Introducing 2015 Debutante: Diane Cook

ManVnature HCOn May 15th, at our 6th annual Literary Debutante Ball, One Story will be celebrating 10 of our authors who have published their debut books over the past year. In the weeks leading up to the Ball, we’ll be introducing our Debs through a series of interviews.

This week we’re chatting with Diane Cook. Diane Cook’s short story collection Man V. Nature is full of stories that are disorienting yet somehow recognizable and telling depictions of very human characters in extreme situations. A widow moves to a facility where she is expected to forget her late husband and prepare for her official placement with another man. A woman refuses to resign herself to the tradition that a mysterious man will kidnap her newborn children as soon as she drops her guard, though the rest of the neighborhood urges her to accept the inevitable. A group of ten-year-old boys who are declared “not needed” escape their state-mandated destruction and must fend for themselves in the forest. As Ira Glass said of Diane Cook’s stories, “Many of them are dispatches from the end of the world, and it turns out to be a surprisingly familiar place.”

1) Where were you and what were you doing when you found out your first book was going to be published? What did you do to celebrate?

I believe I was in my apartment on the phone. I remember it being kind of fraught and me feeling a bit frantic. You could imagine me like Johnny from Airplane! in this scene.  On second thought, you should imagine I’m all the characters in it. In fact, I believe this is a documentary someone made about the process of trying to sell a book.

You know, we were so broke at the time I’m pretty sure we didn’t even celebrate properly. We probably drank a reasonably tasty reasonably priced bottle of sparkling wine and watched free Hulu. I feel so boring right now.

2) As you said in your One Story interview about “Meteorologist Dave Santana,” the stories in Man V. Nature are about characters giving free rein to impulses people generally feel social pressure to quash. At what point did you recognize that the stories you’d written shared a theme that could bundle them into collection? How did the book come together after that?

I was just writing stories for a couple of years. Then I began to formulate this series of questions for myself about the world and these questions led to certain story ideas. This work built a kind of web of ideas that a few stories lived in. Then, looking back I could see that a couple of stories I’d written in the past seemed to act almost like the delicate anchors to that web. Then it became a book to me and I wrote more stories from there. But really, even though I grouped the stories and called it a book, it wasn’t until I had given the book to others to read and they responded, “This really comes together as a book” that I believed that it actually DID come together as a book.

3) Many of the stories are set in worlds that are only different from ours in one highly specific, brutal way that the characters take for granted. (I’m thinking of “Moving On,” “Somebody’s Baby,” “A Wanted Man,” “The Mast Year,”
and “The Not-Needed Forest” in particular.) What draws you to these situations and how do you come up with them? Did you have any ideas that didn’t make it into a story?

Some of these stories came from me asking What if questions about the world. What if things happened that way instead of this way? What if daily life looked like this and not that? And whatever lens I’m looking through is kind of dictating what I’m seeing, what I’m wondering about. Most of the stories you just named came about that way. It’s fun and fascinating to think about the world this way. But one story—”The Not-Needed Forest”—came about from reading about a lot of deep wilderness living and from trying to write an homage to an homage while at the same time homage-ing the original homaged story (specifically “Young Goodman Brown” by Hawthorne and “The Man in the Black Suit” by King.) What came out of those initial thoughts all swirling around wasn’t that different from the story you can read in the book but it was a shell, lifeless. You ask what makes it into a story and what doesn’t. I think at some point no matter your goals or hopes for the story were, you have to let the story take over. The early draft was really homage-y. But there were these little bubbles coming up, trying to lift the story out of itself, trying to take advantage of what I’d gotten on the page. So I let them come up. You have to if you want to be really surprised by what you’re working on. The best parts of that story came from letting my original intentions go.

4) If you could meet one character from the book in real life, which one would you choose? What would you want to say to or do with them?

Even though I put them through some extreme paces, I love my characters. Gary from “The Way the End of Days Should Be” and Janet from “Meteorologist Dave Santana” are two favorites. I know people can read Stan and Susan in “It’s Coming” as a bit comical, and I used to too, but now they make me weep. I probably relate most to Jane from “The Mast Year.” But if I could meet anyone I’d want to meet Beatrice, the daughter in “Somebody’s Baby.” I want to follow her through her day and see if she is as mysterious and unsettling as her mother thinks she is, or if she is just a little girl.

