Victoria Chang
Poet
Victoria Chang is an award-winning Taiwanese-American poet and writer originally from West Bloomfield, MI. As the author of several books (including OBIT, The Trees Witness Everything, and Dear Memory), her books have been named NPR’s Best Book of the Year, a New York Times Notable Book, and a TIME Best Book of the Year. She’s received a Guggenheim and National Endowment for the Arts fellowship.
During undergrad, she studied East Asian Studies at the University of Michigan. Previously, she worked in investment banking and consulting and earned an MBA from Stanford. Currently, she is a poetry professor at Georgia Tech.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity. It took place on February 24, 2025.
Q: What was your childhood like?
VC: My childhood was pretty confusing. It was rough — mostly because I grew up in West Bloomfield, where there weren’t a lot of people that looked like me. My parents were immigrants from Taiwan. My father was an engineer, and my mother was a mathematician. While admirable, so many of the ways they brought me up differed from how other kids were raised in West Bloomfield. In school, you’re taught to speak up. Be assertive. But at home, my parents would tell me: "Don’t draw attention to yourself. Be humble." It was like living in multiple worlds.
I had my “Chinese world”: My father founded our local Chinese school and my mother was a teacher at the school, so we were always learning things like sword dancing or calligraphy. I loved learning Mandarin. We’d have a lot of Chinese friends and family over. Then Monday would come, and I’d have to go back to school — a whole different world. It was constant code-switching. Life was very mixtape. I became very good at being a chameleon. I spent all my time trying to fit in instead of asking: Who am I? What do I want to be? I spent my 20s, 30s, and probably my 40s trying to find answers to those questions.
I remember talking to one Chinese auntie who said: “You Chinese people in America have all these things you grapple with, like identity. We don’t have that in China.” And I was like: “Wait - what?” Then it occurred to me: “They don’t deal with these things in China in the same ways we're dealing with them here. But they have other issues they’re dealing with.” I feel like that encapsulates what growing up Asian in Michigan was like."
"[Growing up Asian-American in Michigan], I spent all my time trying to fit in instead of asking: Who am I? Who do I want to be?"
Q: Tell me about your journey to becoming a writer.
VC: Growing up in West Bloomfield, I had great English teachers, so I started writing poetry from a young age, but I never thought of it as a career. At U-M, I didn’t declare my major until very late because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do before college — I ended up being an East Asian studies major. I can’t say I’ve ever been sure. I’m not the kind of person who’s like: “I definitely want to do this and not that.”
My one consistent thread at U-M was that I always took poetry workshops. I had some great professors at U-M who taught me a lot and encouraged me.
I never said I wanted to be a writer or poet — I didn’t even know that was a thing. How does one even become a writer? My parents didn’t know — they thought even being a lawyer was unusual. My sister had to educate them. They weren’t close-minded, they genuinely just didn’t know.
After I graduated, one of my current really good friends published his first poetry book when he was in his 20s. I thought: “Maybe I can publish a poetry book.” I had really tiny goals. I was like: "I’m just going to publish a poem." Then after I had a few poems published, "Maybe I can publish a book." It was very step-by-step along the way.
I just enjoy writing and any recognition has been very surprising along the way. Eventually, as my work received more recognition, I was forced into a corner to call myself a writer. Now, I see that writing has been the through-line of my life. I didn’t know you could be a poet or writer. But I just kept doing it.
Q: You’ve had a dual career: in business and now in writing. How did you balance both while staying committed to your craft?
VC: After I graduated from U-M, I went to Harvard and got a master's in East Asian studies. But then I was like: “How am I going to feed myself? My parents won’t support me for the rest of my life.” I thought I’d get a PhD in history. But then I met some Harvard undergrad students who said: “No — you can get a job. Let me help you with your resume.” That’s how I ended up being a financial analyst at Morgan Stanley in Silicon Valley. I was terrible, I got yelled at all the time. Then I switched to consulting and worked for Booze Allen Hamilton. These two jobs led me to get an MBA from Stanford.
