American Short Fiction blog

What’s the best way to start off the shortest month of the year? By reading a short-short story, of course! Lucky for you, our February web exclusive is here, and it is excellent.  “Scars” by Venita Blackburn is a funny, fantastical, touching story about the wounds inflicted by life and love, and what it takes to carry us through. Oh, and also superpowers. “Scars” may be short, but it definitely packs a wallop. Read the full story here, and be sure to take note of the accompanying artwork (a new feature for our web exclusives this year). The photo, taken by the author, depicts a one-legged seagull—exactly the kind of  ”damaged, but resilient” creature that captured her imagination in this story.

Plus (there’s more!), below you’ll find our interview with Venita, in which she shares a little about the inspiration for this story, some scars of her own, and the world’s worst superpowers.

1. Tell us about the genesis of “Scars.” Where did the idea for the story come from and what kind of evolution did it go through to get to us?

This particular story did stem from an idea unlike most of my story ideas that look too much like my own life or came from a news headline or something funny a friend has said. I wrote “Scars” in the summer of 2011 along with a few other short shorts that had a very specific idea behind them. I wanted to write about people with the worst superpowers imaginable and see how they would cope and/or thrive. There was one with a boy that could dream the past and future but only when he was very, very sick (immune system clairvoyance). There was one with an elderly woman suffering severe dementia that could recall her life only by touching certain items. Then there came “Scars” with two sisters that have enhanced memory and sensory perception only when in extreme pain. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m a sadist, but I really felt connected to that idea.

I am a low-key comic and superhero fan. The X-Men franchise—or empire or however it should be described—had a television cartoon series that aired during my preteen and early teen years. In X-Men there are mutants, genetically enhanced people, that can fly and turn into steel or change the weather, etc., but they all look stunning and beautiful. In the show there was this other group of mutants that had powers, but they could not blend in with ordinary society because there powers were physically deforming or just too harsh for the average Joe or Jane to process. Anyway, these mutants were called Morlocks (very literary) and lived in the sewers. They could be squid-faced, acid-sweating walking disasters. I always had a lot of empathy with the Morlocks for some reason. I thought for sure if I had powers, I would be underground with the tentacle-armed kid and the lady that talked really, really loud (I mean, just “hello” could be devastating). Those were my people. Ultimately, the sisters of “Scars” represent that part of my psyche, I think.

2. The real gem of this story is the narrator. She is such a joy to read—she’s fierce, fragile, innocent, wounded, precocious. . . all at the same time. Can you talk a little bit about how you conceived of this character?

I have a bad habit, a really bad habit, of rewriting stories in various POVs just for kicks and giggles, especially if something tells me the voice just isn’t working. I hear my characters speak in a way that I can’t really explain. When they sound real to me, I just tell the story as they would. Luckily, the narrator of “Scars” is a character I liked listening to. I’m flattered that she seems so “fierce,” but she is definitely wounded. In that we are a lot alike. She suffered the loss of her most supportive friend/fan (her father). I know what that feels like. For a long time I’ve been inspired by things and people that take damage but keep going no matter how unappealing the future seems. There is a resilience there that thrills me. I wanted the narrator to be that, just a little bit.

3. What’s challenging or fun or different about writing from the POV of a child/young person? Any inspirations for finding the right voice?

The best thing about kids is their honesty. Most kids, if they aren’t shy, will tell you what they see as they see it. I love that about very young people. I always talk to children as if they’re real people. That opens up a lot of funny moments even though I’m sure I sacrifice some authority in the process. I’ve always been described as a very honest person, especially in workshops. Lying takes a lot of energy. I worry sometimes that it might seem rude, but I’ve never been told that I’m “too honest,” so I run with it. Having a young narrator is sort of a license to speak plainly, truthfully. There is no room for enigma—well, maybe a little if a writer is really clever. In “Scars” I liked the narrator’s openness to these new and often hurtful experiences. There is something really primal that happens when a child feels something profound, good or bad, but they don’t have the words to articulate it. All they can say is this happened then this happened, and then they’re either slapping their legs with laughter or balling on the floor. That purity of emotion gets pressed and baked and locked away as we get older. I do hope that when I write adults they bring a welcome level of complexity. Writing younger voices though is freeing in special ways.

