Thanks so much for your time, Kat!
Thank you!
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ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
Arley Sorg grew up in England, Hawaii, and Colorado. He studied Asian Religions at Pitzer College. He lives in Oakland, and usually writes in local coffee shops. A 2014 Odyssey Writing Workshop graduate, he is an assistant editor at Locus Magazine. He’s soldering together a novel, has thrown a few short stories into orbit, and hopes to launch more.
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Author Spotlight: Adam-Troy Castro
Setsu Uzume | 325 words
Did you mean this as a tragic or comedic piece? Does one reading inform the other?
I think it’s largely a comedy, but one based on the sheer preposterous awfulness of the protagonist’s position, which is never ever going to get any better.
This story reminded me of “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.” The way the narrator describes other crewmembers cracking under the same stress was fascinating. What do underdogs have that no one in the hierarchy does?
Okay, I confess; as the author of at least one other story that explicitly owes something to “The Ones That Walk Away From Omelas,” the comparison of this particular piece to that same story leaves me gobsmacked to the point of speechlessness. I don’t see it.
What do Underdogs have that no one in the hierarchy has? Nothing to lose.
How does the conscious choice not to murder everyone around you equate to love?
I think there are days, for many of us, when it equates to sainthood.
What do you want the reader to take away from this story?
I had no particular message in mind when I wrote this one. I separate stories from yarns and yarns from throwaway bits of business; this is just one of the many that sprouted from an initial situation, with no particular authorial plan regarding destination. If you take any theme from this one, it is the result of your own thought processes forming a hard shell around the story’s capacity to irritate you: a narrative oyster, so to speak.
Tell us about your upcoming projects.
I think this time out I will be satisfied with a mere, mysterious “Stay tuned.”
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ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
Setsu grew up in New York, and spent her formative years in and out of dojos. She likes swords, raspberries, justice, the smell of pine forests after rain, and shooting arrows from horseback. She does not like peanut butter and chocolate in the same bite. Her work has appeared in Podcastle and Grimdark Magazine. Find her on Twitter @KatanaPen.
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Author Spotlight: Jeffrey Ford
Sandra Odell | 1444 words
“Daddy Long Legs of the Evening” combines the best, and most chilling aspects, of fantasy, horror, fairy tales, and political commentary I have ever read. Since its initial publication in Naked City in 2011, how do you feel the story has aged? Do you find that its hidden dreads are still relevant today?
There’s something about spiders that creeps certain people out, that’s for starters. I doubt the story will ever lose that angle. The story is also told in a sort of fairy tale mode, albeit a dark one, and that might offer some staying power. And the political underpinnings seem to point out a certain insect fear and cold predation that is the heart of politics these days and doesn’t look like it’ll be changing any time soon. So, yeah, I think it stands up and will for a while at least.
Tell us about what inspired the story.
I went to a Salvador Dalí exhibit. I think it was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art—the double martini of art museums. The show was fairly extensive, having rooms upon rooms of painting, drawings, collages, etc., and ending with a holographic image Dalí had created of Alice Cooper. Within that show hung the artist’s famous painting “Daddy Long Legs of the Evening—Hope.” It’s kind of a typical Dalí painting, as much as you could say any of his pieces is typical—you know, you’ve got a melting violin hanging over a tree branch, a horse in the background, a yellow puddle up front that could or might not necessarily be someone’s profile. Crawling on that indistinguishable mass is a Daddy Long Legs spider. That’s where I got the title from, but the inspiration came from a cartoonish drawing in the same show of a spider wearing a top hat and tails (I forget the title of that piece). When I saw that, I thought of the movie Daddy Long Legs with Fred Astaire. Also on my mind at that time was a certain dark fairy tale like story I’d read in Robert Coover’s book A Child Again about The Pied Piper. That stuff all blended together with memories of someone telling me that Daddy Long Legs spiders were the most poisonous arachnid in relation to their size—whatever that meant—and a kid I knew when I was very young, capturing one and pulling the legs off one by one, making me want to puke.
Your rich prose carries the reader along, exploring multiple points of view and narrative without impeding the steady, inexorable plot (the electric gray cake of the brain; the memory of their fear burrowed in a spiral pattern to the center of their minds and played them like zithers for the rest of their days; It was dinnertime in the city that never woke; leaving old luggage indiscriminately in his wake.) How did you decide on the narrative tone for the story?
That aspect of fiction writing just comes to me when I am able to envision the setting and feel the mood of a story. It changes with different types of characters and narrative structures. I have no idea how that all works. I guess I get it from whatever process or presence I get the story from. I usually have a feeling that the story already exists, and in writing it I’m merely revealing it. Some very mysterious whim-wham.
The transformation of the young boy from cherubic to Daddy hearkens back both to traditional tales of stolen infants and changelings left to unknowing parents, but it also touches on the fears many parents experience when their child suddenly becomes “different,” “the other” as seen through the lens of special needs. As a writer, what is it about exploring the idea of “the other,” whether special needs, sexual preference, race, religion, or any other identifier that appeals to you?
