SUSAN ORLEAN has been described as one of America's most entertaining and original literary journalists. A staff writer at The New Yorker since 1992, Orlean has also contributed to Outside, Rolling Stone, Vogue and Esquire. She is the author of three books: Saturday Night, The Orchid Thief and most recently, The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup, a collection of her most celebrated profiles. Orlean delivered the School of Journalism and Communication's 2001 Johnston Lecture, "Finding the Extraordinary in the Ordinary: Writing about Everyday Life" and conducted a three-day workshop entitled "Writing About... American Life," part of the UO's Literary Nonfiction program.

Q: What is it about so-called ordinary people that attracts you as a writer?
A: Writing about "ordinary" people is about following my own curiosity. After doing celebrity journalism, I realized I was more interested in the things I walked past every day, the stuff people usually miss. Iím primarily interested in the tiny master -- a person with a tiny domain over which they are the master. I wrote a piece about a New York City cabdriver who is also the king of the Ashanti tribe in America. After that experience, I realized -- you never know. Any other cab driver I meet, any ordinary person, could be a king. It made me step lightly.

Q: What are some of the challenges of writing about people who aren't well known?
A: One obstacle you face when writing about ordinary life is that you can't possibly know what the story is in advance of writing it. Finding what the story is -- reporting the story -- is the journey you take as the writer. And that means, of course, that I can't go into the process already knowing what it is I'm going to write -- which often makes it hard to pitch the idea to an editor! Beyond that, it's never easy to convince an editor to run a story about "nothing."

Another challenge is that it simply isn't easy to write about people who aren't used to being written about. The subjects themselves offer some resistance, at first. "Why would you want to talk to me?" is a pretty standard reaction. I have to convince them that it is interesting for me to talk to them, and to see them doing just what they would normally do.

Q: Obviously, though, people love reading your profiles. Are there barriers you need to get your readers past?
A: Yes. Readers are initially resistant to a story about an "ordinary" person. Persuading someone to read a piece about a 10-year-old boy who's not a "star" is quite a challenge. All you can bring to it is your passion. There's got to be something you're trying to say. And there has to be a reason that a reader will read what you're writing. There's nothing that's obviously sexy about these stories. So, among other things, you need to write a good lead.

Q: Your leads are often called the best in the business. What can you tell us about them?
A: Good leads are crucial, especially when you're writing unconventional ordinary-life stories. They're the point at which you gain -- or lose -- the reader's attention. I like a lead that makes you stop, that catches or captures you for a second. Dissonant leads, jangly leads, slightly troubling leads all make you want to read a little bit more. They leave you puzzled in a good way.

Q: What would you advise beginning writers on developing leads?
A: Think of the opening of a piece as a bit of acting. You don't have to maintain the lead's tone throughout the entire story. It's a chance to be a little daring and get the reader engaged. I sometimes like having a first section that's maybe a bit exaggerated. Another thing to remember is that you don't have to make the lead do all the work of telling what the story is about. It's not a suitcase jam-packed with the entire piece. An overloaded lead is quite off-putting. A lead does not have to be a topic sentence.

Q: You've described the stages of putting together a story as reporting, thinking, and writing. How do you approach the reporting stage?
A: I believe in being unprepared in certain ways. You're going into another world; doing extensive background research first can close you off to observing it. It's good to be uncomfortable, to use your instincts and intelligence and curiosity to look at this strange new world you're exploring. You have to use your wits. Anything factual you can check on later.

Over-researching also tips the psychological balance between you and your subject: I'm the reporter, I have knowledge and power. You're only the ordinary person. That intimidates the people you're observing and writing about.

In a way, the ignorance or freshness you bring to a new subject is the greatest asset a writer can have. The writer is there to learn, after all, and it's best to learn from the people you're writing about, in their words. And afterward, if you need to go back or go to the library for factual information, that's not hard.

Q: What's critical in getting the people you're writing about to open up to you?
A: You have to develop emotional strategies about how to get into people's lives. What works for me might not work for everybody. What is critical, though, is the ability to cultivate in yourself a genuine empathy, to be as open as you possibly can. The more authentic ingenuousness you can bring to a reporting situation the better. Think of yourself as a privileged visitor.

Q: You've talked about your preference for "hanging out" with your subjects rather than interviewing them. Why is that?
A: I like having as much unstructured time with the people I'm writing about as possible. It's important for me to be with people while they're doing something, ideally, while they're doing just what they would normally be doing if I weren't there. That's much more valuable than having them just sitting there talking at me. So I rarely ask questions in the form of an interview.

Q: What sort of stylistic guidelines do you keep in mind when writing?
A: I'm a great believer in simple, very strong, language. There are two things that are critical to avoid. The first is what The New Yorker calls "elegant variation," fancying up your writing unnecessarily. The other is indirection. Be clear about time and place: When and where is the story unfolding? What are you talking about?

You also shouldn't raise questions without answering them or create images or metaphors that don't ultimately deliver what they promise. It's sometimes OK to bring something in that doesn't explicitly advance the plot but merely adds atmosphere. That's a purposeful aside. You can take the reader down a little cul-de-sac, but then you have to bring him back to the main road.

Something else to keep in mind: facts are poetry. People like scenes and anecdotes, and they'll happily read them if they're short enough, but they also need facts and exposition to break up the scenes. You have to deliver the factual information in an elegant, interesting way, of course.

But even with all these "guidelines," much of the process is magical. So the question is, how do you encourage in yourself those more creative, lyrical, magical moments of your writing?