4. As you say, these sisters possess the “superpower” of super strong memory and perception. Memory and perception, of course, are among a writer’s most important tools. I’m wondering what (if anything) you do to tap into your own powers of memory and observation. Are there any experiences or situations that you find help bring back memories, or that heighten your senses and help you tune in to what’s going on around you?

I’ve always believed it is much easier to recall the traumatic experiences, but I have a pretty selective memory. Most of the trauma gets stored neatly away. I let the dust settle. Even so, I keep a journal that I don’t write in regularly, but I try to write in it when there are big moments in my life or I just can’t sleep. Both seem rare enough. I recently read through a few entries that were several years old, and I was shocked at all my griping and melancholy. Embarrassing. I’m fortunate enough to have some really smart and funny friends that I can share experiences with, and that really helps keep my mind and perspective alert.

5. A scar with a good story behind it is the best. So much better than, like, “I cut myself shaving.” Do you have any notable scars or scar stories you’d like to share?

I love “I cut myself shaving” only if it’s not the truth. My injuries have been more emotional so far. I’m so careful with my body that I rarely get a paper cut. I’ve never broken a bone. I hope that stays true. My childhood was really good and safe and I attribute most if not all of it to my mother. She passed in 2008, and I lost my best friend and mom. That’s a scar I can’t deny and certainly is something reflected in “Scars.” She was definitely very supportive of all my whims growing up. I took martial arts for two years (won two tournaments, by the way) , then suddenly didn’t feel like it anymore. I was in Cadet Corps in middle school and slid down a hill with my battalion in army fatigues. I got a pretty good gash on my leg there. I remember going to Jack in the Box after that and my mom took a picture of my face with all that war paint. Then I got to high school and turned apathetic and literary minded. Ha. Those are my scars for now.

6. What’s up next for you? What are you working on now?

I’m always revising my old stories for this collection I’m working on. Simultaneously, I’m writing a longer thing about the dangers of ideologies, the risk of believing in anything and the rewards therein. I haven’t given up on my stories about the worst superpowers on earth yet. Not yet.

American Short Fiction is part of a larger nonprofit organization, Badgerdog, which runs creative-writing workshops for children and adults. The workshops are amazing places; they combine rigor and the joy of discovery—discovering writing that’s out in the world, as well as discovering one’s own voice on the page. Recently, Education Programs Coordinator Jess Stoner brought the story “The Duck of Your Life” by Katherine Valentine Jaeger—our second-place winner in our shorts contest—into a high school classroom. Jess writes:

High school students are intimately acquainted with writing from the “I.” So I wanted our Badgerdog high schoolers to read and write in response to a story that showed them how to do so many things: to take point-of-view from an oblique angle, to use repetition to lull a reader into a surprise, and most importantly, to see that a story can make you laugh at the same time it makes you feel uncomfortable and sad and silly. Katherine’s story did all of those things and reading it aloud with the students was such a great experience. They were so into it they stood up to read it, and of course, one lucky writer go to say “shit” out loud in class, which was a pretty big highlight for everyone involved (myself included).

You can read the original story here. And stories that emerged from the classroom are below. (It’s wonderful to see the way the students interact and play with Katherine’s story concept and structure. They really get it.)

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Two stories from Manor Excel Academy High School in Manor,Texas

“The Zebra of Your Life”

Say you have a male zebra who tells you he is in love with you & wants to give you the world. But he’s broke. So he starts to deal poop. You get tired & sick of all that & him being in the animal jail & you leave him. You want him back a month later—but he’s moved on & has a family.

Say you have a zebra that’s a quarterback and gets drafted into the NFL. He plays good for the first couple of games. But he gets sacked & breaks a leg. He’s out for the rest of the season. He’s afraid & alone so he eats Cookies-n-Cream ice cream all day while watching Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Say you have a zebra who is on America’s Next Top Model and Tyra says she smiles bright through her eyes. In the end she loses.

Say you have a zebra who has a friend who has no white stripes & is all black but acts white on the inside. You try to be like her, but they say you’re too loud & ghetto.