When first conceiving of the character, I considered Daddy as totally “the other”—not “the other” as you describe in your examples above but completely alien, devoid of humanity, self-serving, and treacherously narcissistic. Since we’ve seen the results of the recent presidential election, though, I realize that Daddy is my neighbor, and I wonder how long it will be before he comes for me.
If you would, share a bit about your writing process. Plotter or pantser? A marathon writer or do you steal writing time where you can?
My writing process? I write primarily in the morning and afternoon. When I was younger, I’d stay up late at night and write, but as my father-in-law, who was a professional cartoonist, told me when he was my age, “The night is a cruel mistress.” When I got older, I found that to be true. I basically sit there and write. Either I’ve got something going and I’m directed, or I fuck around and try to come up with an idea. I save all my failed story attempts and pieces of stories that went nowhere or ones I’d always intended to return to and sometimes when I’ve got nothing going, I’ll look through them and see if the path opens up. I try to sit in the chair every day and at least type. A good day of writing for me is around 1500 words. Sometimes it’s less. Sometimes it’s way less. Sometimes just getting the first paragraph of a story is enough for a day’s work, but I’m satisfied because I have found the voice and the rhythm and I know a little more about the characters. There are times when I’m in the zone and I can bang out ten pages at a pop. Not so much of that anymore. Ten-page days were more usual when I was younger, but when those ten pages were edited, etc., they’d usually turn out to be about three and a half, which is about 1000 words. When I’m engaged in the middle of a story or book, I start out by reading over and editing through what I’ve written already. I go back to the beginning and run through the whole piece, and then I’m ready to start putting new stuff down. If it’s a novel, I go back a chapter or two and then come to the point of pure invention. This w
ay you get to go over and over the work as you go and it helps you each day to fall into the world of the story. I also listen to music—Harold Budd, generally—contemplative, head music I probably wouldn’t listen to for anything other than writing. I don’t keep a notebook, I don’t plot things out. The most I might do is draw some pictures on the back of an envelope. Once I have the start, the setting, and the mood I want, then I’m off to the races and the thing just grows organically. I’m not a bricklayer or a schemer, although I know some writers who are and they’re fantastic. To each her own, when it comes to this game.
You are a prolific writer, with dozens of novels, collections, and short stories under your belt. Are there writing projects you have yet to tackle, any chances with words you have yet to take?
Actually, I’m not a prolific writer with dozens of novels, collections and short stories. I’ve published eight novels, five collections, and about 130 to 150 short stories. I have a new novel in the works for Morrow, a novella in the works for Tor.com, and about five or six stories wending their way toward publication. I do know writers who are prolific, and I take my hat off to them. Actually, I’ll take my hat off to anyone who legitimately publishes a story, novella, or novel. Every time out is a challenge—not just the writing, but managing one’s life in order to accomplish the writing. A big round of applause for the serious beginners, the determined plodders (my category), and the brilliant geniuses, all. I don’t know what’s coming down the pike till it arrives. I’m just going to continue to try to do the best job I can in writing the stories and books I have it in me to write. Each outing is exciting to me. Each work brings me new ideas and things to learn. I never grow tired of it because I only have ever written what I wanted to. This isn’t a factory job for me. I’ve worked factory jobs, loaded trucks, cleaned toilets, whatever. Writing, for me, isn’t that.
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ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
Sandra Odell is a 47-year old, happily married mother of two, an avid reader, compulsive writer, and rabid chocoholic. Her work has appeared in such venues as Jim Baen’s UNIVERSE, Daily Science Fiction, Crosssed Genres, Pseudopod, and The Drabblecast. She is hard at work plotting her second novel or world domination. Whichever comes first.
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Author Spotlight: Mary Rosenblum
Laurel Amberdine | 318 words
“Tracker” takes place in an amazingly rich world, with so much interesting stuff going on. Do you have any more stories in this setting, or would you consider writing some?
I do love this far future world, but I haven’t written any other stories in it. It’s really an extension of my exploration of where we go, once we can manipulate our genes and achieve immortality. Is death the dividing line between Human and Non-human? I wonder about that.
I really enjoyed Jesse the dog’s reactions. Was she inspired by any particular dog?
Ah, Jesse is a compilation of many dogs I’ve owned and worked with, more an Australian Shepherd than a Rottweiler. Dogs have always been part of my life.
What is your usual process for writing a story? Was “Tracker” any different?
My stories start in different ways, most often with a character who has an issue, sometimes with an idea first. This story started with my thoughts about what immortality would do to our compassion, about our ability to care. Yolanda herself came from an image of a horned woman that I bought years ago, while I was attending Clarion West, actually.
What are you working on lately?
Actually, I’ve been working with authors rather than writing my own stories, doing content editing and educating new authors on the intricacies of today’s new publishing world—how to actually reach readers with your books and succeed on your own. It’s really exciting, as the publishing world changes almost daily. And I love helping authors make their stories as strong and compelling as they can be.