5) What are you most looking forward to about the One Story ball?

I’m really looking forward to meeting people I only know by name or avatar. A few months after I sold the book we moved to California. It was unplanned and unexpected and pretty stupid timing. We’d lived in New York for a decade and I’d wanted to leave for half those years, but just when living in New York might actually be fun and useful—like, now that I’m a writer maybe I’ll get invited to literary parties!—we bailed. It was probably for the best. I’m a terrible party-goer and pretty timid in crowds. But it was a weird thing to feel like a New York writer (I’d written the book in New York after all) but not actually be one anymore. Imagine all the people I might have met this year if we’d never left. I hope to meet some of them at the Ball.

Introducing 2015 Debutante: Matt Sumell

making niceOn May 15th, at our 6th annual Literary Debutante Ball, One Story will be celebrating 10 of our authors who have published their debut books over the past year. In the weeks leading up to the Ball, we’ll be introducing our Debs through a series of interviews.

This week we’re chatting with Matt Sumell, author of One Story Issue #201 “All Lateral” and the debut story collection Making Nice, available now from Henry Holt. Thanks to Matt for taking time out to talk with us about publishing his first book, memory, first-person, and jolly ranchers.

Where were you when you found out your first book was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

I got the call while I was in the middle of a writer’s group thing with my great and talented friends Marisa Matarazzo, Michael Andreasen, and—One Story Debutante herself—Ramona Ausubel. We still had a few stories to go through, but after finishing up we walked down the block to a bar called The Hudson where I popped a jolly rancher in my mouth and washed it down with five vodka sodas before I pedaled home and made my first purchase: a bigger Brita. Pretty sure I’ve been dehydrated for decades.

It was only about six stories in that I realized Alby was the narrator for all of the stories in Making Nice. That isn’t because he’s an inconsistent narrator, it’s that the world in each story is so fully developed that they seem like stand alone pieces. Reflecting on it, though, the structure of Making Nice definitely suites its story. Could you elaborate more on the form and the way Making Nice developed?

As Barry Hannah put it: “I like the first person—just a guy blasting through with the little he knows.” Me too. And when you have a narrator blasting through the wreckage of his life—taking inventory, trying to sense-make it a little bit, salvage what he can—it makes some sense that it’s not going to track chronologically. You don’t start at point A and move in a hard straight line to point whatever. Memory meanders, circles, loops. It gets tangled. Pull one string and something else comes with it. One memory makes you think of another, and whether that thing happened ten years or three weeks ago is beside the point. Consider your mother. Does it run like a movie reel: your earliest memory to your last? If it does you’re fuckin’ weird.

From the moment Alby punched his sister in the boob, I loved him, and it was interesting to me that, as a woman, I could still relate to a character who expresses some form of misogyny at so many points. Were you surprised that women responded positively to the novel? How did you take gender into account when writing?

I didn’t really consider my potential audience much, if at all, and I certainly wasn’t attempting to please people. Not sure you can read this book and think I was even trying to come out of the gate clean. I’m not interested in that. I just wanted to present a guy honestly struggling with grief in a way that people can believe in–flaws and all—because bad choices—and bad behavior—make for good stories.

As for women responding positively—let’s be honest: some have and some haven’t. That’s fine, and I’m not sure it comes down to gender so much as the ability to read well. All that “misogyny” is surface level. Read a little deeper and it’s pretty clear that beneath all the flawed thinking—the temper, the bad choices, the drinking and drugging, the violence and the girl chasing—there’s an underlying sense of awe and appreciation when it comes to the people—especially the women—in Alby’s life. That he loved his mother. That his sister is important to him. That even at his worst—and there’s plenty of that—he looks back at past girlfriends with the understanding that the ladies who love you, and even a few who don’t, have a way of making things better, and worthwhile, and sometimes even nice.

Alby is decidedly a dog person, something that appealed to me, but I wonder if cat lovers sympathized with Whatsherface in “All Lateral.” Any plans to give cats a starring role in a future novel and gain access to a whole new world of feline-loving readership? 

