An Inspired Chat with Greg Fields of Northern Virginia

We recently had the chance to connect with Greg Fields and have shared our conversation below.

Good morning Greg, we’re so happy to have you here with us and we’d love to explore your story and how you think about life and legacy and so much more. So let’s start with a question we often ask: Who are you learning from right now?
I’m learning from every writer I encounter. As an editor for my publisher, I have an opportunity to interact with writers of diverse experiences, viewpoints and genres. I find myself reading things I never would have chosen on my own, and, with that, every manuscript expands what I know and challenges how I think.

Every writer shows me something I did not previously see. Every writer also shows me his or her interpretation of our shared humanity. Each has the courage to put themselves out there, intellectually and emotionally exposed, and each is deserving of immense respect. I’m honored to work with them. In the end, I think I may take away more from our work together than they do.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m the author of The Bright Freight of Memory, published in November 2024, winner of the Chrysalis/BREW Project Book of the Year along with its honor for Literary Fiction, the American Writing Awards honor for Literary Fiction, the North American Writing Award for Literary Fiction, Book of the Year at the Southern California Book Festival, the Readers Choice Award, the Literary Firebird Award and three other national recognitions. It has been nominated for a PEN/Faulkner Award and the National Book Award.

My previous work, Through the Waters and the Wild, won wide notice, including the 2022 Independent Press Award for Literary Fiction and the New York Book Award for Literary Fiction. I’m currently an editor for Koehler Books, and a regular presenter at numerous conferences and workshops including the International Dublin Writers Festival.

All that sounds great, and maybe a little pretentious, but in truth I’m living every literary dream I ever had. Most days I’m overwhelmed by it all. That keeps me humble, and I hope it keeps me hungry.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: Who saw you clearly before you could see yourself?
There’ve been so many people who had more faith in me than I ever had in myself. My father was my hero. He was a humble man who ran the streets of Chicago as a kid, then joined the army when World War II broke out. He was born with next to nothing except his integrity. From my earliest memories, he always showed a quiet guidance. He never raised his voice yet he always tried to instill a sense of justice, that everyone was to be met with respect and compassion. And I think he always saw my potential much more clearly than I did.

But perhaps my most transformative guidance came through a chance meeting with Pat Conroy. My wife had bought me a ticket to a VIP reception after Pat’s lecture at a local literary club. Not knowing anyone in a crowd of 50 or so, I made my way to the hors d’oeuvres table so that the event wouldn’t be a total loss. As I loaded my plate with cocktail shrimp, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“We’ve not met. I’m Pat Conroy.” We ended up talking one-to-one in a corner of the room for about 25 minutes while everyone else circled about. We learned we shared the same birthday, the same literary influences and many of the same experiences. When I told him I was in the midst of writing my first novel, he smiled and said, “Isn’t it scary?”, then asked if I could recite any of it. I was able to cite some of the Prologue, after which Pat became quite serious and told me that he would like to read it and, if it were all that good, he would be pleased to offer a jacket quote. We corresponded after that, he offered advice and insights, and helped polish what I had. Pat passed in early 2017, shortly before the novel was finalized.

Pat convinced me that I might have something, that I might actually be able to get a book published and have people read it. I wouldn’t be where I am today were it not for his encouragement and kindness. I’m certainly not the only writer that could tell this story. Pat spent the last years of his life mentoring young writers and helping any writer whom he came across. There’s a lesson in that, and I’ve tried to honor it every day since.

What did suffering teach you that success never could?
At the low points, when it’s an act of will just to get out of bed in the morning and when all I wanted to do was sit in a dark room and think through my disappointments and losses, there comes a clarity, I think. At least it did for me on those days when I wallowed in what was no longer part of my life.

And that clarity is that we’re not unique in our suffering, whatever that suffering might be and whatever engendered it. What we experience is all part of the collective nature of our humanity. It’s what binds us, and, in the best sense, makes us sensitive.

We absorb the hurt, and in the hurt take the lessons that come with. If we’re strong enough and resilient enough, we rise a bit, maybe a step or two, and come to see ourselves better.

Haruki Murakami wrote, ““Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”

Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. What truths are so foundational in your life that you rarely articulate them?
I think our most foundational understandings sometimes defy articulation. They’re instinctive, honed by experience, observation and, if we’re fortunate, the guidance of others who embody the best parts of our collective soul. So I seldom stop to think about what these truths might be. They’re there, they’re in place, and they guide what I do and how I think.

But when I take the time to explore a bit that things that motivate me (such as trying to answer this question) I can see what they are. I value kindness most of all. Especially now, when we’ve broken into tribes that are often violent and always exclusive, when we villainize those who don’t look like us or live like us or think like us, we need more than ever to see the humanity in one another, and to honor that shared humanity through kindness, compassion and at least an attempt at understanding.

Beyond that, I try very hard to live my life with integrity, to be honest about who I a and what I do. My most agonizing mistakes, the ones that haunt me years after the fact and will never go away peacefully, are those where I shaved the truth, either to myself or to others. Those times were an acid that still burns. And so I’ve learned that the best way we can present ourselves is truthfully, honestly, and with complete integrity representing the heart of our character, even though we might be flawed, and are certainly imperfect.

Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. What do you understand deeply that most people don’t?
I recall so well when I was just starting my career. I worked in education, and then moved to the nonprofit world, two relatively shaky fields, and so I hustled as much as I could and tried to make a name for myself. And all the time I was looking for the next step, the next best thing – a better position with a better institution, a better salary, a better place to live. I sought the prestige of accomplishment and very consciously wanted people to see me as among the best at what I did. I worried a lot, and wondered all the time whether I was doing enough, or doing the right things.

In all that hustling, though, I always lost sight of the present. I had let the chase of perfection, which can never be attained, become the enemy of what I already had, and so I undervalued relationships, places and opportunities that in themselves were pretty satisfying but fell short of what others had or what I thought I might eventually gain for myself.

I’m quieter now. I recognize that all that chasing was little more than posturing. I look around now and see young people devoting themselves to those same superficial things, and I feel sad for them. We waste so much energy and create so much angst manically pursuing the things that really don’t matter.

What matters is who we are, how we live, who we love, and who loves us. Everything else is illusory. The best things will come to us of their own accord. I’ve come to believe that if we do the right things for the right reasons, the best things will fall into place. We don’t need to chase. We just need to be, and to know what matters most.

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