In Ample Time
An interview with writer Niña Weijers about seclusion
By Daan Borrel, guest writer Story Terrace
Niña Weijers (1987) is sitting on a wooden bench when I enter the cafe. By her side, there’s a bunch of bags and sweaters piled up. She’s just arrived from Maastricht (town in the south of Holland, ed.) where she’s secluding herself for two months from everyday life to work in an academy. ‘It feels good to be on the road. In Amsterdam, everything comes to me and now I have to move towards things.’ Lectures, interviews: since her debut book De Consequenties (The Consequences) was published last May, Weijers has been a busy bee. Her book was received enthusiastically. ‘People want things from me all of a sudden. Which, of course, is a good thing, but it’s not an end in itself. Writing is.’
Do you dislike being in the spotlight? 
‘It’s a welcome surprise that my book gets so much attention, I never expected that. Still, I have to get used to the situation. At the moment, it’s fashionable to ask a lot of personal and psychological questions. But let’s not exaggerate: I don’t have to sign autographs on butts or other body parts.
What’s the relation between writing and public appearance?
‘The public appearance, the public success, it hasn’t been of much influence on my work so far. I don’t feel the audience’s hot breath at the back of my neck yet when I’m writing. Writing is fundamentally different from all the things that happen after publishing. Writing is a private matter. That’s one of the reasons I like it so much: I do it just for me. And that will find its way to the audiences. Now, half a year after publication, the book is more of the readers’ property than it is mine.
How do you feel about that?
It’s good to see that everyone can relate to the story. Apparently, the book has enough clues to do so. I get e-mails from people saying as much. Clearly, readers bring their own personal background to the act of reading.
And still that attention doesn’t influence the writing?
‘No. The aversion towards writing, for example, the resistance, is there everyday. Exactly as it was when I was writing my first book. Of course, the positive attention has given me a shot of confidence. It’s like: it appears that I do know a little about writing after all. Before, I’d think that I failed enormously in writing. But the most special part is that people get my work. They understand my mind. Because I think that my writing reveals much more about me, much more than this interview does, for that matter. As a writer you want to communicate, start a dialogue. And if people get you, even if they come from a completely different background, then you feel that you are not alone.’
Could you argue that writing is about being heard and seen for you?
‘Not completely. During the process of writing, I’m not considering the audience. Writing to me is a way of thinking, to sharpen and clarify my thoughts. Once in a while, I’ll be surprised afterwards about what I put on paper. Don’t get me wrong: there’s no mysterious process there or any divine intervention. I mean that the book is more than me – it transcends my intentions.
How long have you been working on your debut?
‘About three years including all of the detours. First, I wrote two other half books, in which my main character Minni Panis had a different name and wasn’t an artist but an actor. It took a while to find my voice and style. The moment I captured those elements –they arose in a short story on the birth of Minnie – the writing followed.
Do you need to withdraw to write?
‘That really works for me, yes. I need to detach from regular time. During the day, I’ll read or go walking and practise yoga. At night I start writing, from six till two in the morning. It’s wonderful not having someone around telling me it’s crazy you only start writing at this time of day. When I’m in seclusion, I detach from normal rhythms. I don’t need to take anyone’s opinion into account, and no one expects anything from me. Writing works best when I feel independent.
What happens then?
‘However cliché it may sound, I reach a different stage of consciousness. Shame withdraws and I can follow my true instincts. I become intoxicated, sedated. I like writing when I have just woken up as well. In bed, for two hours, when the world hasn’t started yet.
Don’t you ever feel lonely in Berlin of Maastricht?
‘No. I’ve become a writer because I’m able to be alone and appreciate it. Sometime I do feel lonelier than in Amsterdam, and I think: what am I doing here, alone with my computer? But in Berlin, and now in Maastricht, I don’t feel looked at. I can do whatever I want. In Amsterdam, that’s more difficult. Friends won’t understand and sometimes don’t accept that my work comes before everything else. But that’s the way it is. Sometimes.’
So you’d rather withdraw?
‘Yes, and I have an urge to work in different places. To step out of the ‘dailyness’ and be in transit. To write everyday, wherever I am. I don’t need a safety net or much security. Does it sound like I’m unsociable? Because I’m not; I love people. Maybe my withdrawal is some sort of self-protection. When I’m at home I’m balancing between what I want and what others expect of me.
Does writing feel like a job?
‘No. I don’t want a job, I want to write. Other assignments, like short stories or my column in Dutch magazine De Groene Amsterdammer, feel like work. But working on a book feels like a way of living. And I’d much rather do that at my own pace. In ample time.
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About the author: Daan Borrel is apart from a writer for Story Terrace, a freelance text writer and journalist for (among others) Dutch newspapers NRC Handelsblad and nrc.next.
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