Lorna Gibb

1. Please tell us a bit about yourself and your work.
I’m an academic at the University of Stirling and have been writing mainstream published books since 2005 (I wrote an academic book on linguistics prior to that). I’ve been married for more than two decades and live with my husband and (currently) four cats. We’ve lived and worked in various
countries including Qatar, France and Italy, but settled in Scotland post-pandemic to be closer to my mum. I write both fiction and non-fiction, and one of my books, Childless Voices (Granta), is about childlessness globally, as well as a memoir of my own infertility experience.

2. Has writing always been a focus for you or was it a Plan B?
No, I’m a writer. I was writing stories in my teens and twenties. I'd have been a writer if I had had six kids (assuming I could find the time).

3. How do you explore ideas or find inspiration for your work?
I’m published commercially so with non-fiction it’s a balance between things I care about, am really keen to explore and topics that are of interest to a publisher. I don’t really have to look for inspiration. There are more books I’d like to write than time to write them all.

With the novels it’s slightly different. They often start as an idea for a story or a way of saying something in an interesting / oblique way. They are much more of an immersive thing (for me). My novel A Ghost’s Story (Granta) was about wanting to explore belief and what makes us think some
things are more authoritative / more important than others, even though they may be completely fabricated. But it’s also just a story about a ghost through the centuries.
 

4. What does the process of writing involve for you?
It fits in with work. So, generally, I will write every day in the morning, before 8, or if I have early classes, in the evening, and then there’s a weekday I don’t teach at university (I’m part time) so that’s a writing day for the most part, with a horse-riding session, or a piano practice, somewhere in
the middle. Weekends vary. I may do university work if it’s a busy time for teaching prep etc. or I may work on a book if I’m at a deadline; but not always, sometimes I just do things with my mum and husband, and ride horses.
 

5. And what does writing then also give you in return?
It’s how I make part of my living. It’s an activity I enjoy. Writing often seems more of a necessity (it’s such a habit that I would feel very odd if, say, I went a whole week without writing something, however bad).

6. Has seeing your work in print changed how you view yourself, and also how you view your NoMo status?
I don’t really see my childless status as related to my work in any way. Yes, being published, and seeing my books in a shop and even a couple of times people reading them on public transport, made me feel great, made me feel, yes, at last I’m really a writer now. But my work and the fact I’m
infertile are different things for me. I wrote my book about childlessness because obviously I care passionately about the subject and want to let some voices be heard that are too often not given the attention they deserve, but my professional identity and my childlessness are different aspects of me. I would absolutely hate to make my living through my childlessness. Many people do, and that’s fine, but it’s just not for me. I think of myself (and people in my situation) as being so much more than just their infertility and their childless state. It doesn’t define me or what I do, it just informed one of the books that I wrote. I also don’t identify as NoMo at all (I prefer non-parent) because I feel the term excludes childless men who are one of the groups that far too often get forgotten.

I think I would have found it much, much harder to have a happy life with my own infertile state if I felt somehow defined by it. Of course, at first, it’s hard not to be, but then, you work hard to move on from it and in time you can. That’s not to say it still doesn’t hurt occasionally, but that now it’s a
smaller thing. I am Lorna. I am married. I own cats. I am infertile and couldn’t have children. I write books. I teach students. I travel. I studied phonology etc. These are all things that define me. Yes, there was a time when the childless-not-by-choice aspect dominated everything because I had to get used to it, to learn how to accept my new reality, but then you change your mindset, and think of the other things that define you too (some good, some bad) and reason why should that have supremacy? Isn’t that just another manifestation of a (real or perceived) societal pressure to have children? I really wish for involuntarily childless people a sense of themselves that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they couldn’t have children. Society doesn’t always help with that and that has to change. In some societies it’s not close to being possible, and we have to raise awareness of this and listen to the voices of the childless men and women in these communities. There are so many ways of categorising people. Doing so by whether they have children or not (whether by choice or because they weren’t physically able to) doesn’t seem helpful. Admittedly everyone isn’t the same. I did go to a couple of non-parent groups, immediately after my diagnosis, and there was some comfort in shared experience with people who were infertile like me and had tried hard to have a family. Oddly, I found that childfree people with endometriosis (or who had other gynaecological issues) and childless people who were medically infertile had a lot to talk about; mainly in terms of long years of hospital treatments.

But it made me sad to meet people who had been part of groups like this for years and years, and said they still hadn’t really come to terms with it. I wanted them to flourish in something they loved that had nothing to do with their childlessness - to travel, to meet a person who changed their
world, to move beyond their regret for something that wasn’t in their control. To be Helen the dancer, not Helen the childless dancer; or Mark the chemist, not Mark who can’t have children. Of course, in many cultures this isn’t possible at all. That’s what writing the book made me realise, how
lucky I am to be childless here, what privilege that affords me. I don’t want to squander it when so many of the people I met would love to have it too, but don’t.

7. Tell us about the wider reception that you’ve had to sharing your story - has it changed how others have viewed you and your identity as a non-parent?
Not really, I don’t think. At public events, it’s been lovely to have people come up afterwards and say, "I never thought of that, of course I shouldn’t ask people why they are childless" etc. I feel that often when people say hurtful things it’s through thoughtlessness rather than maliciousness. It makes me happy if I can play even the tiniest part in making people aware. I’ve also been touched by communications from a couple of overseas charities thanking me for including stories from their communities. I am very fortunate in my family, who were always supportive. My husband is childless
because I’m infertile, yet never once in all our years, has he made me feel less for that. Compared to many of the people I spoke to from across the world, despite years of endometriosis and a broken womb, I am truly very fortunate.

8. How do you feel about the current representation of childless and/or childfree people in literature?
It’s getting much better! It’s much more sympathetic than it was when I was young. I feel we’re moving away (albeit too slowly) from the sad spinster trope, but I do confess to enjoying being a mad cat lady as I grow older! But then I’d have been one of them even if I had had children.
 

9. What would you like the publishing world to know about non-parents, both as writers and readers, and our stories?
I think (of course) parents and non-parents should be equally valued in society and their stories represented fairly. But I’m not sure that the publishing world should be categorising us into people who have / don’t have / can’t have / weren’t sure about bearing children. If I write a book, I don’t want it always to be judged as being written through a childless lens. Sometimes my childless status will be of no relevance at all. One phrase I really hate is ‘as a parent’, which is usually followed by statement on something that non-parents care about just as much as those with children. I would hate ‘as a non-parent’ to be bandied about in the same way. Can we not just be people? And if a particular piece of work is about our childless state, then yes, let’s speak about it, but otherwise, please don’t define me by it (or anyone else). We are all so much more.
 

10. What future plans do you have, especially for your writing?
I’m just finishing a book for Atlantic called Rare Tongues which is about unusual languages in the world and what we can learn from them. I’m using some knowledge from my linguistics background to hopefully make it accessible for everyone who is interested in such things, but also my travels and personal experience. I’m not sure what’s next. After this, possibly some more fiction. But I also have an idea for another non-fiction book, so it will depend on what looks like it might sell when I’ve finished the current one!

Outside of writing, I really love university teaching so I’m hoping to see a few more of my wonderful students go out into the world and publish the books we’ve been working on together. And, apart from work altogether, I want to get better at horse riding (I started late – my endometriosis meant it was really out of the question for many, many years, but now it’s gone) and travel more, visit my geographically scattered good friends, spend time with my mum, rescue some more cats and live as happily as I can for as long as I’m able.