Ask the Author: An Exclusive Q&A with Maria Shriver
Special Q&A with Maria
ASK THE AUTHOR WITH MARIA SHRIVER
When and where do you write? What does that process look like for you?
I write sitting in a chair in my family room. I’m in a rental house have and have been since last year. I used to write sitting on my porch and I look forward to moving back home, going back to my porch, looking out at my tree, and writing from that place.
What do you do when you feel overwhelmed?
That is a really good question as I’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed as of late. A really great thing is I went on a retreat and I put away my phone and all electronics for three days. I know not everybody can do that, but I think maybe even unplugging for several hours is a really good way to step back from the overwhelm and emotionally regulate yourself—take a deep breath and try on a new perspective. I often go for a walk when I’m feeling overwhelmed or I go to the gym. Those have been my de facto things, but actually unplugging from everything and everyone has been a gift that gave me some peace, some calm, and made me feel far more grounded that I have felt in a long while.
When there is no way to escape the pain or discomfort that comes up in life, how have you found yourself moving through it?
I moved through a lot of my pain by writing. Writing poetry, writing down my feelings to make sense of them for me. I have found that writing helps me gather my thoughts, helps me figure out exactly what I’m feeling and somehow gives me some ideas for how to move forward. I’ve also tried meditation. I’ve tried prayer. I’ve tried exercising. I’ve tried dancing. I’ve tried other physical things, but writing for me has been the clearest way to make sense of my feelings and somehow give me a path forward.
I'm particularly interested in insights into your writing process. Can you share?
My writing process has changed over the years. I think the one thing that I’ve done, and done well, is to write every single week writing my I’ve Been Thinking… column. Every single week for years is a discipline and has become really, for me, a spiritual practice. I often start writing on a Monday and I put the finishing touches on my column on Thursday, sometimes even on Friday. I try to pay attention to my week, to the conversations I’m having, and my column often evolves from there.
I must admit that sometimes mid-week I have absolutely no idea and I can feel some anxiety rising, like Oh no, what am I going to write about?! Then I usually go for a walk or I get up really early the following morning and I just look down and I write. I start where I am. I look at nature and somehow that gives me a beginning. I often just start by writing, “This morning, it’s dark outside…” and I feel dark inside, but I didn’t feel like that the whole week so it goes from there.
Have you ever wanted to do something that you have not been able to do yet?
Oh, this is a really good question! I’ve wanted to take a really long sabbatical and I’ve never actually done that. Either out of fear, or an old voice in my head that says Who do you think you are? Why would you do that? What would happen to all the people who depend on you? What would happen to The Sunday Paper? What would happen to your company? The list goes on. I sometimes think it would be really cool to go back to school or to go away to cooking school. That’s something I’ve often thought about doing.
I’ve never done a lot of the things I’ve dreamed about doing. I’ve been able to do a lot through perseverance, really hard work, manifesting my desired outcome, and then just working like a mad woman to get there. But more and more, I feel my mind, my body, my heart, my soul, speaking to me to slow down and see what life has to offer without running around so much.
When the world feels upside down, like a roller coaster, what thoughts can I have that will keep me focused on how I respond? I try to respond in a calm and thoughtful manner, but it's getting harder and harder to do.
I feel you. I think I’ve learned that there’s a big difference between reacting and a thoughtful centered response. I often write down my reaction and then I don’t send it and then I wait. I wait until I can gather myself. I take a walk, I exercise, or I just go to sleep and then the next day I usually feel different.
I also try to have conversations with God and other members of my family who have gone on to another life. I actually ask for advice. I ask for guidance. I ask my higher self for guidance on the path forward and I keep remembering that I don’t want to be reactive. I don’t want to be part of what I hate in the public square. I want to rise above the noise and respond in a measured way from my heart as opposed from an emotional place.
What finally gave you the courage to publish your poetry?
This is also a really good question because I’ve gone back-and-forth with myself about my poetry for a really long time as I write in the book. I was scared to publish my poetry because it’s so raw, so personal and in many places guttural, but the more I’ve listened to other people the more I’ve realized that everybody feels like that. Everybody is struggling with the same issues—struggling with their identity, struggling with grief, struggling with trauma, struggling with loss, struggling with how to figure out where they’re going, struggling with starting over, struggling with self-worth, struggling with trying to figure out who they are separate from the family they may have been born into, who they might be married to, struggling with trying to figure out who they are now that their kids have gone off to school, struggling with who they are after they’ve left a job they’ve been in for a really long time.
I came to understand and to realize that what I thought was unique isn’t at all and that’s what gave me the courage. I also gave my poetry to quite a few different types of people, and they all told me that it had ignited in them self-exploration about who they were, about the labels that they hide under about who they wanted to be moving forward, and that they started writing to the core of their essence. Their encouragement, their insistence on publishing it, is what gave me the courage. At the end of the day, I thought to myself, I don’t want to regret not publishing it. I don’t want to not do something because I was too scared. That’s what ultimately kicked me over into the idea of publishing it.
Are there poems that felt too personal to include in your book? Do you have any regrets about leaving them out?
