One Story Literary Debutante Ball 2017: The Pictures!

Angela Flournoy & Mentor of the Year Lan Samantha Chang

Thanks to everyone who came out and sponsored our Literary Debutante Ball in Brooklyn on May 12th. We heard inspiring speeches by Angela Flournoy and Mentor of the Year Lan Samantha Chang, ate delicious food, mingled with publishers, editors, readers and writers, toasted with beer from Brooklyn Brewery and cocktails from Tito’s Vodka, and danced the night away with the Blue Vipers of Brooklyn and DJ Reborn. Most important, we celebrated the first books of One Story’s 2017’s Literary Debutantes: Sam Allingham, The Great American Songbook (A Strange Object), Angelica Baker, Our Little Racket (Ecco), Clare Beams, We Show What We Have Learned (Lookout Books), Julie Buntin, Marlena (Henry Holt), Anne Corbitt, Rules for Lying (Southeast Missouri State University Press), Gabrielle Lucille Fuentes, The Sleeping World (Touchstone), Lisa Ko, The Leavers (Algonquin Books), Emily Ruskovich, Idaho (Random House), Melissa Yancy, Dog Years (University of Pittsburgh Press). Here are some pictures to remember that special night. A play by play of the evening was also featured in LitHub.  Enjoy!

 

 

Q&A with One Story’s 2017 Mentor of the Year: Lan Samantha Chang

At One Story, we believe that being a part of the literary community should include helping others. In that vein, each year at our Literary Debutante Ball we honor one established author with a “Mentor of the Year” award for their extraordinary support of fellow writers. This year, our Mentor of the Year is Lan Samantha Chang.

Mentoring is the kind of work that happens behind the scenes, but is vital to keep the literary world alive and kicking. It comes in all forms—from teaching, to blurbs, to recommendation letters, to late-night reads, agent advice, one-on-one conferences, career guidance and inspiration. Behind each book on the shelf is an unseen mentor, giving an author the help they need to make their work better, to keep writing when they are ready to quit, and eventually give them a boost over the publishing wall.

Lan Samantha Chang exemplifies this kind of gallant hard work, and we’ll be honoring her, along with our Literary Debutantes this Friday May 12th at the One Story Literary Debutante Ball at Roulette in Brooklyn.

In today’s post, Sam kindly took time from her busy schedule to talk with One Story about writing and teaching, the importance of being a mentor, and what she’s looking forward to the most at the big party this coming Friday.

  1. You’ve been a great supporter of emerging writers. But who were your mentors and how did they help you along the way?

I was fortunate to work with extraordinary teachers when I was starting out.  At the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, I studied with James Alan McPherson, Frank Conroy, and Marilynne Robinson—all famous to the world for their writing and, to their students, for their presence in the classroom.  Each of them made at least one remark about my work that I will remember forever. But the special person who has read my work the most, and whom I turn to when I want to shed a tear, is the wonderful novelist Margot Livesey, who was a visiting professor at the Workshop at that time and is now on the permanent faculty there.

After the Workshop, I had the very good fortune to receive Wallace Stegner and Truman Capote Fellowships at Stanford University, where I studied with John L’Heureux, Nancy Packer, and Elizabeth Tallent.  They were all very generous with me, and Elizabeth, who is still at the program, remains vibrantly in my mind as a writing professor who somehow, by her presence, taught me the possibilities of life.  Eavan Boland, as well, gave me unforgettable guidance about what it means to be a writer in the world.

  1. Any words of advice for our nine Debutantes as they start their literary careers?

My one bit of advice is to keep hold of that part of you that first compelled you to start writing through the vicissitudes of “career.”  A writing life and a writing career are two separate things, and it’s especially crucial to keep the first.

  1. For the past twelve years, you’ve been the director of the Iowa Writing Program. How do you find a balance between teaching and writing?

Since taking on the directorship I have published one novel, All Is Forgotten, Nothing Is Lost.  Frankly, I lost the balance for a few years there, but I am regaining it now.  I’m not sure how writing has come back to me, but I’m very grateful.  I don’t know if I have any advice about keeping balanced.  It’s a challenge and being a parent on top of it is perhaps more challenging.  I’m lucky that my partner is a wonderful, deeply understanding father and husband.

  1. Your work has appeared twice in Best American Short Stories. Can you talk a bit about what you think makes for a great piece of short fiction?

People try to find rules for short story writing, and there are none.  Greatness is indescribable—you know it when you see it.  But I do think that a great short story is both ruthless and complete.  I also think that a great short story clearly belongs to only one author. 