Say you have a zebra who thinks she can sing and decides to go on American Idol. Simon says she sucks & she breaks down. She tries again & gets the same result. So the Zebra gives up & goes toAmerica’s Got Talent & gets great feedback & in the end wins. The zebra goes to Simon & tells him to shove it up because she made it.

Georgina

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“The Bunny of Your Life”

Say you have a bunny and you called her Delilah. You love her very much but you can’t go everywhere with her. Delilah is almost alone all the time. You stop caring for her. Your job and your boss are pushing you to do better. You didn’t have time. You forgot about your bunny. Delilah. Dying, she runs away and never comes back.

Say you have a bunny her fur is pretty pink. Her eyes are sparkly and her ears are long and slender. Everyone loves her except her father bunny. Jumping and hopping happily in her box, her dad says “you’re ugly.” But she goes on doing what she loves. Not listening to him or what anyone says.

Triana

Two thousand twelve is here and with it a phenomenal new installment of our online fiction series. Charting new territory in both content and form, our January 2012 web exclusive, “An Introduction to Cosmography, Parts 1 through 5” by Kelly Ramsey, is the perfect send-off for our voyage into the wilds of a new year. And speaking of newness, we’re pleased this month to announce the introduction of visual elements into our web publications; this month’s story includes a beautiful, whimsical illustration by the artist Jules Buck Jones. You can check it all out here, and be sure to read our interview with Kelly Ramsey below. Happy New Year—and happy reading!

1. Tell us about the genesis of “An Introduction to Cosmography, Parts 1 through 5.” Where did the idea for this story come from?

At least in part, the idea came from my first reading of a nonfiction book since I slept through Mr. Brutout’s U.S. History class in the eleventh grade. I started reading Alan Taylor’s American Colonies and learned about all the species the Paleo-Indians found when they migrated to what we now call America: the mammoth, the mastodon, the bison (all creatures I vaguely remembered) and, lo and behold, the giant beaver. I was amused—amusement being one of my prime motivations to write. At some point I read about Cosmographiae Introductio, the publication that first mentioned the name “America” and the full title of which translates roughly as “Introduction to Cosmography With Certain Necessary Principles of Geometry and Astronomy To which are added The Four Voyages of Amerigo Vespucci A Representation of the Entire World, both in the Solid and Projected on the Plane, Including also lands which were Unknown to Ptolemy, and have been Recently Discovered.” How great is that? I think I only read about eighteen pages of any historical source, being naturally disposed to nod off in the presence of nonfiction, but I woke in the night thinking of Vespucci, wondering what his life was like. And so, the story.

2. What do you think you and/or your writing gains when you look to history for content? 

History is such a rich palette of character and language. I think my writing gains depth (of detail) and contrast (in language and syntax) from the incorporation of “real” historical documents into a faux historical narrative. The risk is always that the fiction will stray too close to life, but I avoid that by keeping my research casual, superficial, or incomplete. I listened to a biography of Vespucci on tape while driving to work or to pick up a jar of salsa, but I share a car with my boyfriend so I’d only hear every third chapter or so. This was incredibly confusing. But if I were an expert on the character’s life, I’d have no reason to write; there’d be nothing left to invent. Vespucci’s real letters were almost too good, so I felt I could only use part of one and then only if I altered its meaning substantially through selective erasure. This little bit of purloined language, and the way the man bragged about everything he took by force or consumed, gave me the idea of Vespucci stealing all the pearls from the New World for Medici. So the historical letter gave rise to the Third Voyage, an almost totally fabricated letter.

3. This is an experimental piece—the structure, narrative, the formatting all challenge our expectations for a short story. Can you talk a little bit about your process for writing a story like this? Did you set out with a goal to write something unconventional or did the story just come to you in this form?

Paragraphism, a movement which I recently founded and which nobody knows about, interests me a great deal, being so totally opposed to this kind of quotidian realism that is verging on true domestication for the first time, really, in the history of fiction. Paragraphism has plenty of unknowing adherents who I imagine are already changing the face of the literary landscape like so many Daphnes’ outstretched arms hardening into trees. In Paragraphism, nobody has the time to describe to you what Linda is feeling as she stands washing a dish before the kitchen window. A door slams, and Linda knows who has left. End of story.

