The Flare on the Page: A Conversation with Hannah Tinti

BY VALENTINE SARGENT

Photo Credit: Honorah Tinti

Photo Credit: Honorah Tinti

Hannah Tinti, the Chatham MFA Program 2021 Melanie Brown Lecturer, is the author of the bestselling novel The Good Thief, which won The Center for Fiction’s first novel prize, and the story collection Animal Crackers, a runner-up for the PEN/Hemingway Award. Her latest novel, The Twelve Lives of Samuel Hawley, is a national bestseller and has been optioned for television. She teaches creative writing at New York University’s MFA program and co-founded the Sirenland Writers Conference. Tinti is also the co-founder and executive editor of One Story magazine, which won the AWP Small Press Publisher Award, CLMP’s Firecracker Award, and the PEN/Magid Award for Excellence in Editing.

On January 20th, Hannah Tinti and I discussed journaling, solar flares synonymous to inspiration, and all the tasks Tinti juggles with a sense of ease. Our conversation was held over a virtual call due to the pandemic.

The Fourth River: What was the first story that had a profound impact on you?

Hannah Tinti: It’s hard to say. My mom was a librarian, so books have always been extremely important in my family. It’s hard to think of a first. I was really into Edgar Allan Poe when I was really young, those stories made a huge impact on me and stuck with me. I’d also say Ray Bradbury’s short stories as a kid made a big difference. I think it’s “All Summer in a Day”; that’s the short story that’s about the kids who are on Venus where the sun only comes out once every [seven] years and they lock the girl in the closet so she can’t see the sun. Do you know the one I’m talking about?

TFR: Oh yeah, this sounds very familiar!

HT: Every kid has read it. Every grammar school kid has to read that story, because it’s actually about bullying. It’s actually really good for today. It’s very powerful. It’s very short, too. That one I remember having an effect on me. As any kid does who knows feeling injustice as a child. Which kids don’t quite understand but can feel emotionally. So, I think that was a story I remember that really stuck with me. But yeah, I like the grizzly, Edgar Allan Poe, spooky stuff, because I grew up in Salem, which is where I am now, so Halloween is just in my blood. It’s Halloween 365 days a year here, is what I always say when people ask me “Why do you write creepy things?” and I’m like, “Hey, this is where I grew up, this is my air and water here.”

TFR: I love this strange violence you incorporate in your writing. It pulls you in, right? It’s that similar curiosity of the grotesque that makes you ask, “What’s there?” And I like how you dig into it. I can definitely see that Edgar Allan Poe peeking out.

HT: Yeah, it’s something I’ve always been interested in, which is the line of violence, and what makes some people cross that line and others not cross the line? I was a science major in school, I actually studied biology, so for me nature, animals, all that stuff is a big part of my brain.

TFR: I can definitely see that in your writing, especially Animal Crackers. I’m curious, have you been able to read during this time, and if so, what have you been reading?

HT: I have found it kind of challenging to read books right now. I do a lot of reading. I read all the time because I’m either reading for One Story or I’m reading my students’ work or I’m often a judge for prizes. I just finished reading for this fellowship we just awarded at One Story and we had around 350 applicants who were sending work from all around the world. I’m working on an anthology right now with selected shorts and helping them crawl through all these short stories and put them together in a book that is going to be published next year. So I’m doing a lot of reading for work so when I’m actually taking a break though it’s hard for me. And given the pandemic…I have been more watching television, I will say. In the last eight or nine months I’ve watched more TV – I feel like everybody has though – than I’ve ever watched.

TFR: That makes sense. It gives you that break because it sounds like you are always going, going, going. Especially during this chaotic time you need time to rest.

HT: Yeah, and if I am reading sometimes, I’ll go to my comfort food reading, which is usually classics. So I haven’t really been reading any new books lately. But I’ve been reading a lot of amazing stories and novel excerpts; it’s all stuff that’s unpublished though so it’s hard to talk about it. Because these are all things that are in the works by other people.

Although I will talk a little bit about our new fellow. This is a yearly fellowship we give at One Story that we just announced last week. This is a fellowship that gives to somebody outside of the network of MFA systems, someone who wouldn’t have the opportunity to get an MFA, and whose work relates to bodies of difference. That fellow is a woman named Diana Veiga. She’s a librarian actually in D.C. and she is writing short stories and each story is set in a different part of D.C. She’s giving this really interesting cross section of this place, which is such a weird place. D.C. is so strange…It’s a great collection, I’m really excited. We are going to be working with her and the idea is that she gets a stipend, she gets a year of free classes, and she gets a full manuscript review by me at the end of the year. So it’s really about helping somebody who doesn’t really have the opportunity to go to an MFA program and give them a big boost in their career.

TFR: Oh definitely, because the whole point of an MFA is to make those literary connections. And you basically provide that for these authors.

HT: Yeah, so that’s been really fun and she’s our third fellow. And they are all works that inhabit bodies of difference, so it ends up being a really interesting subject matter that each of these writers has been working on as well. I’m excited to start working with her. We just chose her and announced her last week so that’s some great reading I’ve been doing lately.

TFR: That’s wonderful. And talking about craft, I’m curious, what is your favorite aspect about writing?

HT: I’d say the best part of it is the best part for everyone, which is kind of the mysterious part. There’s the slog where you’re just trying to get your word count in. And then there’s a moment where the slog falls away. I talk about it with my students, but it’s hard to explain. There’s a spark that happens in your brain and you feel a surge of excitement, you know? One way I sometimes talk about it with my students is there’s almost like this long wall that you’re walking along, like the Great Wall of China, you’re walking along this wall and that wall separates your conscious and unconscious mind. And every once in a while, you find a door and when you open that door it’s like sparks and wildfire goes back and forth between those two places. I call them solar flares, like this flare coming out from the side, and then the door slams and you’re like “Oh no” and then it goes away. Then you are trudging along the wall again for a while, but that moment that happens – and it’s very hard to put your finger on exactly what it is. I can’t say oh, it’s editing or oh, it’s first drafts, or something like that. For me, I guess I would say my favorite part are the solar flares.