Alby the dog lover is really—when you think about it—Alby the animal lover. Working from shoddy memory here: over the course of the book he sympathizes with a bird, turtles, an almost drowned grasshopper, gazelles, a wolf that eats gazelles, an elephant, a slug named Cherokee Bob, ducks, bulls, dogs, and—as much as I hate to admit it—even his father’s cat Steve.

What are you most looking forward to at the One Story ball?

What I always look forward to: celebrating with friends.

Issue #203: Rites by Matthew Baker

203-coverOn the outside, our new issue, “Rites” by Matthew Baker is a surreal twist on how to exit gracefully from life. But the core of this funny and surprising tale digs much deeper and comes out the other side, taking a stance that challenges society’s collective fear of aging—and values every moment that our hearts keep beating. Contributing Editor Will Allison brought “Rites” through our doors, so I’m turning the introductions over to him. We were all entranced and challenged by this extraordinary piece at One Story, and I hope that you are as well.—HT

Not long after my grandfather died from Alzheimer’s disease, I wrote a short story about a man who decides to kill himself after learning that he’s in the early stages of dementia. At the time, euthanasia activist Dr. Jack Kevorkian was in the news, and though I don’t know if my grandfather ever considered suicide (assisted or otherwise), I wanted to imagine a death for him in which he at least had a say.

That same notion—getting to choose how you’ll die—is what first drew me to the surprising, consequential story in our latest issue, Matthew Baker’s “Rites.” (Spoiler alert: I’m about to reveal the story’s premise, but I promise not to give away the ending.) “Rites” takes place at an unspecified time in the future when all responsible American citizens, upon reaching the age of 70, customarily kill themselves in the manner of their choosing. It’s not a requirement but rather a right—and a rite.

Enter Uncle Orson, a lethargic, retired history teacher who scandalizes his overlarge family by refusing to do “the rites.” As Uncle Orson’s nephew Zack tells him, “You can’t keep on, just, consuming resources, creating waste, without contributing anything to society. There are nineteen billion of us on this planet. A family planning policy helps prevent drought, prevent famine, wars over energy. By stalling, you’re hurting everybody, you’re hurting my generation, you’re hurting the kids’ generation, you’re hurting their kids’ generation, you’re living like a primitive.”

That the story finds so much humor in death is but one of its many charms. Yes, “Rites” raises big issues—the right to life, the right to death, the rights of the individual versus the rights of society—but above all it is an affectionate story of a family in crisis. I’m not sure I’ve ever read a story about death that’s so full of life, and maybe that’s the point.

If you want to know how things turn out for Uncle Orson and his family, read our latest issue. And don’t forget to take a look at our interview with the author to learn about the story behind the story and why Matthew Baker has decided against a sky burial.

Introducing 2015 Debutante: Austin Bunn

the brinkOn May 15th, at the 6th annual Literary Debutante Ball, One Story will be celebrating ten of our authors who have published their debut books this past year. As a lead up to the event, we’re introducing our Debs with a series of interviews about their debut books.

This week, we’re speaking with literary debutante Austin Bunn, author of One Story issue #68, “The Ledge.” Nearly 10 years ago, “The Ledge,” kept Editor-in-Chief Hannah Tinti wide awake in the middle of the night, so she called our publisher, Maribeth Batcha, right away to make sure we published Austin’s short story before anyone else.

It’s no surprise that Hannah was haunted by Austin’s work. Like a favorite Don DeLillo, J.G. Ballard, Chuck Palahniuk, or Jose Saramago novel, Austin’s collection will keep you up at night, pondering the bleak fate of humanity. Discovering the world is flat, suffocating in a suicidal cult, learning how to survive nuclear fallout, and terrorism on a tropical island: these snapshots merely scratch the surface of Austin Bunn’s short story collection, The Brink.

Austin’s stories are rich with imagination, exploring the complexity and resilience of each tested character. He explores sexuality, desire, and periods of transformation, ranging from 15th century Spain to 20th century San Diego. Austin’s ability to modulate his voice distinctly from one story to the next is a recognizable feat. While reading, you might ask: how could one man create ten such diverse stories? Austin has lived many lives as a boat carpenter, journalist, playwright, screenwriter, professor, and game designer for reality TV. Perhaps this allows him to crawl underneath the skin of such unique characters, perfectly emulating their point of view and tone.

