Folding Rock editor Kathryn Tann talks to Crystal Jeans about her latest book, Blueprints. The two discuss self-indulgence, the essay form, the realities of being a writer and of shrugging off that protective coat called ‘fiction’.
In an interview played out entirely via old-school email-exchange, this is an invitation into the creative inbox of one of Wales’ most exciting contemporary writers: one whose memoir-in-essays means having the guts to say this matters, and which lays (almost) everything bare.
--- On Tue, 19 Aug 2025, 10:28 Kathryn Tann, <kathryn@foldingrock.com> wrote: ---
--- On Wed, 20 Aug 2025 14:06:41 +0100 Crystal Jeans <crustmule25@yahoo.com> wrote: ---
I always wrote memoir, though thinly disguised as fiction (with name changes, etc.). It got to a point where I felt like I’d purged everything and exhausted my ego and so I fully threw myself into fiction (which, with me and many other writers, can’t help but feed on real life) and that was satisfying for a while – actually it continues to be satisfying, but I think I wanted a break from having to think so intensely about plot and narrative drive. Also, my mother had just died and, perversely, I decided to write about it practically 5 minutes after it happened, and I was reminded how good it tastes to shamelessly overshare.
I say shamelessly, but in fact there is a lot of shame, and guilt. But these emotions have never stopped me before, clearly. Being a female memoirist carries its own particular shame. But also, in general, being the vulture that feeds on dead things.
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I’m sure it’s possible to do both. In fact, if you’re going with ‘the personal is political’, the memoirist is doing both. And you can craft your essays with the intention of doing both and mix it up nicely: a paragraph about Gaza here, another one here about, I don’t know, your eating disorder. But the question I posed in that essay is: Should we though? Can’t we just write a fucking thing? I mean, I can understand there being a pressure to think of the world’s problems if we’re being paid well for it, but we’re not.
Yes, looking inwards was easier. And some of those essays were tough writes. But recalling some painful memories is infinitely easier than imagining climate Armageddon. Nothing frightens me more than the end of life.
About to leave on the ferry! Let me know how much depth you want from me here because I could say more on all this stuff. I’ll catch you when I’m next near WiFi.
--- On Fri, 22 Aug 2025 at 09:45, Kathryn Tann <kathryn@foldingrock.com> wrote: ---
--- On Fri, 22 Aug 2025 20:59:08 +0100 Crystal Jeans <crustmule25@yahoo.com> wrote: ---
Hello,
I’m now responding on a laptop in a comfortable cottage as opposed to on my phone on a ferry. So . . .
I can totally relate to ‘who cares’? There’s the gender aspect (the often misogynistic responses to women writing about personal – AKA trivial – things), of course, but also we’re taught that only people who have accomplished great things or lived extraordinary lives should be writing about their lives. The simple answer is that there is a market for this very personal writing (otherwise it wouldn’t get published). Who cares? The many people paying for this kind of writing! My particular little voice of shame tells me that I must think I’m pretty fucking special to think my life is worthy of not only documentation, but publication, and now everyone is going to know just how special I think I am and what’s more, they may profoundly disagree. I have many counter arguments up my sleeve, some of them clever and convincing, but they don’t do any good as what I’m dealing with essentially is a deep-seated fear of exposure and judgement, impervious to reason. So I just try not to think about it, which is neither healthy nor practical.
Funnily enough, I considered cutting ‘Some May Call this Self-Indulgence’ from the collection and only kept it in because my editor said she liked it. I think there’s integrity in the idea of writing whatever the hell you want and offering no justification or apologies. I wish my balls were that big. To do what I did in SMCSI (and what tons of other bloggers/essayists, etc., have done on this subject) is, I think, to show my belly to the predators. It’s saying I’m afraid to do this and I have doubts about this and that therefore opens me up to an easier shot. Do you know what I mean?
Unfortunately, I’ve made it my mission to be honest about myself, and I’m a fearful person who cares too much about what other people think, so there we go.