I think it is something about a connection in your unconscious and conscious mind when that happens, because you feel that surge of excitement, and that surge of excitement is you are able to somehow put into words something that is normally not able to be put into words. You are accessing some emotional truth that you know in your body is true, and that’s what makes you so excited right? Because you are able to actually take something that is usually floating around back here [in the brain] and actually putting it out. You feel that truth in it.

I think what’s exciting for me as an editor is when I’m reading someone else’s work and I can see the flare on the page. I can see where it flared for the author…When you’re reading somebody’s work and there’s a moment like wow, like you almost feel an emotional response to something on the page. Like maybe you get chocked up, or someone writes an image and you can really see the image in your mind and its very very clear, then they’ve usually had a flare there. 

TFR: I’ve read in other interviews that you keep a journal for your daily observations.

HT: I do, yeah.

TFR: What led you to start journaling and putting it into a creative practice?

HT: That all started when I met and worked with Lynda Barry… I had journaled before and usually I would most often journal whenever I travelled. I’d take a book with me and write down things and remember things. And I would mainly make lists of things. The lists really help me, because I found that when I would try to write in a diary or like writing a letter, or confessing, as if someone else was going to read it someday, that didn’t work for me… But what Lynda does, her technique – which you can find online – she does this thing called the five-minute diary…And what it is, is taking a page and you cut it into fourths. You write seven things you did that day – this is supposed to be very fast, the very first seven things that come up from your subconscious mind… Then the other is seven things you noticed or saw. Noticing is different, like I noticed an onion skin on the floor from when I was cooking last night or dust on this window, I noticed the sound of something. Or I noticed I was feeling this way today…it’s more vague or emotional that place. And then the other two things you write is you write one thing that you heard like something someone said or a sound, and the last thing is you draw a picture – a doodle, is what she says.

So those four things, and again you’re supposed to do it very quickly, it usually takes me about five to ten minutes. What’s surprising is it has really created this amazing resource for me to go back and almost grab memories from certain parts of my life and go back and use them.

TFR: In all three of your books, you have this amazing ability to set the scene with your imagery. What is your process? Do you ever draw out scenes before you write them?

HT: Well first off, thanks, that’s very nice of you to say. You start with an image, something you saw or something that’s in your mind that you don’t know why it’s sticking in your mind…For [Twelve Lives of Samuel Hawley] I was approaching it with, “What do I want to write about?” And I thought “Oh, I’ll write about the greasy pole.” Because the greasy pole is a real thing, it’s a real event that happens every year in Gloucester, Massachusetts…The greasy pole happens at a festival every year and it’s the same thing like I describe. There’s this crazy pole, about the length of a telephone pole, over this pier that you grease with lard. It’s actually crazier in person…on the first round they all wear costumes which is so weird that I couldn’t even put it in the book. No one’s going to believe those fishermen dress up like chickens and Wonder Woman on the first round. And they are all so drunk. Like really, really wasted. And everyone comes out to watch. And it’s also very macho, like gladiator-feel, they are all stripped down and covered in grease. And they really injure themselves.

So I was just writing about that, exploring it, and I thought about let me focus on one man, let me describe his body, and trying to describe his body I realized he had these scars, “Well what are these scars?” I looked closer and I was like, “Oh wow, they’re bullet holes.” It made me start realizing about scars and how there’s a story behind every scar on your body. Those stories get told when we are in bed with somebody, or they get told to our doctors – people who we are really intimate with.

So my surface level was, oh I like the greasy pole and now I’m already at the storytelling and the scars and the secrets we hold on our bodies.

That’s when I started thinking about how would I write a book that is only those stories? That the only thing you got about somebody’s life was scar stories and you didn’t get anything else? So what I was interested in that book was this idea of what’s hidden?

TFR: Speaking of characters, specifically in Animal Crackers, there are a lot of characters who find themselves in difficult situations whether it be in an affair, dealing with an illness in the family, or changing their career. What inspired you to create this cast of imperfect characters with baggage?

HT: [Laughs] I guess my own baggage! For me, that’s what’s interesting. Kurt Vonnegut has this quote that’s like, “Terrible things happen to your characters so your readers can see what they are made of.”

TFR: In your collection of stories and in your two novels, all your characters have these profound relationships that impact who they are, you often focus on the parent and child relationship. What draws you to this particular bond?

HT: What’s funny about [Twelve Lives of Samuel Hawley] is I started it meaning to write a love story and I didn’t think it would end up being a parent child thing, but it ended up being a parent child thing. There’s still the love story as well, there’s two love stories really. But the main thing being this parent child thing and I think it’s our parents end up having a greater effect on us than we think they do…I think one of the reasons I keep going back to this parent child thing is because I think that’s really interesting, what’s told and what’s not told. And you just have a longer relationship with them than you even do with your romantic partner, like that’s a shorter window in terms of time. With parents it’s many, many more years. Many, many more complicated layers to get into. They end up being really profound relationships, which often times aren’t explored in books, it’s more romantic relationships.

TFR:  In your two novels both main characters are scarred physically whether with bullet holes or the loss of a hand. And in Animal Crackers some stories like “How to Revitalize the Snake in Your Life” and “Slim’s Last Ride” focus a lot on the physicality of the body. There seems to be this theme of what the body, any body, can tolerate. I’m curious to know more about your fascination with the physical body.

HT: There’s a book called The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk. His thing is about how we hold memory in our physical bodies. That’s so interesting to me. That makes the solar flares go off.