  1. What are you looking forward to the most about the One Story Literary Debutante Ball on May 12th?

Discounting a couple of award ceremonies, the One Story Literary Debutante Ball will be the first bona fide New York Literary gala event I’ve flown East to attend for since I moved to Iowa.  So there’s something exciting about looking forward to the experience. I anticipate with great excitement the “coming out” of the debut writers. I’m also looking forward to seeing former students and colleagues.  I’m thrilled that Angela Flournoy will be there, and I can’t wait to see Michelle Huneven and Emily Ruskovich.

Introducing 2017 Debutante: Lisa Ko

On May 12th, at our 8th annual Literary Debutante BallOne Story will be celebrating nine 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 talking to Lisa Ko, author of One Teen Story Issue #14, “Proper Girls” and the novel The Leavers.

The Leavers is a story about family and identity, spanning nearly twenty years. Eleven year-old Deming Guo lives with his mother Polly in the Bronx. One day, Polly goes to her job at the nail salon and never returns. When Deming is adopted by a suburban white couple in upstate New York, he becomes Daniel Wilkinson, beginning the arduous journey to discover not only his true self but the fate of a mother long lost.

Wynne Kontos: Where were you when you found out The Leavers was going to be published and how did you celebrate?

Lisa Ko: I lost my phone while I was on vacation. I hadn’t been able to get my voicemail or email all week because there was no reception, and when I got back to New York I checked my email and found a message from Barbara Kingsolver saying she had been trying to call me for days and to please call her immediately. It was about the PEN/Bellwether Prize, which Barbara established and funds, and which comes with a book contract with Algonquin Books. I’d submitted my manuscript months ago and promptly forgotten about it. When I called Barbara with my boyfriend’s phone, she told me I’d won. I was too jet-lagged for it to really sink in — I think I celebrated that afternoon by drinking coffee and then passing out— but the next morning I woke up at five in the morning and was like, OH MY GOD!

WK: There seemed to be a parallel between Deming’s biological mother Polly and his adoptive mother Kay when it came to the concept of “motherhood.” Both have very different journeys that lead them to being Deming’s mother. Both women are not without faults, but feel real love for the same child. Can you talk more about your exploration of motherhood and its variety of roles?

LK: Polly and Kay are both imperfect women doing the best they can. They also want the best for Deming, or what they feel is the best for him. On a more thematic level, they are inseparable from larger forces of class, race, language access, and citizenship status, and this impacts their parenting and expectations. Kay and her husband Peter can provide Deming with economic resources, but Polly can provide him with connections to culture, family, and identity. I wanted to explore the differences between the two.

WK: Deming (later Daniel) performs poorly in academics, which causes him to struggle as a child. Being a bad student is an example of how Deming’s life and family defy cultural stereotypes we see about the Asian community. Did you intend to confront these racial stereotypes?

LK: I didn’t set out to strategically write against stereotype—I just wanted to create a fully developed character. Deming’s poor academic performance is tied to the upheavals in his childhood, some uninspiring teachers, and his interests being more in art and music than in the traditional academic areas that his adoptive parents value and pressure him to pursue. I do hope my characters reflect the full diversity of Asian Americans. There are definitely plenty of Asian kids who are terrible students!

WK: Deming/Daniel also struggles with a gambling addiction. The addiction seems to come out of nowhere, though it’s obvious he is incredibly isolated without a lot of support systems. What role did the gambling addiction serve in exploring Deming/Daniel’s character?

LK: There’s a certain obsessiveness about Daniel’s character, as well as a desire for risk-taking. That, and his perfect poker face—a skill honed from having to pretend, to hide his true feelings in his new adopted family and town—make him susceptible to succeeding as a gambler. The theme of gambling is also prevalent throughout The Leavers. Chance, luck, the arbitrariness of immigration policies, and even being in the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time affect my characters’ lives in pivotal ways. From a storytelling point of view, Daniel’s gambling addiction is something he needs to face as part of his character’s journey. He treats others poorly because he’s not being honest to himself, and he has to learn to make decisions for himself rather than doing what others want him to do, whether it’s his parents or his friends.  

WK: In conversation with Barbara Kingsolver, you mentioned getting inspiration from the New York Times reports about women who were separated from their children and imprisoned in immigration camps. Immigration has been a growing cultural and political issue in recent years, but it has taken on new meaning after the inauguration of President Donald Trump. This just four months before the release of your debut novel about how unethical immigration practices can cause enormous harm for families and individuals. What role do you hope your novel has had and will continue to have in this growing conversation?

