Historian, essayist and novelist, Brett F. Woods was born in Houston, Texas and received his Ph.D. in literature from the University of Essex, Wivenhoe Park, England, where his principal research was directed to geopolitics and the evolution of British espionage fiction. A Senior Executive Fellow of Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School of Government, he has authored two novels The Britannia Obsession (1986) and Autley House (2002), and three nonfiction books. He has also written literary criticism and historical essays for such publications as The Early America Review, The Richmond Review (London) and Critique. His most recent nonfiction book, The Spy Novel: A History of Espionage Fiction, will be published by Wind River Press in 2003. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

TPR: Who are your biggest influences?
WOODS: Like everything else, I suppose my influences have varied over the years as I have matured as a writer. Of late—for the last fifteen years or so—my interest in geopolitics and political fiction has drawn me to examine how extrapolations of certain geopolitical events—the American Revolution, British Imperialism, and the Cold War, for example—have consistently and significantly threaded their way through the fabric of the genre, thus providing us a glimpse into society’s political underbelly through the use of cover stories, double agents and international intrigues. This drew my attention to the early twentieth century writers of British espionage fiction such as Erskine Childers, William LeQueux and John Buchan. These three—followed by the like of Somerset Maugham, Eric Ambler and Graham Greene—first explored the concept of the espionage story as a medium wherein fiction and nonfiction might fluently coexist. While my recent novel Autley House adopted this approach, I have also thought to examine its evolution in considerably more detail in my forthcoming nonfiction book The Spy Novel: A History of Espionage Fiction.

TPR: What drove you to writing?
WOODS: Initially, I suppose, it was driven by the presumption that someone might want to hear my thoughts on a particular subject—a presumption that I have seemingly retained even after some twenty-five years of putting words on paper. While I do enjoy writing fiction—I’m partial to dialogue—I am admittedly more proficient writing nonfiction, be it books or essays, about things that capture my interest for one reason or the other. I find myself contemplating some obscure matter—generally in historical, political or military terms—research the issue, and then proceed to write a book or essay about it. Once the piece is published, I seem to find something else to think about and the process begins anew.

TPR: What person in your academic career was most important in the development of your prose?
WOODS: In the strictest academic sense—although it came lately—this would without question be Joe Allard, my principal doctoral program advisor at Essex. The pubs of Wivenhoe aside, Joe was not only a mentor, but became a friend, and his criticisms and insights, but most of all his approach to the study of literature—to embrace it not merely as the written word, but as part of the much larger socio-cultural milieu—helped me gain new insights and truly appreciate the often overlooked fluidity between fiction and nonfiction.

TPR: If you could change one thing about your past in writing, what would it be?
WOODS: That’s a difficult question, because generally every writer, at one point or another, wishes they could change something about their past writing life, even if it is nothing more than a few lines in a manuscript they published years ago. When I go back and read certain—if not most—passages in my novel The Britannia Obsession, or even something more mundane, like a commentary piece I wrote years ago for the The American Banker, I find myself shaking my head and wondering why anyone would have wanted to publish them in the first place. I can only think that I sounded so hopelessly strident, even petulant, as I struggled to make whatever point I was trying to convey. But the pragmatist in me recognizes that this early work was all part of the process and central to my maturing as a writer.

TPR: How do you handle rejection?
WOODS: Yes, the ever present specter of rejection. This reminds me of a quote from the novelist—and British prime minister—Benjamin Disraeli. When writers sent Disraeli a manuscript to review, he often thought to reply: “Dear Sir: I thank you for sending me a copy of your book, which I shall waste no time in reading.” Be assured I am certainly no stranger to this phenomenon. But while no writer looks forward to rejection, it is certainly not something to be taken personally. One has to remember that editors do have certain needs and editorial styles and, in fact, your submission—however discerning it might seem to you—might not be right for their particular publication. So, when rejected, one is left with two principal options: repair to a darkened room and brood; or continue to write. In short, rejection comes with the territory. Years ago, I had one particular historical essay that was probably rejected no less than fifty times over a two or three year period. I kept editing it, kept it circulating and one bright morning I finally received a letter indicating it was being accepted for publication. Hope does indeed spring eternal; it just needs to be edited on occasion.