There’s a great story that I tell to my students. That I also got from Lynda Barry, I’m just going to keep giving her credit. She tells this story about his guy with phantom limb syndrome…This was a guy who had lost his arm in an accident, but he was feeling an enormous amount of pain. He felt like he was basically clenching his fist so tightly, even though the fist was no longer there, so tightly that he was in incredible physical pain. He saw all these doctors, neuroscientists, got addicted to drugs, tried to kill himself, all because of what he was feeling in this hand that didn’t exist. There was this doctor, V.S. Ramachandran, he’s one of these big scientists that is treating phantom limb syndrome. He met with the guy and is treating him and designed this mirrored box. So this is a box with mirrors on all sides…He had the guy stand in front of the box and put his left hand in the box so when he looked down he got a visual of both hands. So it looked like he had his right hand. The doctor had him clench his fists, so it looked like he had two fists. And then the doctor said, “Now unclench your fists.” And the guy opened his left hand, which made it look like his right hand opened and the pain immediately stopped… [The doctor] cured him with an image.

All the things that have happened to us in our lives are like our own phantom limbs. The process of creating art or creating our writing is that we are making the mirrored box that tricks our minds into healing those phantom limbs. It’s about how important and powerful an image can be. An image can heal, an image can shift things, an image can deal with past trauma. But you need to create the image. That’s something I think is really powerful and interesting to think about and in particular, why I’m interested in the body in that way. And plus I’ve got that background in science so that’s always been something I’ve been curious about to begin with, about how things physically work and how they connect.

TFR: In a time with so much division, do you think written stories have the power to connect us to one another?

HT: Definitely. That’s why I do One Story, I think that’s one of the reasons why I started that magazine…The main thing is every year we get these amazing letters and notes from our readers where people are saying, “Wow that story really had an effect on me” or “That’s exactly what happened to me, it made me feel understood.” While I definitely think readership has gone down, like not many people are reading…there’s a lot of other ways stories are being presented in the world, so the plain written word feels like not many people are reading, that said, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. All you need is the one reader. All you need is that one person. All you need is for someone to read something and it has an effect on them. That it makes them feel more understood and less alone. That’s what we’re trying to do if we’re the writer. And if we’re lucky we find a couple readers that read our stuff and feel the same way and that’s success.

The Gray Areas: A Conversation with Aimee Bender

BY VALENTINE SARGENT

aimee bender!.jpg

Aimee Bender is the author of six books: The Girl in the Flammable Skirt (1998) which was a NY Times Notable Book, An Invisible Sign of My Own (2000) which was an L.A. Times pick of the year, Willful Creatures (2005) which was nominated by The Believer as one of the best books of the year, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake (2010) which won the SCIBA award for best fiction, and an Alex Award, The Color Master, a NY Times Notable book for 2013, and her latest novel, The Butterfly Lampshade, which came out in July 2020, and was longlisted for the PEN/Jean Stein Award. Her books have been translated into sixteen languages.

In October, amidst the pandemic, I interviewed Aimee Bender using a video call platform to discuss her recently released book, The Butterfly Lampshade. As an avid reader of her work, it was exciting to sit down on opposite sides of the coast and discuss magic, fiction, and the gray areas.

The Fourth River: In your last novel, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, you focus on a mother-daughter relationship as well as in The Butterfly Lampshade. What fascinates you about this relationship between a young daughter and distraught mother?

Aimee Bender: When I think of the two books it does get more extreme in The Butterfly Lampshade. I’m interested so much in the world of the child and the child’s perception of things when the adults are struggling. I think all children are kind of alert to the adults around them and maybe some more than others, but the mother being often the kind of central adult to a child, to see any distress of any level can be disorienting. On an extreme level, how does that reorganize how the child imagines the world or feels responsible? In different ways with Rose and with Francie, both of them are kind of shouldering something unchildlike.

TFR: The Butterfly Lampshade tackles various themes such as human’s obsession with the material, mental illness in the family, childhood memory impacting the lives of adults, time, delineation, could you describe the process of writing The Butterfly Lampshade and the themes stitched within?

AB: I think some of it is this sort of intuitive process, well most of it, is trying to craft movements that feel honest and feel like they make sense on the page. And I think what I’m always searching for in writing short stories or novels is any kind of sentence or paragraph that I want to reread. So for The Butterfly Lampshade there were a lot of these parts where I just felt interested in all those things together, like how are these objects playing a role, how are they relating to this splintered sense of the world that the character is experiencing, how does that relate to her mom’s mental illness, what are these different perceptions that we’re all kind of living in our own sense of things and how does that affect the way we live and the choices we make, and the options available to us? And this was true of [The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake] too, wanting people on different parts of a spectrum of perspectives. A sort of fracturing perspectives. And for [The Butterfly Lampshade], this sort of permeability between reality and fantasy. What are the ways that is joyful and interesting and magical and what are the ways that’s unwell and dangerous, and what are those lines? And I think I’m just very interested in those gray areas.

TFR: When Francie builds a tent to use as her sacred place for remembering the magic and trauma she experienced as a child, it reminded me of psychedelic therapy, but without the psychedelics. Was this tent inspired by these explorative therapies?

AB: I know a lot about therapy therapy, but even as I was writing the book, I was aware the tent is very different because it’s not doing anything. It’s just a space. And I’m interested in meditation as well. I honestly don’t know, and I’d question it a little bit and think: is it okay that it is an inanimate space that she’s sort of filling with something? But somehow it felt kind of right, and it also parallels the writing process. It feels like all of those things: a kind of therapy, a meditation, a kind of creative process, and a magical space. There’s that point where they dust the tent with the rose that her cousin has and maybe that invokes the psychedelic piece that you’re talking about. Like something otherworldly. 

I think I am very interested in small spaces. What happens when you expect to delineation and the sense of what happens when you separate yourself out from something. What can you then focus on?