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All along, I was always writing. Sometimes it was hard to find time, but as creative people, the way we make sense of the world and our life experiences is through creating — it’s the first thing you want to do when you’re feeling something. Other people might eat, workout, or call a friend. For me, if I’m feeling something, I write. The way I navigate through life most naturally is through doing something creative. I’m just quietly sitting there, processing the loud challenges in the world while I make things. For me, writing was the thing I did not only to survive, but to flourish. I couldn’t live a full life if I wasn’t making things.
"Other people might eat, workout, or call a friend. For me, if I'm feeling something, I write ... writing was the thing I did not just to survive but to flourish. I couldn't live a full life if I wasn't making things."
Credit: Patrick Cray
Q: How did you make the switch from corporate work to writing full-time?
VC: Making a living as a writer is pretty hard. A lot of poets end up teaching or having other jobs. When I was in my 30s, I had a really great full-time job: I wrote case studies and articles for business schools. For much of my 30s, I was writing case studies that also gave me the flexibility to occasionally write poetry and maintain a creative lifestyle.
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I was writing and publishing poems slowly and steadily, reading as much as I could. My case writing jobs were steady — I wasn't going anywhere or getting promoted. But then my poetry started being received more and more positively. In 2017, when I received the Guggenheim fellowship, I remember thinking: “I think I’m supposed to change my life.” That's when I quit my job and started taking poetry, reading, and writing seriously.
Q: What did you learn from your corporate work that you apply to your writing?
VC: I’ve learned that your paying job isn’t mutually exclusive with your creative life — you can apply the same creative mindset to your “work life” as to your creative endeavors. I think of art as a process, not as a product. I publish a lot of books but that’s not why I write poems or make art. It’s how you perceive the world versus a label or book or product to show I actually made something. It’s how I live. It's how I survive.
"I think of art as a process, not as a product. I publish a lot of books but that’s not why I do stuff. It’s how you perceive the world versus a label or book or product to show I actually made something. It’s how I live."
Q: You’ve been called one of the most prolific writers of our time. You’ve written 10+ books, publishing 5 in the past 5 years alone. How are you so productive? How do you keep from being burned out?
VC: In the last 5 to 8 years, I’ve been very prolific. It aligns with a period in my life where I just felt very creative. I’ve read that some people are very creative in their 20s, but there are others who are creative in their 40s or older. I’m definitely one of those people who are more creative later in life. That was also around the time when my daughters were old enough that I didn’t have to watch them as closely.
I could physically feel: “Oh, I’m in this very creative time in my life.” When I was in it, I allowed myself to write a lot if I felt like it. I just kept on doing whatever called to me. But I always knew this period was going to end. In fact, it has ended. It's just that books are still coming out that were made in that era.
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​But I feel fine. I just go with the flow. You can’t force things. I’m very organic and natural. I’m like a little origami swan on the river — I just float along and it’s all fine. If I get stuck in a little bramble over there, it’s fine. To me, the joy is in the process of making. Whether I make a lot of things or not doesn’t matter.
Q: What's your writing process like?
VC: I have some friends who are very intentional and organized about their creative life. I’m the opposite. I need to feel this intense gravitational pull towards something I’m obsessed with. Throughout my life, I’ve had different creative obsessions. An idea won’t leave me, and that will be what draws me to the page to start working.
For example, my upcoming middle grade book, Eureka, is a verse novel about the burning down of Chinatown in Eureka, California. When I first learned about what happened, I read everything I could. It just never left me. I kept researching and learning, and then one day I thought that: "I want to write a story about this."
Q: Getting a book published is very difficult. When you were first starting out, how did you deal with imposter syndrome?
VC: The thing about poetry is that when you publish a book, no one really pays attention. It’s a rare occasion when a poetry book comes out and people are like: “Oh my God!” There’s a lot of humility required when you’re writing poetry. You realize how small the audience is — which is a really beautiful thing. I always felt like poetry was my secret little closet in the corner — my pure art space because it wasn’t commercial at all.
