Indomitability of Spirit: Greg Marshall

Life is as much about the random moments of kindness and joy as the big ones. No, I am not reciting cliches here. I really do believe in the power of conviction and inner knowing about who we are and what we are capable of when the entire world says otherwise. Greg Marshall has seen and lived it—from a baby about whom doctors said would never walk or talk to a man embracing the challenging and meaningful aspects of personhood. His memoir’s title says it all. Leg: The Story of a Limb and the Boy who Grew From It shares Greg’s journey about fully coming into himself above and beyond the curve balls life throws at us—and emerging victorious to have our voice heard.

I first met Greg on a balmy lunch at Hays City Store. The delightful Friday afternoon spread consisted of ravishing chips and dips and salads galore. Our small host group was enlivened by the opportunity to share a meal outdoors in the last of the warm days at the end of semester, as winter was nigh’. The sun sparkled and the conversation tinkled, as I seated myself next to him to introduce myself as the writer who would be interviewing him later. Greg spoke with candor and excitement about his college days—a visiting journalism student in Tucson and later on, his MFA days in Austin. About how creative nonfiction was making magic and beauty happen around the real facts and experiences, rather than using one’s imagination to create characters, setting, and dialogue. As an avid reader of human nature, what shone through to me was Greg’s authenticity, generosity, and genuineness of spirit, with a tenacity that spoke for itself. A few hours later, at the KAP house, over coffee, I got to sit down for a very valuable thirty minutes sharing Greg’s story for my first ever sit-down interview with a writer at Texas State.

Sarah Farid: Let’s start from the very beginning. Greg, tell me about your childhood—growing up—and what inspired you to be a writer. 

Greg Marshall: Well, I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and I am the middle of five children. What really fascinates me about families is how stories are told. I am from a family of storytellers. There’s this great Nora Efron line, you know. “A family of writers is a family of cannibals. They are always devouring each other’s stories.” I always really liked that about families. It was always interesting to see how legend gets layered on top of anecdote on top of a one-liner and how all of that comes together to create these pearls of experiences. I not only come from a family of storytellers but also joke and tall tale tellers. Who are always looking to one up each other. Sometimes you are left holding the bag wondering what the truth is.

My book is about learning at the age of thirty that I had cerebral palsy. My parents always told me I had “tight tendons” until I applied for private health insurance, when I retrieved medical records to learn what it actually was. I put my disability and queerness at the center of the story rather than it being something no one really talks about. There were these gaps of information, omissions made, in the name of protecting a loved one. This journey was about discovering how deception and love can go hand-in-hand in families and how that can be both a source of love and danger. If you don’t have the information about yourself you need, you find yourself unable to explain parts of your experience—to a boyfriend or an insurance company rep. I kinda wanted to write the book to make people laugh but I also wanted to pierce through the layers and speak about my body and sexuality as they are.

Farid: Interesting. Part of growing up was me in this city called Karachi, the biggest city in Pakistan, ethnically diverse, the hub of commerce and culture, twenty-five million people by the sea. Trust me, there’s a lot of stories floating around. Which reminds me of the oral storytelling tradition versus in written form. Oral stories shapeshift.

Marshall: Absolutely. Depending on the motive or angle of the story, the audience, the mood of the storytelling, it changes form. People speak ill of gossip but the antidote to that is things get lost and I would rather preserve memory imperfectly instead of it having it be lost permanently. Losing my dad, I was able to revisit his memories, like going to France with him in junior high where he was the chaperone to the class trip. It was a way to remember him as someone who lived a rich, funny life which was who he was, because his life was so much bigger than that one terrible diagnosis at the end. So much sentimentality, humor, and melodrama tied in with the stories we tell about the people we love. And I sort of love that in writing about what I know—FAMILY. Our stories defy genre; they are all genres simultaneously. If you were writing a piece of fiction, maybe it’s more deliberately categorized as comedy, horror—but family contains all of those and more. It’s uncategorizable. Is that a word? I think that’s a word (both laugh).

Farid: It’s totally a word, and if it’s not, it should be!

Marshall: Certainly.

Farid: What is the difference between fiction and creative nonfiction?

Marshall: I think the difference, the thing we talked about at lunch, is the difference between memory and imagination. The more I write, the two bleed into each other. Nonfiction gives you the bare bones. Just as with fiction, there is so much you can do with voice, perspective, language, to color as vibrantly within those lines you want to. I find freedom in not having to worry about plot. It’s so liberating. It’s funny how my husband—Lucas—creates characters that are fully realized. On the spot. I have a bit of a gag reflex in creating fiction, that I think in nonfiction, it’s like this person exists in some form, based on something tangible—a person, document, email, photograph. Sorry, this is becoming creative therapy (both laugh). 

Farid: Tell us about the process of writing Leg.