In real life I don’t think our memory and our thinking work so smoothly as it does for her, but I sort of bought that it would for her.

TFR: The scenes on the Coast Starlight reveal more about Francie as a child and explore the beetle incident and how Francie was “chosen” to experience the magic. The two characters that the steward and Francie see are real, but also not, as they disappear. This seems to be a point about what is real, a hallucination, or magic, and sometimes we don’t get to know all the answers. Could you expand upon this idea?

AB: These were scenes I actually wrote pretty early on. I was sort of thinking about the book and looking back at the scenes, they fit in a way that kind of surprised me. I tend to shy away from thinking about meaning, particularly while I’m in the middle of writing, to try to let whatever feels right more than any sort of intellectual understanding of what it is, but I think that as the book is out in the world and as I think about it as a book and I’m separate from it, I get a little more space from it. There’s this line toward the end when she’s talking to Vicky and Francie says “No, I live here now.” And it goes back to this idea of perceptions and this sense of – there are things that are in different planes. And here are these two different people who live in different planes, who seem to live in a different world than everyone else. And Francie is a bit of a go-between and the steward is not. Like he can see them but he doesn’t interact with them. He finds them strange and Francie doesn’t so she’s permeable in a way the steward is not. And so seeing them, yes, as some type of missives in another realm and I don’t know what that means. If they would’ve wanted to take her with them, if they were just letting her know that she had an access point? The access point was something both beautiful, but also unsettling to her. And that ultimately, she’s not going to go to that place. It’s not clear that her mother lives there. I do believe there are so many ways that people’s minds work. That they are stacked in this way of viewing things. There isn’t some sort of standard to fall on. But that’s a moment of permeability for her.

There’s a hope in me that the images are unsettling enough that you can just live with them and not know what they mean. And that can be frustrating a little bit, but also at some point there will be an experience in your life, and you’ll be like, “This feels the same as the moment with Francie on the train.” The meaning can slowly unveil itself. It can be resonant without full understanding. And I find that territory interesting.

TFR: There is a part where Francie is sitting with her uncle outside the school, waiting for the babysitter. During their wait, Francie watches the children rush to their designated cars. This leads to a disassociation where she must find something to ground her immediately. I was so struck by this moment, because as a child, I would experience this often and never knew how to explain it or if anyone had ever experienced it as well. How did you come up with that moment, is this a personal experience or was this something someone told you about?

AB: I think that’s my hope, that something comes to light about our experiences that may be so connected to who we are, so that makes me happy to hear that. That feels like part of my project as a writer.

I didn’t feel this particular moment as a kid with the pickup line, but I did feel this type of moment where things abstract a little bit and there was a disassociating feeling. I think what I really wanted to do in that scene is lean into that really directly and apply it to the pickup line. It was interesting because I didn’t particularly need this scene plot wise, but I kept feeling like this scene was incredibly important in the book and it’s letting me get to know Francie. There’s just something about that feeling of an observant kid, and I was an observant kid, when you sort of lose yourself in the observation and maybe there’s something going on that’s hard to bear emotionally. The observations becomes enlarged and overwhelming and the cause and effect starts to separate a little bit. It can be very anxiety invoking or it can be very casual. I think for her it becomes increasingly scary because she’s about to have this major change and she’s going to be away from her mom, and suddenly all the kids are getting picked up and she’s not. It really is a potent moment in her life.

TFR: You write strictly fiction, does the personal ever intermingle with the fictious?

AB: All the time. And I think it’s Elizabeth McCracken who said, “When they say write what you know they don’t mean from the events of your life, they mean emotionally.” That always made so much sense to me, which is that any emotional state, like what we were just talking about, that dissociative state, feels familiar to me but then it was placing it inside someone else. Then I feel much freer to explore it and to change it. I think when it’s my own life it’s too familiar, I have no distance from it, and I don’t know how to write about it with any clarity. The element of imagination and sort of all these other things that my mind can play with gives me a job to do, and then the emotional stuff can flood in. But I really do believe that if you feel anything as a reader of a book, it means the writer has felt it in some way. I just don’t think we can convey on the page stuff we haven’t in some way empathically or in our own life experienced.

TFR: The world is impacted by a pandemic, climate change, and a slew of other problems that make it feel like we are in a science fiction novel. What role do you think fiction plays in society right now?

AB: So many roles! For one, it needs to reflect what we are experiencing, because we need help thinking about it. I can’t process what’s going on simply with my own scattered thinking and art is a way that something is beginning to be processed. At various stages, right? There’s art of right now, there’s the art of one year, there’s the art in ten years, and it all give us a way to think about something and feel about something.

So, fiction does that. Fiction allows space for the internal experience and the external experience, and for time to jump around. Fiction is so gymnastically able to move and that is really helpful. A lot of art forms can’t do that. Also, I think sometimes, we need a break. We need to be reminded of other things that are going on in our lives. Sometimes we just need something that is a delight. Ice cream and a really beautiful sentence that makes us happy. Sometimes that’s nourishing in a whole different way. As you talked about empathy, we need to jump into the lives of other people and see what that’s like. Sometimes we need to look at characters that reflect ourselves, in ways we didn’t know. This is all very good for us.

TFR: You mention pretzels in your writing often; do you like pretzels?

AB: That’s so funny, I have no awareness of that! Yeah, I like salt. I like salty foods. And maybe because their shapes are so fun, the little salt crystals. Yes, I do like pretzels quite a bit. As an item and a food.

