But she found that she wished she could embellish, add thunder and lightning where there had been only a gentle rain, and that is why she writes fiction.Ī few years ago, Toews was walking around Toronto, where she lives, turning the idea for a novel over in her mind. In her twenties, when she went to journalism school to learn how to make radio documentaries, she loved spending hours with audiotape, a razor blade, and chalk, seamlessly stitching together the voices she had gathered, trying to keep her own voice out of the mix. When she is working on a book, she exists in a state of heightened suggestibility, as if everything she sees and hears were hers for the taking. Something about the body in motion limbers up the mind and suggests that it should get moving, too.
Before Miriam Toews can sit down to write, she needs to walk.
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