TPR: What has been your most rewarding moment in publishing?
WOODS: There has certainly been more than one. For some reason, a very rewarding moment is when I first see the final cover art for a book. After all the editing, wholesale rewriting, fact checking and, in the case of nonfiction, the technical monotony of footnotes, endnotes and bibliographic references, to actually see the title and my name combined with the cover illustration brings a certain closure in my mind. While the actual book might not be available for months, I rather feel like my work is finally done and can move on to another project. This said, and from an even more personal perspective, probably the most rewarding thing is to receive a note or comment from someone I don’t know indicating that they learned a little or enjoyed something I wrote. It is a very nice moment.

TPR: What do you do when you can’t write another word?
WOODS: I usually take a break from that particular project, turn to something else or piddle with my research notes on another project. Fortunately, I’m not really troubled by “writer’s block” in the classical sense, although my doctoral program did admittedly give me pause at times. I do think it is a mistake to keep writing when you know the muses are absent and all writers know when they have reached this juncture in a particular project. My best advice is to have a number of things “in progress,” so when one line of thought cools, there is something else to turn to.

TPR: On what are you currently working?
WOODS: I am always writing or researching an essay on some obscure historical event or person, so I have in various phases of completion any number of projects. But I do have in mind—and am researching—another political novel based upon my travels in Central America in the early 1980s. In general, the theme will follow the notion that the representation of history becomes the history of representation. In the contemplated story, the narrator finds himself central to the thematic conflicts and ambiguities that flourish in the absence of clear-cut authority and in a struggle between individual integrity and social coherence—a world of relative values and few absolutes. Drawn from the premise that novels do not depict life, but rather that they depict life as represented by ideology, the narrator ultimately introduces the reader to a sort of historical “res gestae” that, in the literary sense, allows and even encourages hearsay since the narrator’s statements and interpretations are offered while engaging and embracing legitimate political constructs. I’m fairly energized about this project and I plan on beginning the actual writing—if the research is completed—after the first of the year.

TPR: Where do you see yourself in ten years?  
WOODS: Still writing, hopefully still publishing, and perhaps teaching writing, history or political science at the college level.

TPR: What do you say to young authors just starting their careers?
WOODS: I’ve mentioned it a number of times: research, on a number of fronts. Be it fiction or nonfiction, you need to know your subject, your audience and your market. Don’t take rejection personally and never be afraid to experiment or to try new genres, and keep in mind that writing is a continual process of development, maturation and commitment.

TPR: What do you think of e-publishing?  
WOODS: I’m totally supportive of the technology. In theory, books can always remain print and authors will have a much better opportunity to have their work read … including, unfortunately, some books that could perhaps use a tad more editing before release. But the fact of the matter is that e-publishing is well on the road to acceptance. Some of the larger publishing corporations like Simon & Schuster, Random House and Time-Warner seem to be moving in the electronic direction and any number of college textbooks, with more certainly to come, are readily available in electronic format. But quantity surely does not mean quality, and in this respect, readers—backed by their dollars, euros or pounds—will need to develop the sophistication to embrace the technology. And once it is accepted, it will be these same readers who will ultimately be responsible for the success or failure of a book. Good writing, in any format, will prosper.

TPR: Where can readers obtain your books?
WOODS: I have likened the quest to find my books to be similar to a search for the Holy Grail. The texts that are still in print, including Autley House, can be ordered through Amazon.com or similar online booksellers. The ones that are out of print might be located through the online out-of-print sites, and my next book The Spy Novel: A History of Espionage Fiction will be available through Wind River Press later this year.