On Research and Relationships: An Interview with Kathryn Miles

Kathryn Miles is a longform journalist, memoirist, and environmental writing professor. Her most recent book is Superstorm: Nine Days Inside Hurricane Sandy, published in 2014. She is the author of Adventures with Ari: A Puppy, a Leash & Our Year Outdoors, and All Standing: The Remarkable Story of the Jeanie Johnston, the Legendary Irish Famine Ship. Her nonfiction has been selected for Best American Essays, and has appeared in a wide range of publications such as Alimentum, Ecotone, Outside, The Boston Globe, Psychology Today, and The New York Times. In addition to being a mentor in Chatham University’s low-residency MFA program, she teaches in the low-residency Masters program at Green Mountain College in Vermont.

Kathryn Miles joined Chatham’s Summer Community of Writers in July 2015 as the featured creative nonfiction writer.

The Fourth River: You got your start as a reporter in high school, correct? Since then you’ve written many things and your style has no doubt changed a lot. What traits of that rookie reporter have you retained? Or is everything about your work different?

Kathryn Miles: The Peoria Journal Star, a really wonderful daily, took a chance and hired me as a cub reporter when I was 16. It was sort of a dream-come-true for me: my godparents, who were really like surrogate grandparents, met and fell in love while working there. So, in a lot of ways, it felt like a family legacy for me to follow in their footsteps, and, like them, I really grooved on the dynamism of an active newsroom. I took an incredibly circuitous route back to journalism – I majored in philosophy as an undergraduate and took a Ph.D. in English – but the roots have always remained. What I really learned from those early days was the importance of old fashioned reportage: sitting and listening, and letting your subjects be the voice of their own stories. I also learned about the crucial importance of accuracy and writing on deadline: two considerations all creative writers need to internalize, and ones I’m constantly reminded of in my work today. What’s changed, I think, is my newfound appreciation for narrative and storytelling: literary journalism was an unknown concept to me then, and it really defines my writing today. I’m much more aware of voice and the arc of a story than I ever was then.

Read More

Wonderful Strangeness: An Interview with Karen E. Bender

Karen Bender, the Chatham MFA Program 2015 Melanie Brown Lecturer, is a novelist and short story writer whose most recent collection, Refund (Counterpoint Press, 2015), was a finalist for the National Book Award in Fiction, shortlisted for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Prize, and longlisted for the Story prize. Her other works include two novels, Like Normal People and A Town of Empty Rooms and she was the co-editor of the nonfiction anthology Choice: True Stories of Birth, Contraception, Infertility, Adoption, Single Parenthood, and Abortion. Her short fiction, widely published in literary magazines, has also appeared in The Best American Short Stories and The Best American Mystery Stories. A Los Angeles native and past resident of New York City and Iowa City, she currently lives in Wilmington, North Carolina with her husband, writer Robert Anthony Siegel, and their two children.

The Fourth River: How did you start writing and who were your early influences?

Karen Bender: I started writing because I was hit on the head with a rock when I was six. I was at a birthday party for a little boy and all the kids were trying to put him through a “spanking machine”, which was when all the kids lined up to make a tunnel through which the birthday child was supposed to crawl. He didn’t want to go through the spanking machine, so he was running away and he picked up a rock and threw it. The rock soared over everyone and hit me. I fell backward and some adult picked me up and put me on the birthday cake table, and all these kids were surrounding the table and staring at me and I was bleeding. And what I remember is that they had to move the birthday cake so it didn’t get bloody—that is the detail I remember. So I started writing my first stories after that incident, when I had this big bandage on my head. I believe that was my first insight I had as a writer, because I was trying to impose narrative on chaos. And that’s actually what I think stories, or work, does, because the world is so chaotic, and there are all these rocks thrown at us all the time, in various ways. Writing is a way to try and control the chaos. As a child, I wrote many novel beginnings but never finished. I didn’t know how to finish them.

Read More

Carolina Minded: An Interview with Wiley Cash

When bestselling author Wiley Cash passed through Pittsburgh on the promotional tour for his award-winning novel A LAND MORE KIND THAN HOME, he sat down with THE FOURTH RIVER to talk plot tricks and book deals. Cash also gave creative writing students at Chatham University a craft lecture before a public reading of his work, including excerpts from A LAND MORE KIND THAN HOME, recently released THIS DARK ROAD TO MERCY and a currently untitled novel-in-process. I talked with him about how to figure out the right book title, being star struck by Jeannette Winterson, and why he can’t wait to get back to North Carolina.

FR: It’s obvious that place plays a huge role in your books. A Land More Kind Than Home and This Dark Road To Mercy are both set in North Carolina, and the new book you’re working on is historical fiction about North Carolina. You seem to really love the state. What was it like growing up there?

Wiley Cash: I absolutely love North Carolina. I did my undergraduate at UNC Asheville, my Masters at UNC Greensboro, and actually left to get my PhD at University of Louisiana-Lafayette. I spent five years in Louisiana. I’ve been teaching in West Virginia, but we’ll move back to N.C. this year. My wife took a job in Wilmington. I can’t wait. I grew up going to a Southern Baptist church in Gastonia. It was very conservative. There was pressure, imagined or whatever, to feel and talk about holy, biblical things. That anxiety transfers to A Land More Kind Than Home’s protagonist Jess, that guilt that young people have about “How do I know when I’m saved?” “Do I believe things correctly?” The rise and fall of Southern Evangelicals had a real impact on me.

Read More

Interview: Marjorie Agosín

It was an unseasonably warm fall day in Pittsburgh when I talked with Chilean writer and activist, Marjorie Agosín, Chatham University’s All-Campus Author and the woman behind nearly forty books, including anthologies, poetry, memoir and nonfiction, and a novel, I Lived on Butterfly Hill, which was released in March 2014. In the living room of the Howe-Childs Gate House, I sheepishly removed several Apple devices of various sizes, one for recording, another for keeping the time, and she asked me about my family. We’d met before. Agosín graciously remembered the time last year I almost drove her and her husband the wrong way down a one-way street. We had a lot of catching up to do. For the next half hour, Agosín and I navigated our conversation through shared territory—of home, memory, and separation in poetry, the value of travel, the smell and feel of the Pacific Ocean when she returns to the country of her childhood. “The problem with Chile,” she told me with a sigh, “is that it’s far no matter where you are.” And so we talked too about this longing, about the clarity of what is left behind. Although I don’t speak Spanish, her native language, the conversation was easy, and I learned that even in our silences, nothing is lost.