We thank Austin for taking the time to answer a few questions about his book and the writing life.

Where were you when you found out that your first book, The Brink: Stories, was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

Watering the plants? Reheating coffee in the microwave? Restarting the AppleTV? It’s funny—you spend years waiting for the moment of knowing that your secret project, the countless hours of revision and rumination and prayer, will come to something, and when it happens, you’re on hold with NYSEG. I celebrated by taking myself out to lunch.

As a dramatist and the son of two language teachers, it’s no surprise that you begin the draft process by focusing on a voice. A voice grabs you and you hear the story first. You have so many unique, diverse voices in this short story collection. Where do you find inspiration?

I’ve always been drawn to premise and concept—maybe from too much science fiction and Stephen King in my youth?—but then I realized in my twenties that stories only happen because someone tells them. With that in mind: research. So, for example, once I got fascinated with end-time cults, I tracked down the Time magazine that had, as its cover, all the faces of those that died in the Heaven’s Gate suicide. Most of the faces were older, in their 40s and 50s and up. Just two of them were in their twenties: a young man and a young woman. And I thought to myself, what if they fell in love? I imbibed all the wild idiomatic expressions of their religion—thank you, language prof parents—and a story was born.

How long have you been working on this collection? Which story is the oldest story and which story is the newest?

I first dreamed of knitting a collection together in grad school at Iowa—when amazingly talented classmates (Kevin Moffitt, Nam Le, Matthew Vollmer) were teaching me how by building theirs. But mine was spazzy and not very considered, just the net of everything I’d done up to that point. The “oldest” story is the last, “Curious Father,” but I put it in quotes because after drafting it, I turned it into a play and then back into a story, where it became something else entirely. The “newest” are “Hazard 9″ and “The Worst You Can Imagine Is Where This Starts.”

Receiving encouragement from Marilynne Robinson at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, you completed research on the Spanish Inquisition while writing, “The Ledge.” How much research did you complete on the religious cult Heaven’s Gate while writing “The End of the Age Is Upon Us”?

Let me just say first that it would take a certain willful amnesia to call Marilynne Robinson’s response to the period, gay, sea-faring, ghost story “The Ledge” as “encouragement”! In that first draft, I was aiming for Poe and ended up at John Carpenter. You’re reading a much deepened, more honest, less performative version because of Marilynn’s spectacular let’s call it agnosticism towards that first draft. I did lots of research for “End of the Age”, since much of the cult’s ephemera remains online and was intended for the Internet: goodbye videos, testimonials, religious documentation. After a few months, I was convinced I needed to get to 0 emotionally as well.

In addition to research completed for this short story collection, you conducted research to write your biographical screenplay, Kill Your Darlings. How was that research process different from the research involved in writing these short stories? Do you research first and write second or do you write a first draft and then fill in the gaps with research? What advice do you have for fiction writers regarding research? How historically accurate does a fictional story need to be?

I love research—it feels like the story writes itself. This was especially true for Kill Your Darlings, though at a certain point, there is just not any information and you have to invent. I always read first and immerse myself and take notes and then start drafting when I’m most excited by the material. Then you hit dramatic or emotional corners, and invention is your way out (though I’m proud of just how accurate the film is). I used to be a journalist, so I trust actuality and fact perhaps more than other fiction writers. But I am also a former journalist for that very reason—the world doesn’t always produce stories.

One of the many reasons why your stories are powerful is because they are dark. Why do you feel drawn to writing apocalyptic stories?

A friend just read the collection and told me the same thing, Austin, these stories are so dark—I don’t think of them as dark as much as worlds under threat. My honest answer is that I’m terrified of boring people—the pathology of having of an alcoholic parent—and the fiction that grips me, that compels me to read forward and stay up and see where it goes (Sam Lipsyte, J.G. Ballard, Saunders, Kelly Link) tends to explore the edges of disaster, catastrophe, annihilation. I’m also a kid who grew up convinced that the world would end before I was the age I am now. That does things to you!

At the end of your collection, you mention some of your favorite speculative fiction writers. Would you consider stories from this collection to fit into the speculative genre as well? Do you have any advice for emerging writers who feel like their work doesn’t fit in with “the norm”?