But to answer your question: a little bit of both. My writing is always somewhat unconventional by default, but I also set the formatting deliberately with an image in my mind of the skinny vertical columns of informative text that often accompany old National Geographic maps. I wanted the text to be less an expansive plain on the page and more a taught, cryptic guide on the periphery of some wider visual experience. A map to the map, maybe. This idea shaped the narrative leaps, too, because I wanted to touch upon a major moment and then zoom across time and space to another—from Ptolemy writing the first piece of music theory to the children playing near Vespucci’s deathbed—like points on a tour. Then again, I may be making this up in hindsight. I felt my way along, went on my nerve as Frank O’Hara would say, and in the end it’s all too facile to package the process as wholly deliberate.

4. Who do you look to for inspiration when it comes to experimenting with your writing? Anyone who gives you confidence to try new things in your fiction?

Yes! There are current writers who give me confidence, because they write in new or reimagined ways and are actually published, read, hired to teach, etcetera. Lydia Davis comes to mind; I admire her tremendously. Kelly Link is also great, and I love that she’s made a double career for herself with Small Beer Press. Dead writers inspire me equally, however—particularly Richard Brautigan. Now I acknowledge that some of his work is lazy or downright glib, but some of it’s sheer genius, and he was making work in the ‘60s that our current “experimental” writers and the proponents of flash as oh so daring and out-there could barely dream of. He was the second master of the paragraph, after Rimbaud and before Charles Simic. I’m also inspired by poets—mostly those writing in prose.

5. The fragmentation of this story is one of its great strengths, I think. Reading it feels a bit like sorting through the contents of an archive or digging through some long-lost treasure chest. Because it’s told in parts—each distinct in focus or time or voice—it requires a kind of piecing together on the part of the reader. How do you build a story in parts? How do you decide what’s essential and where to leave gaps in the narrative?

Good question. I don’t know, exactly. I want to say it’s intuitive, but that feels like a cop-out. Originally there were more sections, and I had these blank pages where a hole in the story was supposed to be filled in, “Vespucci’s childhood” or something like that. But in the end, I felt like the story was finished without those (and besides, Vespucci was a fairly unremarkable child and a mediocre student). When a section is essential it feels whole and round, a ripe fruit; it echoes other moments but illuminates some element of character that is not repeated elsewhere. A weak section jars and requires additional writing rather than excision—you can test for weakness by removing the passage and seeing whether you miss it. In this case I cut and trimmed and felt that I simply couldn’t add to the weird skeletal story that remained. This is often considered a weakness of my writing—that I write the barest, most suggestive version of the story and feel completely incapable of filling in the color of scarf someone was wearing, the necessary dialogue, or the sweaty chase through the dappled woods that would create some suspense and move the reader appropriately. I want to make someone weep, but I simply can’t do things in the straight-and-narrow way. I alternate between wrestling with myself and trying to write quiet, interior twenty-seven page stories, and on the other hand saying: forget it. This is what I’ve got. Paragraphs.

6. What’s on your plate for 2012? What are you working on next?

Well, I live on a small island in the Atlantic where I’ve just cofounded a fellowship program and arts collective called the Lighthouse Works. In 2012 we’re hoping to open a letterpress shop, start a little literary zine, host the next two or three rounds of fellowships and form a strong advisory board. In an ideal world, of course.

Writing-wise, I’m working on a story involving an abandoned military bunker, a blind person, and some big feral cats. For unclear reasons it has a lot to do with deBroglie’s equation predicting that all matter exhibits wavelike motions. I’m working on a longer project, but the principles of Paragraphism and my own limitations, I mean gifts, dictate that I must proceed three to five clauses at a time. So the book should be done in approximately the time of four transatlantic crossings. By sea.

This month, we’re bringing you a very special edition of our online fiction series. Our December story,  ”Signs“ by Bess Winter, is the winner of ASF’s 2011 American Short(er) Fiction Prize and is featured in the Fall 2011 issue of ASF.  We’re excited to offer you this special sneak peek inside our print magazine, and even more thrilled to present Bess’s work. Complex, surprising, and provocative, “Signs” is an exemplary piece of flash fiction and a stand-out story of any length. Check it out here; we promise you’ve never read anything quite like it. Plus, below, we talk with the author about her prize-winning story, the joys and challenges of writing flash fiction, and the allure of animals wearing clothes (among other important topics).