LK: By personalizing one fictional family’s story, I’d love for The Leavers to clear some misconceptions about undocumented immigration, as well as raise awareness about the for-profit prison system and its ties to U.S. immigration policies. These policies have been in place for years, and didn’t start with the Trump administration. There are “bed quotas” that mandate that a certain number of immigrants need to be imprisoned at any given time—during the Obama administration it was 34,040 immigrants per day. Trump would like to double it. Private prisons are profiting, big time, off of xenophobia, racism, the criminalization of immigrants, and the separation of families like Polly and Deming’s.

WK: The concept of “identity” is at the forefront of this novel in almost every way. Deming/Daniel and his mother both explore dual Chinese-American personas, the Wilkinsons learn what it means to be an individual versus a parent, even Deming’s best friend Michael uses academics to reach a new phase of adulthood. Each character in the novel is searching for their truest meaning, either because they have yet to find it or they feel it has been lost. Why is identity such an important concept for you as a writer and what does it mean to you?

LK: American culture in general has always been obsessed with identity and the right to define ourselves—self-determination, right? If we’re referring to racial and ethnic identity, I think that Asian Americans are often so invisible in media, and when we are visible, we’re often being defined by others. So to define ourselves and center our stories is to assert our own humanity in a way, and that can be critical. Polly and Deming deal with this, too: their own search for belonging is also a desire to be fully seen, understood, and to be able to define themselves on their own terms, rather than to be forced to fit the more limiting definitions that are placed upon them.

WK: What are you most looking forward to at the Debutante Ball?

LK: Having my story “Proper Girls” published in One Teen Story was a big turning point for me during a time when it felt like nothing was going well with my writing. I’m so excited to celebrate with One Story and the other authors!

One Story authors win a Pushcart & the Rea Award for the Short Story

One Story is proud to congratulate two of our authors, Jim Shepard and Jason Zencka, who have received prestigious recognition for their work.

Jim Shepard has won the Rea Award for the Short Story, following the publication of his celebrated new collection, The World to Come. The title story of this collection was first published in One Story, and went on to be included in Best American Short Stories 2013. The Washington Post writes, “Established in 1986, the Rea Award is given to writers who have made a ‘significant contribution’ to short stories. Prize judges cited Shepard’s ‘prodigious research’ into history and science and ‘X-ray vision of the soul.’ ” The Rea Award provides $30,000 to the recipient.

Shepard has taught for many years at Sirenland, an international writing conference co-founded by Hannah Tinti, Dani Shapiro, Michael Maren and Antonio Sersale. In 2016 he was honored with the Mentor of the Year Award at One Story’s Literary Debutante Ball. He’s an important member of the One Story family and we couldn’t be more thrilled to see him recognized for his long commitment to the short stories.

One Story is also thrilled to announce that Issue #216, “Catacombs,” by Jason Zencka has won a Pushcart Prize! “Catacombs” was Zencka’s first publication. The Pushcart Prize has been honoring writers published by small presses since 1976.

Join us in applauding both writers on these exciting awards!

Introducing 2017 Debutante: Anne Corbitt

On May 12th, at our 8th annual Literary Debutante BallOne Story will be celebrating nine 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 Anne Corbitt, author of One Story issue #129, “The Tornado Bandit”. Her debut novel, Rules for Lying, was released last September from Southeast Missouri State University Press after winning the Nilsen Prize for a First Novel.

In suburban Atlanta, Georgia, high school sophomore Langley accuses her classmate Kevin of sexual assault, which he denies. Rumors swell and the entire town forms their opinions on who’s telling the truth in the face of a stalling police investigation. The novel follows Langley, Kevin, and the people closest to them as this incident wreaks havoc on all of their lives. Rules for Lying makes us question the truth in situations, while Corbitt’s vivid prose and masterful cultivations of suspense make this small town come alive with intrigue.

Kaitlin McManus: Where were you when you found out that Rules for Lying was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

Anne Corbitt: As anyone who’s sent out a manuscript will tell you, for a few months there, I got in the habit of answering any unknown number that popped up on my phone. Friends I would send to voicemail, my mom would get a text back, but if it was an area code I didn’t recognize, I’d take the call in the shower. One night, though, I missed a call from a number that Google told me meant Missouri. It was too late to call back, so I spent the night telling myself that it wasn’t what I wanted it to be, that it was almost definitely a bill collector or a limited-time offer for a timeshare.

Then I got an email from Susan Swartwout at Southeast Missouri State University Press asking to schedule a phone call. It wasn’t the call, I told myself. There was no way.

When you’ve only ever really wanted one thing, it feels impossible to imagine a future past that wanting.

So the next afternoon, when I got on the phone with Susan, I didn’t even understand what she was telling me. “We picked your book,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

Thankfully, Susan is kind, so she didn’t groan as she explained it all again. I remember crying. I remember trying to catch my breath.

“I don’t know if you’re a drinker,” she said, once I gave her the chance to talk again. “But you should go pop a bottle of champagne.”

