Q&A WITH CHRISTIE J. NEWPORT

Here at Joffe Books we are keen to celebrate Disability Pride Month by raising awareness, having positive conversations about disability and showing just how proud we are of our authors.

This week we caught up with Christie J. Newport — read below to discover more about what disability pride means to her.

What was it about crime thrillers that drew you to the genre?

I have always loved reading crime thrillers, even as a child I enjoyed the excitement of a good mystery. Once I hit my teens, I moved on from children’s authors such as Enid Blyton and begged my mum to let me read some of her books. At first it was authors like Josephine Cox and Danielle Steele, but as soon as I discovered Mary Higgins-Clark, there was no going back. My mum ensured there were no sex scenes, but murder was fine — which was okay with me. I devoured them and, before long, I was seeking bulkier reading material, but almost always within the crime genre. I was severely bullied as a child and teenager and found solace in books, even if they were on the darker side. I would spend hours upon hours in my local library, The Harris in Preston, Lancashire. I would also frequent bookstores and the bookstalls on the market. It got to the point that I was well known and would often be asked to give recommendations to customers. I had the knack of matching a reader to a book.

Not only did I find an escape in reading stories, but I found that same escape in creating them. However, I didn’t believe someone from a working class, Northern background who was mixed race would ever be published. I wasn’t reflected in any of the stories I read, nor did I see people like me writing them. So, firstly, I went down what I believed to be a more practical route: journalism. It wasn’t, but we don’t need to go into that. What I will say is that my love of writing stories and reading them never waned. Years later, after a degree and years of extremely ill health, I at last took the plunge. That’s not to say I hadn’t written before, I had, but I had never put my all into getting published. I didn’t attend writing courses as such, apart from A Level Creative Writing and my journalism degree. I didn’t go to festivals, events or suchlike. I didn’t attend any local writing groups. I didn’t even send my writing out to be judged. Then, years passed, and after fighting back from a time when going to Dignitas for legal assisted suicide felt like my best option, I finally seized the day, so to speak. I had been so gravely ill that my family had been called to say goodbye more times than I care to remember. I had spent as much time in hospital as at home, perhaps more. I had been in intensive care so often I was left with PTSD. I’d had surgeries, treatments and no end of awful experiences. Then, in 2015, I had life-saving stem cell treatment in the US. It didn’t cure me, nothing will, but it did make me strong enough to receive the treatment I am on now, which are infusions every four weeks. There is so much more to my journey to get to this point, but that’s the extremely shortened version.

I had been out of intensive care for three days and we had tickets to the inaugural Capital Crime Writing Festival in London. My wife had bought me the ticket for my birthday. I didn’t want to let her down or miss out — so along we went. I arrived in a wheelchair; I was a mess — but I was there. Then something happened. Almost inexplicably, energy, excitement and adrenaline were pumped into my veins because I was among my writing heroes. Not only that, but I was seeing with my own eyes that people like me could write books. Maybe we wouldn’t all make it to publication, but I could give it a damn good try.

By the end of the festival, I was out of the chair. I was in pain and I wasn’t well by a long shot, but I was newly energized. There was never any question about what genre I would write — I read a variety of genres, but I always come back to crime thrillers. So, upon returning home I set about joining every local writing group I could feasibly get to. I began networking and started signing up to any courses I could afford. I took advice from authors. I went to the Crime and Publishment tutored weekend in Gretna Green and Swanwick Writers’ Summer School. I attended more events, launches and festivals. I read my work at Noir at the Bar in Newcastle, Edinburgh and online, where it was more than enthusiastically received.

And, finally, all the determination and hard work paid off when I won the inaugural Joffe Books Prize for Crime Writers of Colour and gained representation by Northbank Talent Management. And now, best of all, I get to see my book in print and have people read it. It doesn’t get much better, although I wouldn’t say no to a number one bestseller.

Who is a disabled author that everyone should read?