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It was just very enjoyable to write it in that way. The freedom. I’ve been focusing on fiction for the last few years and that comes with its own freedoms of course, but you very much have to keep your cards under the table and never own up to trickery (unless you’re trying something experimental). So it was refreshing to write and I sensed (hoped) it would be enjoyable to read.
My first instinct in answering this was to say that it’s about honesty, how breaking the fourth wall means destroying artifice, and maybe there’s some truth in this, but actually, my honesty is selective. I own up to what I want, when I want, if I want. It’s on my own terms. I hold back a lot. The thing about being sometimes overly honest is that people then assume you’re 100% honest all the time, but that isn’t the case (look at Donald Trump). I think my second instinct here was the most honest: it just felt good. I think it’s kind of cool.
OK. Back over to you!
--- On Wed, 27 Aug 2025 at 16:56, Kathryn Tann <kathryn@foldingrock.com> wrote: ---
--- On Wed, 27 Aug 2025 21:22:43 +0100 Crystal Jeans <crustmule25@yahoo.com> wrote: ---
Hi!
Certainly different from my last two novels, where I was thinking in quite a concentrated way about plot and narrative drive (my agent is always breathing down my neck about narrative drive, because it’s a weakness of mine and yes, stories should have it!). But two of my previous books came about in a similar way to Blueprints – my first, Vegetarian Tigers of Paradise, is basically a series of personal essays but with enough name changes and altering of physical descriptions that I can chuck the fiction label on it, and my third, The Homeless Heart-throb, is a collection of connected short stories, some of these fictionalised re-editings of discarded stories from the first novel. I guess I really like writing short, separate things which can be mashed into something that kind of comes together as a larger thing by the end. Lots of little micros within the macro. Maybe it has something to do with attention span.
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I think it’s important to be as truthful as you can be if you’re going out of your way to sell something as truthful. It should do what it says on the tin. People feel cheated if they find out they’ve been lied to, and that is fair, because some of these writers are making top dollar selling their lies as truth, and part of what made their writing attractive in the first place was that it supposedly really happened. But it does depend on the extent of the dishonesty. People have been debating the idea of recording the truth in writing for decades now, probably centuries (and this particular scandal isn’t new – look at James Frey and JT LeRoy). Memory is a tricky thing and so is point of view – my truth is not the same as someone else’s truth. So it should be tacitly accepted that any form of life writing is going to come with a splatter of bullshit. I don’t remember conversations I had over ten years ago word for word, but I set out scenes recreating these conversations. These conversations did happen, just not exactly word for word. This is where non-fiction becomes creative non-fiction. It has to be that way; real life is too boring and petty.
My dishonesty doesn’t come in the form of telling out-and-out whoppers, only holding back – choosing how much to tell. Which is necessary and wise! Some of the bits I ended up cutting in Blueprints would have kept me awake at night if I’d kept them in. I’ve lived a messy life. A wiser writer would have held back more.
Over to you!
--- On Thu, 28 Aug 2025 at 16:30, Kathryn Tann <kathryn@foldingrock.com> wrote: ---
--- On Thu, 28 Aug 2025 20:52:32 +0100 Crystal Jeans <crustmule25@yahoo.com> wrote: ---
Yeah, it is fun!
I was feeling quite negative about writing at that time, or at least about my writing career. I was even considering chucking it all in and working full-time at my day job and just, like, focusing on having a nicer house and going on nice holidays. I wondered if I could do that. Unlikely.
I’ve always kept a cool, pragmatic head about my writing, thinking of the long game. But the publishing industry just gets worse and worse and what once upon a time felt like a reasonable expectation – eventually earning enough to drop the day job – now feels like a deluded pipe dream. But it’s all relative, isn’t it? Compared to a bestselling writer, I’m nothing – yes, a glorified hobbyist – but compared to someone who is desperate just to see their book in print, I’ve made it. I was worried about seeming ungrateful in that essay, considering those who struggle to get published, but I do think it’s valid to bitch about the state of publishing. It very much feels like a race to the bottom. However, I adore writing and it brings me joy and purpose and meaning, so in that sense I’m winning. Staying in this industry requires such contortions of perspective, though I wouldn’t say it’s a false perspective.