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ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
Laurel Amberdine was raised by cats in the suburbs of Chicago. She’s good at naps, begging for food, and turning ordinary objects into toys. She currently lives in San Francisco where she writes science fiction and fantasy and works for Locus Magazine. Her YA fantasy novel Luminator is forthcoming from Reuts Publishing in 2017. Find her on Twitter at @amberdine.
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Author Spotlight: Jeremiah Tolbert
Arley Sorg | 1006 words
For me, this is a story about a kid who struggles to define both himself and his world. And in defining, exerts a sort of control. He tends to take a certain comfort in routine and the expected, even when unpleasant. Yet … in moments of the unknown, fear and joy are intertwined. Do you feel like this is a cultural condition, like we tend to want to exert control over our circumstances, even if we believe that control only exists in defining it—or in maintaining a status quo; and even if suffering is expected? And conversely, is joy found not by following the routine, but in the unexpected?
I suspect almost all control is an illusion, and a comforting one at that. My character here is desperate to apply some schema to the world to give it a reason for moving the way it does. I don’t think status quo really plays into things precisely—at his age, you don’t really know what the status quo is. Everything is new and terrifying and you’re still sorting it all out. Growing up is definitely about figuring out where we fit into things—attempting to exert control is part of that. Or perhaps, in some cases, creating belief systems that explain why we have no control, and that belief system makes the lack of control bearable. We all instinctually believe we should have some measure of it—control. But I think many of us find the amount very much lacking. Especially when we’re kids.
I love the personal feeling of this piece, the conversational tone. I had this sense of being immersed into someone’s history, rather than reading fiction. How much of this is drawn from your own past? And what are the elements and tools that you use to create a tale that is so convincingly real?
Almost all of it is based in parts or events from my own childhood. The supernatural elements, well … perhaps not so much, although I did entertain a belief in the Bermuda Triangle, psychic powers, and all the other paranormal things popular in the ’80s. The geography is especially true to my childhood’s reality, and the relationships mirror my own in elementary school. It’s the most painfully honest thing I’ve ever written, to tell you the truth. But I think hopefully putting so much of myself into it made for a richer experience in the end.
The speculative element is kept at a distance, and potentially doesn’t even exist, depending on how you read the story. It could be that the detective work of this kid is unraveling a supernatural mystery, or it could just be his way of using imagination to make sense of the world. Importantly, it’s real to him.
In a sense it doesn’t matter if it’s real or not, because it still guides his actions and drives the narrative. This makes it real for the reader (for me, it did), and makes the ending resonant.
Did you toy with the idea of making the speculative element more direct and present? Or do you usually prefer mystery, uncertainty, or ambiguity in your stories?
As a kid, I wanted very much to believe in the supernatural. I sought evidence for it all around me, because there was always this lingering sense of “is this really it?” As I grew older, as life got harder and as my family struggled to make it in tough times, my wonder at the universe seemed to diminish. I took refuge in the idea that Bigfoot might live in the woods behind my house. In exploring the idea of the Philadelphia Experiment, and UFOs.
There is comfort—a kind of safety—within the realm of belief in things unknown. That comfort is more real and more important to this story than any concrete answers. This story is very much about that ambiguity, what it means, and the role it plays in protecting our psyches. I imagine this means some will find it dissatisfying who want concrete answers, but I hope they can see the value in the experience nonetheless.
I wanted to write a realistic story of the paranormal, where just
like in my own experiences, there are never any real answers, and concrete, lasting belief is just beyond reach, always perhaps debunkable, and yet … and yet …
At the end, everything is literally enshrouded in fog, and despite the various pains of his existence, he’s glad to have this fear of losing it all. There’s something so understated and touching about this final scene, with him running and his new friend trailing him. What is the most important aspect of this moment for you?
The final scene contains a special mixture of fear and hope—an emotion I am very intimately familiar with, but rarely see captured in a way that resonates with me. I feel like I’ve spent half my life experiencing that emotion, the kind of emotion you half-expect there be a precise German word for, but if it exists, nobody has ever taught it to me.
So much of life is unknowable and really cannot be trusted. But we run forward into the fog of our futures anyway. I love that.
This was a great tale. What are you working on now that we can look forward to?
Thanks so much. I’m very proud of it.
I’m working on a few novel ideas slowly, and follow-ups to October’s “Cavern of the Screaming Eye.” Dungeonspace seemed to strike a nerve with readers—and is a much more upbeat, enjoyable series to revisit. I am slowly at work with a number of other personal stories that deal with other “mysteries of the unknown” from the ’80s. Up next is something about lake monsters. Still taking shape.
Thanks so much for your time, Jeremiah!
It’s my pleasure. Thanks very much for your questions.
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ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
Arley Sorg grew up in England, Hawaii, and Colorado. He studied Asian Religions at Pitzer College. He lives in Oakland, and usually writes in local coffee shops. A 2014 Odyssey Writing Workshop graduate, he is an assistant editor at Locus Magazine. He’s soldering together a novel, has thrown a few short stories into orbit, and hopes to launch more.
Lightspeed Magazine - January 2017 Page 28