This is an easy one for me: Liz Nugent, who has a neurological condition called dystonia. She is an incredible writer who I truly admire for many reasons. It astounds me that, like me, for the most part, she is a pantser — as in she writes by the seat of her pants without planning. When you read her incredibly intricate work that can cross timelines and always has a fascinating cast, you will be in awe of her ability, too. To keep on top of all that detail without a plan is incredible.

Another thing I admire about Liz is her spirit and that she sees the world in a similar vein as I do. She was interviewed by the Irish Times in 2020 and said, ‘People have accused me of being brave, and I feel, what is brave about surviving and living and getting on with things?’. I feel exactly the same way. It’s a difficult concept for anyone with good health to contemplate, but it’s our lives; it's what we live, the hand we’ve been dealt and, whether we would choose it or not, we simply get on with it.

In the same interview, she said, ‘I am not a disabled writer. I am a writer who happens to be disabled.’ Again, I couldn’t agree more with this sentiment. Our disabilities or health issues don’t define us as human beings and they certainly don’t define us as writers. However, they may well help inform our understanding of the world, our characters and the way in which we work.

For me, enjoying Liz Nugent’s work has nothing at all to do with her disability and everything to do with her ability to weave a captivating story and to create characters who jump free of the page. She keeps me guessing until the end of her books and they always start with a bang.

What advice would you give to aspiring disabled writers?

Don’t let your disability define you, but be mindful of your health and what steps you can take to make the work possible. You need to consider longevity with regards to writing and your career. It isn’t a race, and if you need to adapt to meet your own needs, then do so. Carve your own path. I can have days of being unable to write, so on the days when I am able to, I write for as long as possible. Sometimes I can’t write due to physical limitations, health limitations or simply because my mind refuses to focus. It can feel depressing and worrying but I trust myself and my process enough by now to know that it will pass and that I will put the necessary work in to get to the point of writing ‘THE END’. Trust yourself, know yourself and realize that your voice matters. Don’t measure yourself by what others do, they may have different limitations.

People are inclined to be understanding if they know your circumstances. Let them be. Don’t always feel the need to prove yourself beyond what anyone else would. However, I know that I feel the pressure to not let anyone down. I worry it would be a slippery slope and that people would begin to assume I wasn’t reliable. In that regard, I fail to take my own advice. I am a natural worrier and will often go over a conversation long after it has occurred, wondering whether I worded things right or if what I said came across in the way I intended. We all have our flaws and hang-ups, irrespective of health and disabilities. We’re all human. Just get out there and live — write and enjoy the journey.

What do you hope to see more of in the publishing industry?

I would love to see much more diversity and inclusivity within the industry. I want to see everyone represented at writing events and festivals. I don’t want to look up and see a sea of white, middle class faces staring back at me — I want those faces to represent society and readers. I want it to be like stepping onto a train or a bus and seeing multicultural, diverse Britain. People who are disabled, unwell, neurodiverse, LGBTQ+, black, white, Asian and everything in between. I want attitudes to move with the times. I want books to represent us all. I don’t want children to struggle to find themselves reflected in literature. I want students, wannabe authors and dreamers to see authors who have travelled a path much like their own. I want to understand different lives and different cultures because their stories are told widely. We fear what we don’t understand — so let’s understand each other by telling our stories through fact and through fiction.

I want to see more publishing houses and agencies taking a stand like Joffe Books, one that they live by. I don’t just want words that will soon be forgotten, I want to see action like The Joffe Books Prize and the #JBPitch party. I long to see more positive change within the industry, and I hope it is beginning to happen.

What’s on your TBR pile this Disability Pride Month?

Well, at the moment, I am reading David Beckler’s A Nuclear Reaction and loving it. The main character, journalist Antonio, is a strong black woman who can pack a punch. Her boss, Eleanor, is wheelchair bound but certainly not defined by her disability — she is tenacious, powerful and headstrong. Sabirah is a refugee, a single mother to two children and a qualified architect. The entire team is eclectic and diverse. I would highly recommend David’s excellently written series. Afterwards, I am thinking of treating myself to Strange Sally Diamond by Liz Nugent; after all, it would be rude not to, seeing as I have been dying to get stuck into it since before it was published.