No, I have no regrets about leaving them out as I read through the book. They’re probably some other ones I could’ve left out just to make it smaller. Overall, I’m really proud of the book. I’m proud of the reactions that I’ve already gotten. I’m proud that people have come up to me and said that they realized after reading the book that they’re dealing with grief or that they come up to me and said that they want to be better fathers, better mothers, different kinds of people. They too, wanted to go back so that they could move forward in a different way. It just reminds me again and again how similar we all are and that the more we share about our heartbreak, the more we share about our fears, our insecurities, our true identities—the more connected we feel to humanity.
What type of setting or location do you find your most inspiring moments when you write? What advice would you give to fellow working mothers who yearn for a creative outlet and putting pen to paper themselves?
I like to write in quiet. I like to write in the early morning. I like to write when I’m fresh, when no one else is in my head, when there’s no noise, when I can hear my own voice and the voice that I used to not even know, but now feel comfort in knowing.
I would say just begin. I’d say this to mothers, to fathers, to people who’ve never been a mother or a father and who just long for a creative expression who don’t even think of themselves as writers. I would say just pick up a piece of paper and a pencil, or go to the note section in your phone. Look out a window and just start writing what you see. Write a letter to your higher power, write a letter to your dog, write a letter to someone who’s gone that you haven’t seen or talk to you in years. Tell them, “I wonder about you. What are you thinking? Where are you?” Just see what comes out. I bet you’ll be super surprised.
What does it mean to have an identity? How does that serve us?
For me, my identity is being a child of God. My identity is being of service to humanity. My identity is being a spiritual human being. My identity today is that of a woman who is here to be of service to do her best, to walk gently in the world, strongly in the world, and tenderly in the world. My hope is that I am the person that when I’m gone, my children will remember fondly, that my grandchildren will as well and that perhaps I inspire one or two other people to find their mission, find their calling, and feel better about who they are on the inside.
Have you always been interested in writing? Maria, your style of writing is so impressive!
Thank you so much! No, I have not even considered myself a good writer until the last 5, 6, or 7 years. I wasn’t a great writer in high school or college. When I got into journalism I wrote who, what, why, where, when. I wrote, This is what I saw, this is what happened, this is what you need to know. And slowly, over time, I started to write more creatively. I started to write more from my heart and less from my head. The practice of writing every week in The Sunday Paper has helped me become the kind of writer that I wanted to be. I now consider myself a writer, but it has taken me decades to be able to say that.
I remember how nervous you were when I’ve Been Thinking came out. You said it was scary to put yourself out there. This is a different kind of vulnerability since writing as a poet is different. How are you feeling now?
Thank you so much for reminding me of that, ha! I forgot I was nervous about that. I think everybody is nervous when they put out a book. I think even if you’re writing a novel or a series of essays, it’s scary to birth a book. You hope people buy it, but you never really know. You hope people are moved by it, but you never really know. You hope people think it’s good, but you never really know. It’s an act of faith, it’s an act of trust, and it’s an act of courage.
I publish other people’s books and try to help them bring their books out into the world because I know what a daunting process it is. I love to help people bring their voices to The Sunday Paper community and encourage them to use their voices. I know it’s scary, whether it’s public speaking or writing, none of it is easy. Other people get to weigh in on your thoughts, on your vulnerability, on what’s in your heart and that’s always scary. But I’ve never met anybody who did it and wasn’t glad that they did it. I’ve never met anybody who kept at it who wasn’t proud of themselves for keeping at it and becoming better at it. It’s like any other craft, the more you do it, the more disciplined you become, the better you get, the more distinct your voice becomes, and the clearer it becomes what you want to write about.
As I said in this book, I never thought to write poetry. It just started coming out. It just started to make me feel free. The more it came out, the lighter I felt, the more I was interested, the more I was intrigued, the more curious I became—so I kept writing and I gave birth to a different type of writing for myself. This writing introduced me to a different version of myself. I have found that you can be creative, tender, vulnerable and also fiery and passionate if you’re trying to get something big done. I think all of us have all of these qualities very deep within. We’re born with them, but I think life buries them and the gift we all have is the ability to uncover what we’ve buried. It’s kind of like a treasure chest or a scavenger hunt. Go see what you’ve buried. Go see what you’ve hidden. Go find out who you truly are and bring that version of yourself to your present day version—it’s liberating, freeing, exciting, and fascinating.
How did you take the leap emotionally to be vulnerable enough to share your poetry with the world?
Well, I think you just leap. And I wouldn’t leap closing my eyes. I’m leaping with my eyes wide open this time, that’s different. I want to feel it and experience it—all the good and the bad—I want see how I feel so far. I’m feeling excited and vulnerable, anxious and hopeful, scared and resolute. At this moment I feel grounded, calm, peaceful, hopeful, and excited. Excited to meet people, excited to connect with people, and really excited to encourage people on their writing journeys. Joan Didion, one of my heroes, once wrote that she had to write everything down in order to know what she feels, or felt she wanted to write everything down to make sense of how complicated life was. I feel exactly the same way. Writing is a gift you give yourself. It helps you make sense of your life, of your world, of the present moment. So, I would encourage you to leap with your eyes wide open and your heart and mind joined together. Know that you’re brave enough for whatever comes your way and strong enough too.
From I AM MARIA by Maria Shriver, published on April 1, 2025 by The Open Field, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright (C) 2025 by Maria Shriver.
Audio excerpted courtesy of Penguin Random House Audio from I AM MARIA by Maria Shriver, read by Maria Shriver. ©2025 Maria Shriver, ℗ 2025 Penguin Random House, LLC. All rights reserved.
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