Read More

Off-Kilter Vacations: An Interview with Stewart O’Nan

Local Pittsburgh writer, Stewart O’Nan, blends fact with fiction in his 2015 novel, West of Sunset, published by Viking Press. In an excerpt featured in The Fourth River 0.3: Celebrating 10 Years of the Melanie Brown Lecture Series, O’Nan takes readers back to a time in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s life that is not often discussed: the later years when Fitzgerald was an alcoholic struggling to find work while Zelda is away in an asylum.

Before this novel, O’Nan’s short story collection, In the Walled City, was awarded the 1993 Drue Heinz Literature Prize. Several of the short stories from that collection appeared in The Nebraska Review, Northwest Review, among others. During 1993, he published his second book, Snow Angels, which was later adapted into a film in 2007 by the same name.

Along with these successes, O’Nan collaborated with Stephen King on an e-book, A Face in the Crowd, before finally publishing West of Sunset.

**

The Fourth River: What drew you to write about this rarely-talked about part of Fitzgerald’s life in West of Sunset?

Stewart O’Nan: I knew a little about his time in Hollywood, but I felt there was a lot more. He’s an intriguing figure living in a legendary place during an interesting time. The more I looked into it, the more fantastic and romantic it seemed. Who knew that he worked on Gone with the Wind or met with Shirley Temple, who wanted to star in Babylon Revisited?

Read More

So That You Know Your Story Will Be Told: An Interview with Sabata-mpho Mokae

I recently sat down with South African writer Sabata-mpho Mokae, and discussed his influences, oral storytelling and how language affects the way a story is told and absorbed. Mokae’s debut novel in Setswana, Ga Ke Modisa, I’m Not My Brother’s Keeper, (2012) won the M-Net Literary Award for Best Novel in Setswana as well as the M-Net Film Award. He is also the author of the the biography The Story of Sol T. Plaatje (2010) and the poetry collection Escaping Trauma (2012). His youth novella Dikeledi [Tears] was launched in 2014. Sabata-mpho Mokae is a resident at The University of Iowa’s International Writing Program.

The Fourth River: Can you start by talking about your writing process? What does the road between inspiration and a published piece look like?

Sabata-mpho Mokae: Once I have a group of characters sorted out, the book writes itself. I know my characters, I know how they behave, I’ve given each of them a background, I’ve given each of them a routine, a certain behavior, I’ve given them dreams, aspirations. As a writer the book is being dictated to me, I have the story and then I simply become a typist. I have my first draft sorted and then I keep it there and allow it to be there. I take it out of my system, I detox. I take ample time to detox, three months, sometimes four months and then I go back to it, now as an editor. I am now a different person from the one who was telling the story in the first place. The second draft is basically going through the new me as the editor of the first draft.

Read More

Interview: Salvatore Pane

To meet Salvatore Pane in person is to be engaged. Friendly and spirited, he fills the room with a devil-may-care but darn-I-like-people attitude. On a recent winter evening, he and other writers met in a room above a bar in Pittsburgh.

Salvatore comes off as a hipster who would be comfortable being labeled a nerd, and that is no slight. He seems to be welcome in the world of intellectuals and creatives who are often mislabeled. But he is very serious about writing.

His spike-ledge hair compliments a gray sweater pulled over a black button-down, the modern professional/city-dweller look. Pane’s work has appeared in PANK, Annalemma, and Weave, among others.  Pane is a former lecturer at Chatham University and his novel, Last Call in the City of Bridges, was published by Braddock Avenue Books on November 6th.

The Fourth River: At the end of “Man of Ego, Man of Hubris, Save us From The Sun,” you wrote a defense of the story. How important is biography in connecting with readers?

Salvatore Pane: That story was published in a great online journal, FRiGG. They run extras at the end of their pieces. I don’t think these extras are absolutely necessary for a story to be good or even for an issue of a journal to be good, but there’s so much potential with online magazines that it seems foolish not to exploit it. Hobart does this cool thing where they put bonus material from their print issue on their website, cool trinkets from amazing writers: a great essay about Metroid by Mike Meginnis, a fun map from Aubrey Hirsch, a video of Brian Oliu reading his work. If their stories weren’t good—and in this case I guarantee that they are—none of that would matter. It always comes back to the work, but if a journal has the capability to do stuff online, they should capitalize on that.

Read More

Embracing the Gap: An Interview with Alix Ohlin

Alix Ohlin is the author of two novels – Inside and The Missing Person – and two collections of short stories – Signs and Wonders and Babylon and Other Stories. More of her work can be found in Best American Short Stories and elsewhere. Although she was born in Montreal, she currently resides in Pennsylvania, teaching at both Lafayette College and in the Warren Wilson MFA Program for writers.

The Fourth River: What’s your writing process like? How do you go about telling your stories?

Alix Ohlin: All writing begins and ends in failure, and that embracing failure is the most important step a writer can take. I always have this vision in my head – this idea that “Oh, this book is going to be amazing!” – but the distance between what I wanted to do and what I wanted to accomplish is vast. And I can work on the draft as much as I possibly can but, inevitably, it never gets close to where I wanted it to be. You never finish, you just abandon and move on to the next thing. So, for me, another crucial part of the writing process is reading, because it reminds me of what great writing can be and can do. When I look at my own work, all I can see are the flaws and all the things that didn’t come through. But when I look at someone else’s work and see what they were able to do, I try to write back to that, or write an imitation of that, or write out of love of that.

