I rarely begin a story knowing where it will lead or if a character will hold up against a situation.
Other people’s tragedies often look uniformly grim and depressing, but the stories of our own tragedies usually look much more complicated—truly terrible events juxtaposed with absurdity and sometimes even joy.
I do think it’s important for writers to help other writers. In no way is writing or publishing a zero-sum game or a competition.
It also made me realize how unreliable our memory is—how it’s full of poorly remembered incidents, of memories that may not even be our own, and how hard the work of remembering is.
I think the stories reflect the purpose for which they were written, which was: to be read aloud to a room full of other writers at a community open mic.
“Seeing the evolution of Blood Meridian just reminds me of the value of the process: which involves drafting and revising, tinkering and experimenting, and for most writers, and certainly me, an unhurried attitude towards creative work.”
Genuine flash must be hard as diamonds, warm as poetry.
I found myself drawn to the idea of taking these big, comic book concepts and applying them to a quiet story about loss and the poison of nostalgia.
Poetry and creative nonfiction are both about associations.
The world has so many great stories, and to limit the tales based on what readers may want, instead of offering them fresh slices of life through story, is a huge mistake.