I do find myself drawn to speculative fiction—the permission it gives—and some of these stories might fit the category. But I also love the writers who seem to move in and out of whatever category created for them. There are so many great outlets for work now, and I think the success of these less conventional writers (Saunders especially) has tested what “the norm” is. I’m just drawn to voice primarily, less so genre, so my advice is to trust your point of view more than anything. After “The Ledge” was rejected by two dozen other publications, Hannah Tinti pulled it from the submission pile and it was my first published story. Keep the faith.

What are you most looking forward to at the One Story ball?

Being given away. I want to see what that looks like.

Introducing 2015 Debutante: Ted Thompson

steadyhabitsOn May 15th, at our 6th annual Literary Debutante Ball, One Story will be celebrating 10 of our authors who have published their debut books over the past year. In the weeks leading up to the Ball, we’ll be introducing our Debs through a series of interviews.

This week we’re chatting with Ted Thompson, the first of our debutantes to hail from our sibling publication, One Teen Story, and it happened in the most innocent way. Not long after his debut novel, The Land of Steady Habits, came out, Ted wrote a short story called “The Beasts of St. Andrew’s.” When his agent read it and said it was a very fine piece of young adult writing, this was news to Ted (who didn’t know he was writing YA). And when the story subsequently came across our desk at One Teen Story and we read it and loved it and offered to publish it, we had no idea that Ted had recently published his first novel with Little, Brown.

The Land of Steady Habits is not a YA novel. (You might flip to almost any random page to confirm this, such as the one where the main character, a husband and father in his early sixties, smokes PCP with a friend’s teenage son.) It’s a very grownup novel about a not-so-grownup man who has decided to turn his back on his marriage, his home, his life—only to find himself clumsily second-guessing his every move. We spoke to Ted about what it was like to write, revise, and publish a book about a character coming unhinged.

Where were you when you found out The Land of Steady Habits was going to be published? How did you celebrate? 

I found out the novel would be published on my 30th birthday. That may seem a little too tidy to be believed, but it’s how it happened. The problem was that I had been out the night before with some friends trying not to think about the fact that my book was on submission, and celebrating my impending birthday with a regrettable amount of boozy frozen drinks, so when the call came I was in no shape to celebrate the big news. In fact, I almost didn’t pick up the phone! I was still in bed, feeling awful. I think I faked my way through the call well enough, though I doubt I sounded as enthusiastic as I should have. It really wasn’t until the next day when I could process what exactly had happened. And I think I’m still processing it.

The main character of your novel, Anders, decides in his early sixties to dismantle his life. Part of the fun of reading the book is that we get to watch this dismantling layer by layer. As the creator/conductor/overseer, were you rooting for Anders the whole time, or were you also wincing now and then?

I can’t actually remember my earliest impulses with this book, but it’s probably safe to assume that when I started working on the book I thought I would be rooting for Anders’ destructive impulses. But it only took twenty pages of writing it to understand I was way more interested in the role that regret played in his life, and the fact that he’s continually drawn to the very thing he’s just rejected. So I’m not sure I winced for him so much as felt for him and his competing impulses. I suppose I’m always interested in a character’s shame.

Can you tell us a little about how different The Land of Steady Habits is from the manuscript your agent originally sent to your editor?

Oh gosh, it was a lot different. The major thing was that the novel was originally told from just one character’s point of view. It was all Anders, and we had no access to anyone else. So it wasn’t until I was nearly a year into my edits that I decided to try a major rewrite. I was stuck, and beginning to despair, when I thought “What if I just changed the rules of the novel, the basic physics of how the whole thing is put together?” To me, it wasn’t until I did that–opened up the point of view to other characters–that I was able to find the book’s structure.

Darin Strauss and others have compared this book to John Updike’s Rabbit, Run. Did that comparison surprise you? Would you list Updike among your major influences? And are there—just maybe—more chapters that might emerge one day in the story of Anders Hill?