We got off the phone, and I immediately drove to my parents’ house. They were having a new oven installed, so there were workers everywhere, but I made them sit in the living room, and then we were all crying. We Skyped with my sister in Philadelphia, who joined us. (My family is, obviously, way awesome.) I remember what I kept saying, out loud and in my head: It’s happening. It’s actually happening.

Then we went to dinner where I ordered a giant beer and sweet potato fries. It was perfect.

KM: You employ half a dozen narrators in this novel; all so distinct and yet each of their voices is so genuine. Was any one voice your favorite? Did you struggle with a particular character?

AC: They say first novels are often autobiographical, but mine definitely (and thankfully) was not. Still, I had some threads of connection with each character. Langley, for instance, became far easier to write once I realized she loved swimming at the same time that I was learning how to (in my thirties). That was our first bond.

Kevin was the hardest to write, and, even now, I feel like I wrote him from the outside. By that I mean I wrote him as a mix of all the boys I loved in high school. It’s hard to feel as connected to someone who never loved you back.

But hands down, throughout the entire eight years I worked on this thing, Eleanor was my favorite. She still is. She is so much stronger than she thinks she is, so much wiser too. Despite the bad choices she makes (and, boy, does she make some stinkers), she seemed the most grounded to me, the most likely to come out the other side with both feet firmly planted. I’d love to think I was like her when I was fifteen (I did have a picture of Edward Furlong in my locker), but really, she is so much cooler than I’ve ever come close to being.

KM: One of the things I loved most about this novel was that we don’t know until nearly the end if Langley is telling the truth. You just push on, and tell us how all the characters are trying to get on with their lives. What challenges did this present as you were writing?

AC: From the novel’s inception, I knew I wanted to keep readers guessing. The biggest failure I could imagine was a story that came down strong and loud on either side. So I didn’t let myself “decide” the outcome. That old adage about no surprises for the writer meaning no surprises for the reader definitely cycled through my mind. If it didn’t know, I hoped that readers wouldn’t either.

That said, it was consistently challenging to write Langley’s and Kevin’s chapters without knowing the answer—especially any scenes that recalled the event. That’s where my love for murder mysteries became an asset. I’ve annotated dozens of pages of P.D. James, Agatha Christie, Henning Mankell, Jo Nesbo, Tana French, trying to figure out how they write crimes and crime scenes without ruining suspense. I’m still not entirely sure how they do it, but I tried to follow their lead as much as I could.

KM: Rules for Lying takes place in suburban Atlanta, where you currently reside. What was it like writing a novel that takes place in your own backyard?

AC: I actually don’t live in suburban Atlanta. I’m a city girl, through and through. (The distinction matters in Atlanta, though to anyone else, it’s precisely as unimportant as it sounds.) And that’s why I created the fictional suburb of North Oak. I wanted a place close to me, in a region I understood, but I wasn’t ready to write my city, at least not overtly. So I tucked Fulton High School about 25 minutes from where I grew up, which felt a safe distance.

To the question of writing about the larger Metro Atlanta area, this aspect of the novel was another one I knew from the start. I love Southern literature—Faulkner, O’Connor, Larry Brown, Barry Hannah, Eudora Welty—but I’ve only rarely read fiction about my South, the urban/suburban South. It’s a complex, dark, beautiful, conflicting, confusing place. I can’t imagine a better setting for fiction.

And just to say it: I wasn’t ready to write Atlanta then. I think I am now.

KM: Rules for Lying examines situational and emotional truths, even while the characters search for a more literal truth. What was it like, creating this balancing act?

AC: This question is the trickiest to answer because, truly, I don’t know. Because writing a novel is hard. Like, really hard. And it also feels ridiculous and foolish most of the time. So the short answer is this: it was tough. I cried some. I got really good at staring out the window.

But that’s just writing a novel. To the more specific question on balancing truths, I have to cite my two biggest literary influences: Southern fiction and mysteries. William Gay and Tom Franklin in one ear, Laura Lippman and Megan Abbott in the other. I wanted to do both traditions proud. I wanted a story that allowed characters to interact with their histories, to reach for the lost, to feel out of place, somehow, in the world where they’ve always lived, all while crafting a plot to keep them moving, to keep them uncomfortable, to give them a forward momentum that would propel them somewhere new and strange and not innately bad but not obviously good either.

In short, I wrote a lot of crap. Then I made it better.

KM: What are you most looking forward to at the One Story Debutante Ball?

