Nuala O’Connor

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Oscail interview, Winter 2025

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Your novels often centre on historical women who were marginalised or misunderstood in their time, Emily Dickinson, Nora Barnacle, and Anne Bonny. What draws you to these women, and what are your thoughts on the balance between historical accuracy and imaginative freedom in writing?

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I admire women who are in possession of themselves, maverick, courageous people who kick against societal norms, to live in ways that are nurturing to them. For me it’s important to remain true to facts and to the personalities of the players, rather than invent ultra-palatable versions of them. It’s not the novelist’s business to write genial characters, we confront human foibles and frailties, even if it makes the players ‘unlikeable’. Interestingly, Anne Enright observed, ‘…fictional men are allowed to be bad, their badness often is the story, female characters are not allowed to be bad, because it makes a story slightly unpleasant.’

As for invention, that’s the real work in fiction and it’s my job to embroider, empathise, and embody. I do that by giving the characters internal worlds that are as close to their true selves as I can glean from research.

 

You've written across multiple genres, including novels, short stories, poetry, and flash fiction. Talk me through how your creative process differs between these forms, and do you find that one form influences or takes on from the others?

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I think the genre-jumping is to do with being AuDHD – my autistic side is diligent and hardworking, my ADHD side is novelty seeking, so hopping about is necessary to me. My monotropism means I like to stay in one place for a bit, though, so if I’m working on a novel, I tend to stick with it exclusively. Ditto each of the other genres.

I’m naturally a ‘small’ writer, meaning I value concision, precision, and tight, elliptical work. My editors always have to encourage me to expand – say more. I started as a poet but I think my natural element is shorter prose forms like flash and stories, and their tendency towards gappiness, twinned with precise language.

Your most recent poetry collection, Menagerie (Arlen House, 2025), has been called "a collection which is at once involving and clear-sighted" How does your approach to poetry differ from your approach to prose, and what themes or fixations run through this collection?

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I think all my writing is drawn from the same source – my personal obsessions and any eye-catching wisps that hove into view. I love language, I love the neatness of poems, the way they pin things in place that might otherwise escape. They’re a diary of sorts, of happenings and travels and so on. My fixations in Menagerie include the natural world, neurodivergence, writing, marriage and familial love, and art and politics.

 

How have your late diagnoses affected your understanding of yourself as a writer and as a person? Has it changed how you view your earlier work?

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Everything makes sense now – the very fact that I had set up a life where I get to be alone, mostly, and conversing with myself says a lot. I knew I wanted to work solely with my passion – words – and to be my own boss. I’d set up a good autistic life, in a quiet place, without having the dx, just by knowing my own needs and obeying them (mostly). I’m way, way more self-compassionate now, I don’t beat myself up (as much) for my quirks, or my need to self-care.

My dx has made my previous work come into sharp focus – practically every story and book has had an awkward, self-seeking loner at its heart. I was hiding in plain sight, but it took until I was 52 to be affirmed. That’s too long.

In interviews, you've mentioned that all your heroines are autistic, like you. Can you talk about how neurodivergence shows up in your characters and narratives, even when it isn't explicitly labelled?

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Their constant out-of-placeness, their feelings of ‘why can I not fit in?’ Their singularity and impulsiveness. A certain naivety. I’m not saying these are exclusively autistic traits but they’re some of mine, and I’d inadvertently (or, sometimes, knowingly) given my own awkwardnesses to my characters.

 

Looking back on your career, how has the Irish literary landscape changed in terms of representation, accessibility, and support for neurodivergent and queer writers?

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I think supports have improved for writers across the board, there are more opportunities, and more investment since I began in the mid-nineties. But, there is still rampant othering and misunderstanding about what it means to be disabled and/or queer. Ditto about what we may want to write about. Not every disabled person wants to write disabled characters. Also, accommodations at literary festivals and within lit orgs need overhauls. Investment, crucially, needs to be ramped up. There’s a belated, slow move towards consultation and inclusion, but it’s going to take time.

 

Your novels often explore queer desire and non-normative relationships, particularly in Seaborne, which centres on Anne Bonny's relationships with women. Bringing these stories into historical fiction, what did you find challenging or rewarding?

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Love stories are always both those things for a writer – they challenge and reward in equal measure, because people are basically bonkers. But you figure it out as you go. For Seaborne, it was challenging to be told I needed to shy away from explicitly showing the violence on the plantation, and to stick to writing white characters, which is ludicrous because it warps history. The power imbalance between Anne and her maid, Bedelia, made some eds feel uncomfortable but, literally, this is what was happening. Sanitising in publishing seems to me the weirdest of all things – if writers can’t point out injustices, who can? New Island (the publisher who took on Seaborne) were great – they could see the importance of historical accuracy.

 

What do you think literary magazines and publishers can do to make the submission, editing, and publication process more accessible for neurodivergent writers?

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Recorded subs would work for some writers – any tech that would make the process easier would be useful.

The availability of a buddy-editor, to help with the subs process could work; someone in-house or freelance.

A quota of available slots for disabled writers in lit mags/on publisher schedules.

 

What's next for you as a writer, and are there any new projects or creative directions you're excited to explore?

My next novel – a contemporary one set between Corfu and Ireland – will be out spring 2027. I’m working on a memoir about late dx autism. I want to have a quieter year in 2026 in terms of appearances etc. I’ve been overdoing it and I’m exhausted.

What advice would you give to emerging Irish writers, particularly those who are neurodivergent, queer, or working outside traditional publishing pathways, who are trying to find their voice and their audience?

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• Follow your passions, write the things that excite you.

• Read like a maniac; write, write, write.

• Tenacity is often more valuable than talent – stick with it.

• Rejections are inevitable – I still get them, thirty years in, all writers do; have a cry, move on.

• Connect with your peers. Find a writing group that feels ‘right’. If it’s uncomfortable, move on. Set up your own group.

• Ask for clarity, and state your needs clearly, in publishing relationships.

• Be kind – support your fellow creatives.

• Be kindest to yourself – don’t overdo the workload, burnout is tough.