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That was a particularly snarky comment! Obviously plenty of Welsh people care about Welsh writing, but not enough. I mean, just pop down to your nearest Lidl and ask the shoppers if they can name any Welsh writers. Chances are they’ll mention Dylan Thomas. But pop down to Chapter Arts and you might hear a few Parthian or Seren or Honno names. I guess it’s a class thing? Not one person in my family would know who Zadie Smith is, let alone Rachel Trezise. But we have the talent! We know we do! I hear your magazine is getting some buzz. That’s the kind of thing we need. And more money, of course.
I remember the year I won Wales Book of the Year in the fiction category, a BBC article came out about the award and the only thing they had to say about it was that most of the shortlisted books had sold barely any copies. That’s what London thinks about Welsh writing.
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Your expectations? Lower them to the fucking ground. However, if you’re good at the hustle side of things, you might do alright. I have no hustle at all. The most important thing is to enjoy what you do and mostly, to write what the hell you like however you like. Because if you’re unlikely to receive substantial material success, why wouldn’t you just go balls to the wall? If there’s not much to gain that means there’s not much to lose. This is freeing and leads to great art. Race to the bottom with a smile on your face!
--- On Wed, 3 Sept 2025 at 11:01, Kathryn Tann <kathryn@foldingrock.com> wrote: ---
--- On Fri, 05 Sep 2025 17:43:03 +0100 Crystal Jeans <crustmule25@yahoo.com> wrote: ---
I should qualify here that what I was saying in that essay is that a small press can’t afford much marketing and I am incapable of marketing myself (as anyone who looks at my Instagram page can see), and that’s why I don’t anticipate a big readership. Small presses do sometimes have big successes, even with a limited budget. I just happen to suck at this whole game. Sorry, Parthian! I think I would have been really good at the marketing side of things in my 20s as I was a flaming egotist back then, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more anxious about putting myself out there – and with good reason. Irvine Welsh didn’t have to deal with online pile-ons, just the possibility of a bad review in a newspaper, and even then, I’m sure his royalties were a comfort.
If the lights come on I will do what I’ve always done: never read reviews, put my head in the sand, start the next book.
And —
What I find interesting is that we’ve mainly talked about writing. This isn’t a criticism; I love talking shop. Every morning while drinking my tea I go on Substack and read tons of articles by writers about writing. It seems we have more writers in the western world than ever before thanks to creative writing degrees (and probably other reasons), yet this is the hardest time to get your writing published and read (along the traditional route) in recent history and we’re all a bit obsessed with it. I don’t know where I’m going with this. I guess reading other writers write about writing is scratching some kind of itch. It’s become its own thing, this niche genre. There are so many of us and we’re frustrated and losing hope and so we’re drawn to each other’s stories and perspectives like lonely drunks in a bar.
The thing that made me choose to continue with writing during my existential crisis last year was reading an article like this. I can’t remember who wrote it. The gist was: Stop deluding yourself with these old fantasies of making it big, just keep plodding on, perfecting your craft, and for god’s sake, enjoy it! It was like a pint of water thrown in my face – enough with the self-pity. Many, many others feel the same way. Musicians and artists are fucked too. You’re not alone. Just get on with it. As if you have a choice anyway.
That’s me done.
Side note – do you think I’m gonna get shit for the bit about Welsh writing?
It probably doesn’t matter. I’ll have my head in the sand anyway.
Thank you for your thought-provoking questions. I really do love talking shop and have enjoyed this loads.
CJ
Crystal Jeans has had two previous novels and a short story collection published by Honno Press – The Vegetarian Tigers of Paradise was shortlisted for the Polari Prize and is currently in development for film, and Light Switches Are My Kryptonite won Wales Book of the Year in the English language. Crystal has subsequently had two novels, The Inverts and Accidental Darlings, published by Borough Press, an imprint of HarperCollins, and currently lives in Pontypridd.
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