Read More

The Heart of What I Want to Tell You About Is Not the Place: A Conversation with Amy Bloom

I want to crawl inside Amy Bloom’s head. I want to plant the bulb of my story into the fertile soil of her brain, let the roots take hold, watch the green shoots erupt and behold my novel blossoming onto the page.

This is what I am thinking as Amy Bloom and I leave the WPTS radio station at the University of Pittsburgh student union. In search of food, we cross Forbes Avenue amongst a swarm of students and spill into the acre of green space that is Schenley Plaza. Amy Bloom wants to check out the Conflict Kitchen.

I am a bit star struck having spent the last two hours interviewing her with Josh, a University of Pittsburgh MFA grad student, for the Hot Metal Bridge literary journal podcast, [in brackets]. Prior to that, I spent a month immersed in her three novels Lucky Us (2014), Away (2007) and Love Invents Us (1997), a short story collection, Where the God of Love Hangs Out (2010) and numerous published and audio interviews. Even still, I am mindful that I have consumed only a fraction of the Amy Bloom canon which includes a screen play, State of Mind (2007) and the nonfiction offering: Normal: Transsexual CEOs, Cross-dressing Cops, and Hermaphrodites with Attitude (2002).

Read More

The Kindness of Book Signing: An Interview with Fred and Melanie Brown

On October 18th, we are celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Melanie Brown Lecture Series with the visit to Chatham of acclaimed writer Amy Bloom. The Melanie Brown Lecture Series brings an established author to Chatham every year and allows aspiring writers and the Chatham community at large to interact with them in various settings and learn about their work. The Fourth River is honored to feature a folio of work from the last decade of the lecture series in our current digital issue.

The Melanie Brown Lecturer is supported by an endowment from Melanie and Fred R. Brown established in 2008. The Browns are lifelong Pittsburghers who love books and have crisscrossed the country collecting signed copies of works of fiction, most of which are first editions. The Browns generously donated their vast collection of award winning contemporary fiction to Chatham in 2010. The Melanie and Fred R. Brown Special Collection of Literary Fiction is now permanently housed in the Jennie King Mellon Library. They now spend most of their time in Florida but are frequently back in town. I had a chance to interview Melanie and Fred Brown in advance of their traveling to Pittsburgh this month to attend the lecture.

**

The Fourth River: Celebrated author Amy Bloom will be coming to Chatham as the tenth Melanie Brown Lecturer. Are you excited about her visit?

Melanie Brown: We are pretty excited about that. We were excited when it came up as an option. Usually we have some input. Together with Marc Nieson and Sheryl St. Germain we make a decision from several names. They’re already starting to throw up names for next year.

Read More

Interview: The Mark of Real Life : An Interview with Allison Joseph

Allison Joseph was born in London, England in 1967. She is the author of What Keeps us Here, which won the 1992 Women Poets Series Prize from Ampersand Press, a publisher of poetry and fiction based at Roger Williams College in Bristol, Rhode Island. The book, dedicated to Allison’s late mother, also won the John C. Zacharias First Book Prize from Emerson College and Ploughshares. She is the recipient of the 2009 Aquarius Press Legacy Award, the Literary Award from the Illinois Arts Council, the Associated Writing Programs Prize, the Academy of American Poets Prize, the Ruth Lilly Fellowship, Sewanee Writers’ Conference Fellowship, and the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference Fellowship. A graduate of Kenyon University, Joseph is currently the editor and poetry editor of the Crab Orchard Review and Director of the Young Writers’ Workshop, as Director of the SIUS MFA Program in Creative Writing, Professor Joseph also maintains a blog about the graduate creative writing program.

At the time of this interview, her most recent books were My Father’s Kites (Steel Toe Books, 2010) and Trace Particles (Backbone Press, 2014).

BJ: When and why did you begin writing?

AJ: I was one of those kids who couldn’t shut up. That’s what I’d get on my report card. You know, “talks too much in class” so that’s part of it. Always much more interested in language than in numbers, which accounts for my poor math skills to this day(laughing). And as soon as I discovered poetry, I knew that it was going to be a part of my life. Probably around the same age a lot of people discover poetry. Probably early pre-teen kind of age.

Read More

Interview: Monsters, Video Games, and Design | An Interview with Rebecca King

Rebecca King is the Founding Editor and Designer at Origami Zoo Press. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from Chatham University in 2011. Her fiction has appeared in decomP Magazine, >kill author, Dogzplot, and others.

The Fourth River: You took a publishing course when you were at Chatham, and this is what sparked your interest in launching Origami Zoo Press. Is that right?

Rebecca King: Yeah. I actually told myself, “I’m a writer; I’m not really interested in publishing.” But a bunch of my friends were taking [the class] and I thought, well, I should see the other side of things. And then I ended up falling in love with the process of making books. The first book I made for that class was Phantoms by Chad Simpson. He was a former professor of mine, and I had such a fun time interacting with him, really collaborating.

Read More

Interview: Maps and Legends | An Interview with Hillary Wentworth

Hillary Wentworth earned her MFA from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington.  Her writing has appeared in Black Warrior Review, Caesura, and Red Wheelbarrow, among others. Her flash fiction piece “146.9 Volts” was selected for the 2010 miniStories grand prize by Alexander Chee, Daniel Handler, Heather McElhatton, Kevin Larimer, and Dennis Cass.

The Fourth River: “Blowing Rock,” your nonfiction piece which appeared in issue 7 of The Fourth River, braids several intriguing threads together, and the changing Earth is one of them. What is your overall theory of this planet we occupy? How do you attempt to capture that in your writing?

