that she’s aware of the journey from her laptop to the publisher, it’s a different story.

Afraid of sounding clichéd but thinking that there couldn’t be anyone more qualified to answer the age-old question, I ask Courtney if she has any advice for young writers. First, she recommends avoiding “crappy literature.”  She insists, “It’ll infuse your writing and inform the quality of your work.” She also recommends finding people who do what you think you want to do and picking their brains.  Another important tip is to quiet the negative inner voices and to not listen to every piece of advice. “You hear over and over, ‘write every day.’ Everyone writes differently, so just push out the negativity and write by your own rules.” For example, Courtney writes two days a week for six hours each day. Lastly, she says, “Being a writer is just as easy or common as being a dentist. When you look at newspaper stands, you see hundreds of bylines. People are writing and getting paid to do it. Just believe in yourself.”

With that final sound bite, I leave her to her photo shoots and radio interviews. Before making my way back to Girls Write Now, I pause outside the doors and look back at the building.  Anyone can see that it is just the beginning of J. Courtney Sullivan’s literary career. But in this moment, looking up at The New York Times building, I start to think that maybe this interview is the beginning of mine, too. I know that the writer’s path is one big zigzag, but after speaking with Courtney, for the first time my dream seems possible.