I didn’t care because I was going to write poems — no matter what. If no one ever wanted to publish anything of mine, I wouldn’t stop writing, because it’s just who I am. It also helped that I had a job and other ways to make money, so I didn’t feel like my whole life was just writing.
Q: How do you define success?
VC: I find that people really struggle with the idea of success. I’ve had people ask me really interesting questions: Did you feel this way before or after you became successful in other's eyes?
But for me, I think that being Asian American and a woman (being doubly marginalized), was actually a gift. I’m a second child. I had an older sister who was always the favorite, always so praised and perfect. This led me to really go inside and say to myself: “Alright, if you’re going to do creative things, it has to come from the heart.” You have to satisfy yourself first and always.
There’s a precious humility that comes from being so marginalized. Growing up, I never expected anyone to be interested in anything I had to say. So why would I change that as a poet? When I started, there were so few Asian American poets. I noticed that the people who looked like me felt like they were constantly fighting with each other for the one spot that was given to them by the white supremacist institutions, like the anointers. I just wasn’t interested in that.
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That kept me from writing things other people would want to read. I stuck true to my own mission and vision. That takes a lot of conviction as an artist. In the end, that’s what differentiates you: your own conviction for your singular identity and vision. If you chase success traditional notions of success too much as a creative, you might end up sounding like everybody else.
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​I think a lot about how my parents didn’t get the opportunity to do the thing they really enjoyed. I don’t take that for granted for a single day. Every day, I think to myself: “This is a gift. Not everyone gets this gift.” The sacrifices my parents made were real. While my parents did want me to be a doctor, if they were alive today, I know they would 100% feel the sacrifices they made were worth it and they'd be really proud of me.​
"If you chase traditional notions of success too much as a creative, you might end up sounding like everybody else."
​"I think a lot about how my parents didn’t get that opportunity to do the thing they really enjoyed. I don’t take that for granted for a single day. Every day, I think to myself: 'This is a gift. Not everyone gets this gift.'”
Q: What does being an Asian American artist mean to you?
VC: It’s really important not to assimilate. Growing up Asian-American in Michigan, to me, assimilation felt like death. So I try to bring my own mindset to art. That’s part of why I work so much in hybrid forms. As an Asian-American, my story is hybrid. ​Art is the safest place to be free and express yourself individually. As I’ve grown into myself and my identity as a maker/creator, I realized that my experiences were unique. So I lean into that and forget about assimilating.
Don’t assimilate with the other Asian American artists. Don’t assimilate with the rest of American poetry or whatever that means. Don’t assimilate to how everybody does things, even in the poetry ecosystem. You don’t have to get an MFA at a certain age. You don't have to publish a book at a certain age or at all. Just do what feels right to you. If it was meant to be a certain way, it was meant to be.
Q: How do you find and build community in your field?
VC: All my life, I was always looking for people like me. There are a ton of creative people. But once you graduate college, it just gets a little harder to find them. You just have to be intentional and seek them out. In my 20s, I’d save money to go to writing conferences every summer. I was so thirsty to meet the non-tech person, the non-business person, the non-engineer.
Now, I teach at a lot of the writing conferences that I started out going to. I always spend a lot of time building community in the workshops I teach. I assign a leader and make sure the person is responsible for keeping the group connected after. I do this because it’s more important for people in the class to find their creative friends than for them to know me.
When I was starting out, I was hungry and needed people to exchange creative work with. We’d do manuscript and poem exchanges. Talk about poetry and life. Share experiences and tips. Things like that are so valuable. Community is essential as an artist because most of the time, you work by yourself.
Q: What's your advice to aspiring creatives or to your daughters?
VC: Don’t worry so much about the endpoint. It doesn’t actually matter where you go to college. It’s what you make of your life experiences. You can get really caught up in the whole capitalist, very product-oriented environment, but at the end of the day, it’s not about that. Life is a process — are you enjoying the process of growth and change?
We chase that elusive success, like: “Oh, I’ll be happy when I get that”, but truly, you are successful right now if you’re doing things that give you passion and joy. I wish I had known that I was successful all along because I was always, at least a little, doing what I loved to do.