Hillary Wentworth: I’ve always been fascinated by Earth, space, this small pocket of the universe we inhabit. And it’s a fascinating subject that I naturally veer toward. The best nonfiction, I think, is personal but also informative, so I try to balance those elements. Writing has always been my main passion, though I was interested in forensics for a while. I’m still fascinated by the body; there is a lot that is still beyond the scope of human comprehension. When I incorporate geology, time, and scientific phenomena, it’s my attempt to find the story beyond me.

Read More

Interview: Luis Alberto Urrea

Luis Alberto Urrea is the son of a Mexican father and an American mother. The critically acclaimed and best-selling author of 13 books, Urrea has won numerous awards for his poetry, fiction, and essays. The Devil’s Highway, his 2004 non-fiction account of a group of Mexican immigrants lost in the Arizona desert, won the Lannan Literary Award and was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. His novel The Hummingbird’s Daughter tells the story of Teresa Urrea, sometimes known as the Saint of Cabora and the Mexican Joan of Arc.

After serving as a relief worker in Tijuana and a film extra and columnist-editor-cartoonist for several publications, Urrea moved to Boston, where he taught expository writing and fiction workshops at Harvard. He has also taught at Massachusetts Bay Community College and the University of Colorado. The interviewer first met Urrea at the Fishtrap writing conference in 2006, and some of her questions refer to statements he made there.

The Fourth River: You have said that “Writers build bridges, not borders.” Can you talk about the bridges you have built with your writing, and where they have taken you?

Luis Alberto Urrea: I hope I have built bridges. Perhaps a clearer metaphor is one I have been using lately: Writers like me stand outside the wall and throw love notes over the top, hoping somebody will find them.

It makes me feel a little pretentious to start listing all the ways in which I’ve saved the world. But if you’re asking about pure mediums of communication, I always say that from the first book on, I have tried to give voice to the voiceless and to make connections between people who had never thought much about each other. For example, the denizens of the Tijuana garbage dump and sophisticated readers in the United States, border patrol and Chicanos, curanderas and Jesuits.

Read More

Goats and Genre and Getting Closer to the Truth: An Interview with Brad Kessler

“All flesh begins as grass,” Brad Kessler writes in his 2009 memoir Goat Song: A Seasonal Life, A Short History of Herding, and the Art of Making Cheese. This is fitting for an exploration of the relationship between pastoralism and poetry—which is quite a strong relationship, by the way. Kessler is also the author of novels Lick Creek (Scribner, 2001) and Birds in Fall (Scribner, 2006).

He is the recipient of the Rome Prize from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, a Whiting Writer’s Award, a NEA fellowship, and The Dayton Literary Peace Prize. Kessler’s work has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, The Nation, BOMB, The Kenyon Review, and The New Yorker.

He lives in Vermont with his wife and raises dairy goats in addition to writing. Kessler’s work is “bread labor,” the kind of effort that sustains us: making cheese and writing books, crafting each detail carefully by hand. I sat down with him when he visited Chatham as the Melanie Brown Lecturer on March 16, 2011.

The Fourth River: So, I’m interested in this ambidextrous ability that you have with both nonfiction and fiction—and you started as a children’s writer.

Brad Kessler: I actually started in nonfiction. My training was in journalism, or, rather, nonfiction writing—back then, the term “creative nonfiction” didn’t exist. The first time I heard “CNF,” I thought it was a railroad line, like “the CNF doesn’t stop here anymore.” [Laughs] The children’s book writing was really a way of making money and learning how stories—particularly folk tales– were put together: a sort of infancy of narrative. It was interesting training for how to write fiction.

Read More

An Interview: In the Flow with Evan Morgan Williams

Evan Morgan Williams, 47, is a writer from Portland, Oregon. His character-driven stories explore personal interaction, as well as the modes and nature of communication. He has published over thirty stories in literary magazines, including Witness, The Kenyon Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Northwest Review, and issue 2 of The Fourth River. His story “Maybe I Want to Tell You” can be found in issue 8 of The Fourth River.

The Fourth River: In “Ivory,” you write about a character with a cochlear implant, and in “Talking Hands, Blue Eyes,” you write about a boy who refuses to speak and relies upon Native American signing to communicate. Is this a common theme in your writing: characters with communication disabilities? And if so, what drew you to the subject?

Evan Morgan Williams: Broken communication is a common theme in my stories. In the case of “Ivory” and “Talking Hands,” the characters have tangible barriers to communication, but I think they symbolize broken communication in general. In fact, a lot of the dialogue in my stories is fundamentally disrupted; characters talk at each other, not back and forth, but that’s the way it is in life. Real people don’t maintain a continuous line when they talk to each other, and I don’t like stories where that’s happening. Most television shows suffer from that. Just watch an episode of Law and Order to see what I mean. The great dialogue writers, such as Hemingway and Carver, have broken communication.

Read More

Pirouettes and Courage: An Interview with Daniel Duane

Daniel Duane is the author of seven books, including the surf memoir Caught Inside, A Surfer’s Year on the California Coast. His journalism, appearing in Men’s Journal, The New York Times Magazine,  Bon Appetit, GQ, and Esquire, has won a National Magazine Award and received a nomination for a James Beard Award. His latest book, How To Cook Like A Man, A Memoir of Cookbook Obsession, was recently published by Bloomsbury. He lives in San Francisco with his wife and two daughters.

We were really excited that Daniel agreed to be interviewed by us, and we’re even more excited to have Cody Leutgens, a student at Chatham who happens to be an avid surfer, available to conduct it.

The Fourth River: After rising in the morning, what is your day-to-day like, and how is your writing routine incorporated?

Daniel Duane: I have young children, so I like to get them ready and out the door for school. I take a lot of pleasure out of making bacon and pancakes for my daughters; it’s a really nice way to start the day.  Plus, my wife is a fulltime writer and also works from home, so we share.

Read More