They surprised me in that the comparison is both flattering and lovingly exaggerated. Darin was a teacher of mine and will be my mentor at the Debutante Ball, and his kind words were helpful for marketing the book. But while I admire the Rabbit novels to no end, the comparison is likely the most apt in terms of subject matter (that is, a domestic novel focusing on a male character of a certain social class with destructive impulses). It’s a tempting thought, writing more about these characters long after the events that this novel covers. I doubt I’d jump into that project anytime soon, but I suppose it’s best to never say never.

What are you looking forward to most at the Debutante Ball on May 15th?

I was fortunate enough to attend last year’s ball and I’m still thinking about the potency of that gin cocktail. So that’s one thing. But mostly I’m looking forward to meeting the other debutantes and celebrating how supportive One Story is to young writers (and also enjoying the fact that none of us has to give a reading).

Introducing 2015 Debutante: Andrew Roe

Miracle-girl-final-coverOn May 15th, at our 6th annual Literary Debutante Ball, One Story will be celebrating 10 of our authors who have published their debut books over the past year. In the weeks leading up to the Ball, we’ll be introducing our Debs through a series of interviews.

First up is Andrew Roe, author of One Story issue #41 “America’s Finest City” and the upcoming novel Miracle Girl,  available from Algonquin Books in April.

“The crowds keep coming. More and more every day it seems . . . drawn by rumor and whisper and desperate wish. Somehow they heard about the little girl on Shaker Street.”

So begins Andrew Roe’s debut novel, which tells the story of eight-year-old comatose “miracle girl” Annabelle Vincent, her family, and the believers and skeptics who flock to see her. Set in Los Angeles at the end of the millennium, the novel offers a moving and unforgettable exploration of the mysteries of faith.

“Roe inhabits characters who are desperate to believe and reveals to us their needs and wounds and hopes, and he does so with kindness, generosity, and wisdom,” says author Doug Dorst. “This is a novel about what it means to be human, to seek connection and hope and maybe even transcendence in the world around us.”

Thanks to Andy for taking the time to answer a few questions about his work for One Story.

1. Where were you when you found out your first book was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

I was at work. Right after I found out, I had to go into a meeting. There I was, bubbling and bursting with the news, but I couldn’t tell anyone until after the meeting was over. As for celebrating: on the way home, I stopped off to buy champagne and chocolate cake, which I shared with my wife and kids (well, no champagne for the kids).

2. When I first had the pleasure of reading your debut novel, The Miracle Girl, the book was called Believers. What occasioned the title change, and are you willing to share any other runner-up titles?

From the book’s inception (or pretty soon thereafter), I had the title Believers. I didn’t ever really seriously consider any other titles, so no runners-up to report. The name change came about when my publisher (Algonquin) suggested it. Though I was pretty attached to Believers, they thought that The Miracle Girl was a more evocative, engaging title, and one that ultimately would generate more interest in the book. And in the end, they were right. The Miracle Girl was the best title for the book. It was a good lesson in letting go.

3. Where did the idea for The Miracle Girl come from?

I’m going to date myself here: It started back in the mid to late 90s, when I saw an episode of the ABC news program 20/20. There was a segment about a young girl named Audrey Santo, who had almost drowned in a swimming pool accident, and as a result, she was in a coma-like state, unable to move or speak. At some point, stories started to circulate about her being the cause of miracles (weeping statues, healing the sick, etc.), and people began showing up at the Santo home seeking her help and intervention. I thought that would make an interesting premise for a story—perhaps a novel. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories you hear about Jesus or Mary appearing in a shower curtain or tree stump, and how people are drawn to such events. Why do they come? What do they hope to find? Do they really believe they’ll encounter evidence of the divine in the everyday?

After watching the episode, I jotted down a few ideas, and I think I might have even had the opening line (“The crowds keep coming”). I also had the notion that there would be many characters and multiple points of view, including the girl’s family and the visitors who come to the house—believers, skeptics, the curious, the sick.

So that was the spark. Then I ventured down a path of what if. What if the girl’s family, unlike the Santo family, weren’t religious and weren’t sure what to make of these supposed miracles? What if the story were set in suburban Los Angeles (where I’m from) and took place at the close of the millennium, amid all the buzz of reckoning and doom and Y2K? I started making stuff up. Years went by, and I ended up stopping and writing another novel, a short story collection too, but I finally came back to The Miracle Girl. The spark, fortunately, was still there.