AC: Writing fiction can be such a lonely vocation. You spend hours alone, working with characters no one else can see, constructing scenes that have never happened. Even when you emerge from your desk, you interact with such a noisy world, one that often undervalues the necessity of what you do. A good group of friends, particularly writers, can help. Other people’s books can too. A fully-stocked liquor cabinet. A dog. But nothing quite beats the high of standing in a room of people who share your passion for and belief in the written word. It’s a rare and thorough joy. It’s life-giving.

Also, I get to wear a fancy dress.

OTS #50: Gnesis Villar’s Guts

As you may know, at the beginning of this year One Teen Story became a quarterly magazine focused solely on the writing of teens. Along with how wonderful it is to work with young, emerging writers, I’m excited that we’ll now be putting their stories into the hands of over 10,000 readers (which is a huge circulation increase from what OTS was able to boast of in the past). To start us off on this new venture, we present you with “Guts,” a story written by Gnesis Villar. “Guts” is several things at once: it’s a story about courage and self-respect, it’s an endearing portrait of a friendship between two teenaged girls, and it’s a chilling tale of a dangerous world that looks a lot like ours. Read what Gnesis has to say about how the story came about in our Q&A. She’s a remarkable talent. I feel certain we’ll be reading more of her work, and I envy readers who get to experience “Guts” for the first time.

Issue #227: What Is Behind by Tomiko Breland

We at One Story aren’t in the habit of publishing stories that directly relate to current events—not because that’s our policy, but because such stories usually take a long time to dream up, percolate, and write. When Tomiko Breland’s “What Is Behind” came to us, we were captivated by the writing, first and foremost, and we were blown away by its immediate grasp of an ongoing, tragic, and very widespread current event: the plight of the Syrian refugees. The story follows nine people, inviting the reader into each of their heads as they emerge from hiding and make a run for safety. It’s a remarkable piece of political fiction—in no small part because its emotional impact is not just the result of the subject matter, but of the way it’s rendered. To read more about how the story came into existence, take a look at our Q&A with Tomiko Breland, where she reveals why the form she wrote in was the only one that allowed her to do justice to her characters.

Introducing 2017 Debutante: Angelica Baker

On May 12th, at our 8th annual Literary Debutante Ball, One Story will be celebrating nine 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 is Angelica Baker, author of One Teen Story #16 “The Feather Trick” and Our Little Racket, forthcoming from Ecco on June 20th.

 Our Little Racket tells the intertwining stories of five women who are directly touched by the fall of a Wall Street titan during the financial crisis of 2008. Offering a rare glimpse behind the tidy hedgerows of Greenwich, Connecticut, this novel reveals an insular world, full of its own dysfunction. Each woman in this novel grasps for power and dignity in her own way as she grapples with insecurities and secrets.

Baker’s masterful prose and unflinching realism take us deep into this universe of opulence to show us the dark underbelly of unchecked greed.

Colter Jackson: Where were you when you found out Our Little Racket was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

Angelica Baker: When my novel sold, I was in Wyoming at a writing residency. It was March, and surprisingly warm, so I celebrated by going for a long walk by myself through the land around Ucross, which is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Then I probably walked back to my writing studio and made myself a drink and read a book by someone else until it was time for our nightly group dinner. So it was a pretty quiet and solitary celebration, but still an incredible day.

CJ: Something that fascinates me about this novel is that you tell it strictly from a female point of view, despite the very patriarchal, male-dominated world of Wall Street. Can you talk a bit about that choice?

AB: I wasn’t aware, early on, that I was doing this on purpose. When I first started writing what became this novel, I was just thinking about what it would have been like to be the teenage daughter of an investment bank CEO in 2008, just after the bank very publicly implodes. The first parts I wrote were all focused on Madison [the CEO’s teenage daughter], but I began to add in chapters that focused on other characters. I was bringing these to my workshop in my final semester of grad school, and a classmate one day mentioned that he assumed they would soon get to read a chapter about the CEO himself. And I had a pretty violent, knee-jerk reaction to that; I knew I didn’t want to do that. So then I started to see what I was doing, as I drew in other characters: I was focusing on the women. And once I saw that, other things began to fall into place.

CJ: One of the most haunting aspects of the book for me, and it was done so wonderfully, so subtly, was the feeling that women are only valuable in this world insofar as what they offer to the men and that this will continue with every generation based on the small role the teenage boys play in the story. Wyatt and Chip, the sons of the finance men, live off the page for me in a very real and frightening way. Because I felt like you were saying that this doesn’t end here, those boys will pick up the torch. Did I read it correctly? Is that what you are suggesting?

AB: I don’t know if Wyatt and Chip will pick up the torch exactly, but I do agree with you that the teenagers in this book seem to be getting a pretty clear message, from their parents and their community, about what value they might one day hold for one another. The Wyatt and Chip scenes were so much fun to write. It felt very easy, surprisingly so, to access that time in my life—what it felt like to be around boys when I was fifteen, to be trying to figure out what they expect from you.