Marshall: I had a few childhood memories I was interested in exploring in the memoir. One of them is having an AIDS speaker come in to speak to my 7th grade science class. He just matter-of-fact-ed-ly stated he had AIDS. I grew up in a very censored, conservative, predominantly Mormon community. To have someone be this blunt and straightforward about this stigmatized illness really stuck with me especially because I was a closeted 13-year-old gay kid. I wrote each chapter as a one-off essay. As I went along, I kept getting older and closer to the age I am now. The book starts in early puberty and ends with me getting married a few years ago. That was a great way to do it and I think the essays gained complexity. In my brain, it was the story I wanted to tell. It wasn’t all super chronological. I thought do I have an experience to bridge the years 16-18 where I had gaps in the timeline. That made sense. Towards the end, more mature themes come up: a gay man in his early thirties versus a child. What really helped was on and off feedback. Like you write something you enjoy within a certain word count and send it to lit mags. Little breadcrumbs make their way to you, whether your work is accepted or rejected. Those were affirmations and guide posts that I am on the right path. Taking it piece by piece was helpful and then finding the right frame to make the book coherent, held together with a singular timeline and arc.

Farid: I read Hippie Hollow, Letters to a Stranger, and the publications from your website. 

Marshall: One little nugget of submission wisdom is finding magazines with theme issues. Like the Fairytale Review had a Wizard of Oz issue they were doing right after I graduated from my MFA in 2013 or 2014. One chapter in the book is about my love of the Wizard of Oz and I played scarecrow in a school production of it. I also met the actor who played the Wizard of Oz and one of the actors who played the original munchkin from the original MGM musical. She was in her eighties when I met her and she traveled to kid’s groups. Her name was Margaret Pellegrini. She had the flowers tipped on her head.

Farid: Oh, I remember her…

Marshall: She was a guest speaker who came to speak to my theater troupe and used to travel the country performing. She had the flowers on her head. That essay ended up getting into Electric Literature and then in Best American Essays. Off Assignment is a great travel magazine that only does form essays and one of their prompts is to write a letter to a stranger about a person who haunts you very briefly.

You know, I think you would be amazing at this given your diverse life experiences. It’s simple. A person who haunts you. It could be someone whose name you didn’t know, a person you did a story on in your journalism days and didn’t make it in the story you filed, or someone on a train, who lingers on in your mind. And based on this prompt, you may surprise yourself walking away with something that is very useful to you. Because I am not a huge fan of the writing prompts that you will never use again.

I would at least want to try to be able to use my writing or have it be applicable to something. There are so many writers unwilling to write something new for an issue of a magazine because why write for it because who knows if it will even be accepted. I do think it’s a great backdoor way to get in because most people are not going to do that. For the Paris Review’s money issue for instance, submitting a story with a character who has a costume that costs money (laughs).

Farid: (laughs) Tell us a little about the trajectory writers could take to develop their publishing career going and identifying where to send it.

Marshall: I thought once you became a writer, you only published in Tin House, New Yorker, and the Paris Review. Those are great if you can get in. I would say you don’t have to be so precious with your work that you are only submitting to the top three magazines in the country. Casting a wider net that you find other places that meet your needs and they check out. Any magazine that gets a notable in the 100 Best American essays. Back there, you find all kinds of places to submit through there. Waiting for the crème de la creme magazines can be a pitfall. Devising a long term plan post-graduation involving a writing community and consistency to your routine. Whether it’s taking a Zoom writing workshop or being in a local writing group. Or setting time once a week or a few times a month.

Farid: So you realize, it’s been a week already and it’s time for group (both laugh).

Marshall: Yes, because writing itself is so isolating and lonely. Having some accountability there helps. 

Farid: And it’s so easy to stay in your head wanting to do more research and not having a deadline unless you have already sold your book to a publisher.

Marshall: Having deadlines and people giving relatively prompt feedback. Not sending work to friends who take six months to respond although people cannot respond immediately. For me, it was super helpful to have a husband, brother, and friend Amanda who writes. Some community and plan for how you will keep on writing over the long run can be really helpful.

Farid: Another offshoot question is about living in lonely times and creating your community.

Marshall: Don’t go into writer witness protection, where you haven’t published a book yet or written recently. So, you disappear. And I have found that if we can keep our foot in the game, that’s so important! In Texas, there’s so much literary brilliance and writing stuff happening in the San Marcos, Kyle, Austin area. We live in cities where there is a reading every night. Talk to a person in a signing line. Go meet people. Make amazing connections. If you are lucky enough to be in a grad program, find people who can be good readers for you. Reach out to a writer you admire professionally and politely. They may reply and they may not. But that’s fine. Do not be afraid to spread the love around and it will find its way back to you.

Farid: Absolutely. Take the shot. Deal with that rejection. Going up and talking to a writer rather than thinking them unapproachable is the same as daring to write by putting it out there rather than holding back to always wonder. Ok, so the last question I have is about how to cultivate our voice as a writer.

Marshall: Follow your curiosity. Read a writer you love. See what they do. Experiment with a style. Nobody is a writer from the get go. There is a performative aspect to writing and it’s ok to allow yourself to do that. It can be super useful to say I like this Jeffrey Eugenides style and filter it through your own sensibilities.

Farid: And even if you use their style, the end product is totally different because it’s your original input in there applied to it.

Marshall: Exactly! Feel free to experiment and let go of that anxiety around influence. Be intellectually honest about how much you take on and create. That’s totally legit.