4. What do you believe in?

My family. Tacos. Books. Music. Kindness. Humility. Empathy. Quietly kicking ass. San Diego craft beer. Coffee. Exceptions to the rule.

5. What are you most looking forward to about the One Story Ball?

Getting to hang out with other writers and the wonderful One Story staff. And Brooklyn too.

Introducing One Story’s 2015 Literary Debutantes!

One Story is thrilled to announce our 2015 Literary Debutantes:

denver_debs_203540_9260picA.jpg

These 10 marvelous One Story authors have all published their first books in the past year. Their debuts will be celebrated on Friday, May 15, 2015 at the annual One Story Literary Debutante Ball. Each writer will be formally “presented” to the literary community, escorted by one or more of their mentors: established authors and/or editors who have helped make their first books possible. The One Story debutante ball will feature cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, live music and dancing. VIP tickets are now available. General Admission will go on sale April 1st.

Issue #202: Storm Windows by Charles Haverty

202-coverpngCharles Haverty’s marvelous “Storm Windows” reminded me of switching out the storms in my family’s creaky old house each spring and winter. It also made me grateful for every moment—even doing annoying chores—spent with loved ones.  Contributing Editor Will Allison brought this heartfelt piece to our pages, so I’m passing the introduction reins into his expert hands. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I did. -HT

A few weeks ago, my 71-year-old dad called from South Carolina to tell me he wants to be cremated, not buried. He delivered the news matter-of-factly, but I held my breath as I waited for the bad news that surely came next.

“Is something going on?” I said. “With your health?”

“Me?” My dad laughed. “No, no. I’m good as ever. Still plugging along.” He explained that a high-school friend of his had just passed away, and it had gotten him thinking. Since I hold his power of attorney, he said, he just wanted to make sure I was clear on his wishes.

I hung up feeling relieved but with a lingering sense of having escaped a close call: one day, maybe someday soon, the news would not be so good.

Lionel Detweiler—the narrator of “Storm Windows,” by Charles Haverty—knows the feeling, and all too well. In our latest issue, he recounts three such near-misses involving his father, beginning with a half-hilarious, half-heart-stopping childhood Christmas when the elder Detweiler cannot breathe, or thinks he can’t breathe, or has a spell of some kind—it’s not exactly clear, but it’s funnier than a heart attack.

The story then vaults ahead to Lionel’s adult life, when his father survives two more brushes with death, real or imagined, including one in which Lionel nearly kills the old man himself. But don’t be fooled by the story’s comic bent: this is fiction primarily concerned with the big D, and even as Haverty’s lights-out prose had me laughing, it also had me staring down my parents’ mortality and my own.

As much as I love the first three parts of the story, though, it’s the fourth and final act that still leaves me with honest-to-goodness goose bumps each time I read it. I won’t spoil the ending for you, but if you’d like to find out how it figured into Haverty’s original conception of “Storm Windows,” and if you’d like to learn more about the story behind the story, please check out our Q&A with the author.

Issue #201: All Lateral
by Matt Sumell

201-cover No one works 9-5 anymore. Instead we’re always working, often at more than one job. Most people I know have at least two, sometimes three or four sources of income, pasting together enough to pay the rent and the heating bill with a little left over for groceries and maybe a drink at the bar. Writers don’t often write about work, but in our new issue, Matt Sumell’s “All Lateral,” jobs are everything. The narrator in this wild, voice-driven story pumps gas at a marina and knocks out drywall, surrounded by a decaying landscape and haunted by the death of his mother. Frustrated and lost, he chooses to float—through his emotions and his choices— living on a boat with a dog named Jason. Thank goodness for Jason! And thank goodness for Matt Sumell’s “All Lateral,” which finds hope in the darkest corners. I hope you’ll check out Matt’s Q&A with us on how he wrote this moving, man-not-on-a-mission story, and then buy his collection, Making Nice, which Publisher’s Weekly said was “even more fun than eavesdropping in a confession booth” and “demonstrates an almost painful compassion for the sinner in most of us.” In the meantime, let’s raise a glass to all those sinners working past 5, and to dogs everywhere, scratching at the door, forcing us to go outside and notice the world.