CJ: For my own curiosity, because I don’t want to spoil the ending for anyone, do you think Madison’s story ends on a hopeful note?

AB: I think that there is still some ambiguity to Madison’s story, when we leave her. Most of the book follows her during a fairly concentrated period of time, as her understanding of her family and the life they’ve created for her has begun to change. One of the central questions, for me, was what exactly Madison is going to take from this traumatic year of her life. How is this going to affect the woman she grows up to be? We get some indications of this, at the end of the book, and I think they’re not hopeful ones. But I also don’t know that it’s been entirely decided. She’s very broken, the last time we see her, but there might still be hope that she might make different choices from the women who raised her.

CJ: Where did your interest in this story, and in the Greenwich, Connecticut world, begin?

AB: My interest in this story, and what it might look like, began in the year or so after the financial crisis and the failure of Lehman Brothers. I was very interested in the momentary collapse of that system, which really didn’t last—Lehman is gone, but otherwise I don’t know that the system it was a part of has changed all that much—and what it might be like to be on the inside of that, to be the face of it for the rest of the country. So once I knew the kind of people I was interested in writing about, I knew that the story was going to take place in a very specific part of the country.

CJ: As a reader, there were parts of this story that were upsetting. Some of the characters had a total lack of awareness and no empathy for the suffering caused. As a writer, were there parts of this story and this universe that were more difficult to write about than others?

AB: Well, the issue you mention was on my mind, obviously, the entire time. Many things about my characters are off-putting, even repellent at moments. But I think that’s what fiction is for. We can assume, going in, that we’d have no sympathy for these people; but putting them under the microscope of fiction might make them interesting to us. The conversation about “likable” characters always seems to miss the point, to me, because when you’re reading a novel the point isn’t whether you like the people in it. The point is, are they interesting to you? Are you compelled by their flaws and their messy behavior? But obviously, the people in my book are suffering through that year a lot less than millions of other people in the country, whose lives they’ve affected. So I was very mindful of trying to keep one eye on the situation as a whole. I know that some people probably just won’t be interested in reading about the one percent, but hopefully others will.

CJ: The book feels very well-researched. Particularly the nuance (eating grapefruit, the Avenue, the workouts, the high school boys, the homes, etc.) and the routines of daily life in Connecticut. How did you go about your research?

AB: I did read a fair amount about the families of many men who work in finance; there was a lot of nonfiction written about this world just after the recession, and while some of those stories were more gossipy than others, many of them were filled with telling details. But a lot of the details you mention were also drawn from my own childhood; I grew up in a very wealthy community, but my own family’s finances were a bit more modest, so I think I was always paying close attention to the tiny details of other people’s houses. I think any small, wealthy community operates in similar ways. People perform parts of their own good fortune, conceal other parts, craft the narrative they present to their peers in certain competitive ways. And I’ve always been interested in that.

CJ: What are you most looking forward to at the One Story Debutante Ball?

AB: I am looking forward to everything about the Ball. I went for the first time three years ago, after One Teen Story had published my first-ever published story! So it’s a really meaningful night to me, and everyone is always loose and goofy and boozy and it’s not at all stuffy. It’s basically a huge party full of people who really like one another, and who doesn’t enjoy that? So it’s going to be really special for me to be recognized in front of this particular group of people, and I can’t wait.

Introducing 2017 Debutante: Julie Buntin

On May 12th, at the 8th annual One Story Literary Debutante Ball, we will be celebrating nine 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 talking to Julie Buntin, author of One Teen Story Issue #13 “Phenomenon” and the novel Marlena.

Marlena tracks the brilliant, destructive force of a friendship between two girls in small-town Michigan. One half of the pair, Marlena, dies within a year of their first meeting, while the other half, Cat, grows up haunted by the time they shared. Buntin’s novel captures both the tiniest details of teenage angst and the broader bubble-about-to-burst tension of America during the mid-2000s. Her 2013 piece in One Teen Story, “Phenomenon,” is about a meteor shower; this novel, too, feels meteoric: vivid and fierce and compelling to its end.

Julia Phillips: Where were you when you found out Marlena was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

Julie Buntin: I was at work. I work for Catapult, an independent literary publisher and writing community, and in summer of 2015 we were a pretty small team—I think there were like, five or six of us in the office, tops. Everyone knew my book was out on submission—I was a wreck. After I talked to my agent and my new and official editor, I think I sort of blurted out to one of my colleagues that my book sold. (Clearly I am not a chill person.) My boss, the wonderful and brilliant Andy Hunter, somehow conjured a bottle of champagne and we all sat in the lounge area and drank it. A top ten life moment, for sure. Also: I love my job.

JP: Marlena is built around one all-consuming friendship between two teenage girls. In it, you write, “A best friend is a magic thing…For so many women, the process of becoming requires two.” Your story “Phenomenon” in One Teen Story focuses on the same thing: the extraordinary, destructive magic of best friendship. What about this dynamic makes it such fertile ground for fiction?

JB: This isn’t the most original answer, but what strikes me about best friendship, especially among teenage girls, is how much it has to do with the process of forming a self. So many adult women have a best friend from adolescence who to some small extent defines her still (even by virtue of what she has not become). I’m fascinated by the way girls disappear into each other at certain times and then harshly draw distinctions at others —and of course all the contradictory things that come along with those early romances, the love and jealousy and secret languages, the sense of being fully understood, how bitterly you can feel betrayed. Also, my friendships with women are the most important and defining relationships of my life. It’s helpful when you’re writing a novel to choose a subject that really matters to you—it keeps it interesting.

JP: Even beyond the story of these best friends, Marlena follows the rise of opioid addiction in America during the early 2000s. Marlena herself believes that “pills were okay because they originated with a doctor, and they weren’t meth…Meth was gross, Marlena said. For rednecks.” What motivated your choice of this particular time period and this epidemic of substance abuse?

JB: I am glad you asked this! The time period was really important to me—I set the teenage scenes circa 2006, which means the narrative present takes place some years from now, though I left out any deliberate time stamps. I wanted to write about the moment when opioids were becoming really commonplace, but many hadn’t quite recognized how dangerous they were. I also wanted to set the book just before the housing bubble burst in 2008—a time that was so tenuous financially for so many people. To speak to this somewhat obliquely, but honestly, I was also motivated by personal experiences with loved ones, and a desperation that came out of those experiences to understand, to make sense of what was happening through writing. And also I just felt like I hadn’t seen those stories—stories of girls, particularly, in real danger with substances—or read much that captures what it’s like to be drawn into that very toxic threat as a teenager. What happens to the burnouts? The kids you thought were bad news in high school? Or even just to the kid who goes in a little too deep, and makes a mistake or has an accident they can’t recover from? Those kids are everywhere, and we don’t see much of them in novels—maybe because they’re just not that likable or relatable.

JP: The novel takes place in Northern Michigan, which we see not only through its physical details—snow, woods, sheds—but also its economic details. Food stamps, child support payments, and hourly wages are crucial to Marlena. Why is it important to ground your novel in class?

JB: Novels that aren’t grounded in class really confuse me. Money and how much of it your characters have determines everything they do. The context you’re in right now, as you read this, has a lot to do with how much money you have in the bank, what your safety net is like. Trying to capture that aspect of life will always be a primary concern in my writing. Anything else would be dishonest, and even irresponsible.

JP: Marlena‘s narrator says, “Sometimes I wonder how I’d tell this if I didn’t have so many books rattling around inside me.” How do you think our reading and writing shape the way we tell the stories of our lives?

JB: Have you ever had the experience of reading a novel so immersive it makes you interpret your life differently? It’s natural to apply a narrative structure to experience; it helps make sense of things. I do think what we find sympathetic, what moves us in our reading, organically influences how we tell the stories of ourselves—how we want our stories to appear to others. That’s something Cat is aware of as she narrates, and even an impulse that she fights against, in an attempt to try to see the experience from every angle, to get as close to the impossible truth as she can.

JP: Lastly, what are you most looking forward to at the One Story Debutante Ball?

JB: One of my other top ten moments as a writer is when I found out that One Teen Story was going to publish “Phenomenon.” I was also at work, this time at powerHouse Arena (a bookstore), and I remember locking myself in the staff bathroom and jumping up and down, I was so happy—it’s one of the first times I ever felt like I might actually have a shot at becoming a writer, with a book, answering questions like these. In other words, a writer people might read. I am so grateful to the One Story organization for making that possible for me and so many writers. That’s not really an answer. The answer is: everything. I am most looking forward to every single second of it.

Introducing 2017 Debutante: Clare Beams

On May 12th, at the 8th annual One Story Literary Debutante Ball, we will be celebrating nine 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 talking to Clare Beams, author of One Story issue #166 “World’s End” and the short story collection We Show What We Have Learned.

We Show What We Have Learned is a masterful collection that features nine stories, many of which combine elements of the realistic and the fantastic, while contemplating the human condition. Beams’s fully-realized worlds provide each story with an almost novelistic scope, allowing the reader to become immersed in the narrative. The writing is precise and strong; the characters perfectly nuanced; and the stories unpredictable, haunting, and true.

Laura Spence-Ash: Where were you when you found out We Show What We Have Learned was going to be published? How did you celebrate?

Clare Beams: My family and I were visiting my parents in rural Vermont, and it was my birthday (this was in August of 2015). Emily Smith and Beth Staples, who became my publisher and editor at Lookout Books, had scheduled a phone call with me for that day, and while I’d always gotten fine cell reception at the house before, it picked this moment to quit—so I was scrambling around and trying to call from the landline, etc. Once I recovered from the stress of trying to make the call happen, I got to enjoy the conversation itself, during which it became clear that Lookout saw the book just the way I’d hoped somebody would and that they were in fact going to publish it. I think I walked around the rest of the day just saying “I can’t believe it” over and over again. This might not sound celebratory, but it felt that way.

LSA: Your stories often take wonderful, unexpected turns as we move out of the realistic world that we know and into a place that’s filled with mystery and possibility. How do you decide the balance between the realistic world and the speculative? Do you tend to start with the realistic world and move into the speculative, or are your initial story ideas rooted in the fantastic?

CB: I think I usually do have some sense of just how large a role the surreal is going to play in a given story before I begin—since some of my stories are much more fantastical than others (though I’d argue there’s something a little strange about the world of each of the stories in the book). When I start a story, I usually don’t have much more than an image—one central picture of some kind that sparks the rest—but I find that the picture does usually tell me a lot about how speculative the world of the story’s going to be.

LSA: Several of the stories take place in the past—as far back as 1665 in “Ailments”—and here, too, we are faced with multiple worlds as we implicitly compare the world of today to the world in the story. What draws you to write fiction placed in the past? Do you ever get stuck in the research phase and find it difficult to transition to the fiction?

CB: I grew up in a house that was built in the 1730s in Newtown, Connecticut, a town that has houses even older than that. Living there, I think I just felt continuously surrounded by the past. As a kid, too, I was always drawn to old books—Louisa May Alcott, the Brontës, Frances Hodgson Burnett—and I was the kind of reader for whom those worlds sometimes felt more real than my actual life. So it’s probably not surprising that my own preoccupations as a writer tend to steer me into the past, at times. There’s also something about moving into different historical moments that somehow feels a lot like moving into the fantastic for me—in each case I have the sense of entering a world that runs alongside ours, beneath it, inside it, and that informs it in interesting ways. I tend not to let myself do too much research ahead of time, for the exact reason that I’m always afraid I might research for years and years and never write anything. I try to make myself write until there’s a question I need to answer in order to move forward, and then I dip into the research just long enough to answer it before I go back to writing. The bulk of the research then comes in during later drafts, as I try to make sure I didn’t get anything wrong.

LSA: Four of the nine stories in the collection take place in a school setting, with several featuring teachers as the protagonists. I know that you taught high school for six years and now teach at the collegiate level. How did your experience in the classroom feed these stories? Do your students worry that the disintegration that happens to the teacher in the title story, “We Show What We Have Learned,” will happen to you?

CB: Ha! Well, first of all I should say that I really love teaching and always have, and my real teaching experiences don’t have much to do with the fictional experiences I present here, thankfully. (Though I do think it’s possible that the students I’ve had who’ve read “We Show What We Have Learned” look at me a little differently afterwards!) But all that time I’ve spent in classrooms has made me think a lot about their inherent power structure, which I find fascinating: this idea that the teacher’s job is to shape and change his or her students. It’s an idea I find dramatically rich. I also find classrooms themselves, the actual spaces, to be fertile territory for fiction—because they’re such self-contained little worlds, in some ways, and events can reverberate in ways that interest me.

LSA: I first read “World’s End” when it was published in One Story in 2012, and when I reread it in the collection, I was amazed at how familiar the landscape seemed to me, almost as though I had actually been there before. Your narrative descriptions are always vivid and precisely rendered. Do you see the landscape of the story before you begin writing or does it slowly take shape as you write, the details becoming clearer as you move through multiple drafts?

CB: The landscape, or the story’s setting, is often one of the first elements that comes into focus for me. It’s often connected to the kind of image I mentioned before, the kind that can spark the rest of the story and that I often have in my head before I have any kind of clear sense of characters, plot, etc. “World’s End” is a bit of a special case just because it’s based on a real place, in Hingham, Massachusetts—though I took many liberties with its reality and history in using it in the story.

LSA: Lastly, what are you most looking forward to at the One Story Debutante Ball?

CB: Meeting the other debutantes! And getting to thank my mentor, Megan Mayhew Bergman, whom I first met because our husbands grew up together in Vermont, but who has become a great friend and advocate. She has been so wonderfully generous to me.