1. Since “Signs” is the winner of ASF’s Short(er) Fiction Prize, I thought I’d start by asking you a couple of questions about short(er) fiction. What do you enjoy about writing flash fiction? What do you find challenging about the form?

I love its versatility. You can fit the arc of a short story or even a novel into a piece of flash fiction. Or you can focus intensely on a sliver of plot, an object, a turn of phrase. To me, writing flash is very different from writing a short story, because the form of flash, itself, seems to be the question at its heart. That’s also the challenge of it. There are lots of times where you might think a certain topic or idea would make a great short short story, and when you sit down to write it you find out that the form just doesn’t fit the content: that you need a good 20 pages to do this particular idea justice.

2. What makes a very short piece successful, in your opinion? Do you have any advice for other writers?

A successful short piece, to me, is a map to a user experience. The fewer words there are on the page, the more a flash piece asks of a reader—and most successful flash seems to be about the reader in a very direct way. The flash pieces that stick with me, and that I enjoy reading the most, begin with a scenario that’s entirely unique to the story and quickly reach out and go straight to the core of the reader, implicate the reader in some way by touching on a fundamental human truth. I guess my advice for writing flash is to allow that process to happen. Go where your mind wants to go. Also, if you have a really weird idea that embarrasses you and a strong idea that you feel totally confident about, always go for the weird idea.

3. Tell us a little bit about your process for writing “Signs.” Where did the idea for the story come from and what kind of evolution did it go through before it reached us at American Short Fiction?

First I wrote a terrible workshop story that had no redeeming qualities besides the fact that one of its characters was named Koko. One night I was wrestling with revisions on this terrible workshop story, and to avoid dealing with this story I became fixated on researching Koko the gorilla. Turns out Koko’s had a fascinating life. She has actually dated online, with little success (smart women have it so hard). She’s very astute, very sensitive. She was also indirectly involved in a sex scandal, which is what gave me the idea for “Signs.” At the same time I was writing “Signs,” I also developed this new personal rule about how the only writing that was worth anything came from the heart. I hadn’t really been speaking from that place for a while in favor of experimenting with ideas and structures and so on. So, the idea for this story was: a) Koko the gorilla, b) workplace sex scandal and c) listen to my heart. It took about three or four days to write. After that, it went through some trusted readers and some small changes. The last change was made at my good friend Jess’s kitchen table. Then we drank some wine, I submitted the story, and we spent the rest of the evening playing Beatles Rock Band.

4. “Signs” stars a gorilla and is concerned with, among other things, the relationship between humans and animals. Weirdly enough, the story that won second place in our contest is also about animals—ducks—though, of course, in a very different way. The contest results got us thinking about animal stories, and why people love them so darn much. Do you have any thoughts on that? What’s the appeal of animal stories? What was fun or different or difficult about writing about Koko?

Maybe people are just fascinated with the idea of animals acting like humans. Or of humans’ true natures being revealed by their being cast as a particular animal. Personally, I love animal stories like The Jungle Book, where the characters are closely linked to animal archetypes, but The Wind in the Willows is even better, because those animals wear clothes. That sounds funny, but it feels like the only thing people love more than stories about animals is animals mimicking humans. We like to be reminded that we’re animals, too, and all indications to the contrary are just illusions. So, a toad in a jalopy and driving gloves.

In terms of writing Koko, she was easy to write about because, as a character, she had no guile. Dr. Thomas and the researcher’s reactions to Koko were harder to get at. But it kind of felt like Koko was the one calling the shots.

5. “Signs” is ASF’s final web exclusive of 2011, so it feels like a good time to ask about your year in reading. What story or book or journal really blew you away in 2011? What’s on your to-read list for 2012?

The Cat’s Table, by Michael Ondaatje, is the best book I read this year. It’s so slim and so beautifully crafted and full of whimsy—the work of a true master. There was a story published in Fence—and featured on their website—that I read many times: “A Film That Will Make the Audience Feel Pure Joy” by Jacob Wren. There’s also a great story in the new issue of the Mid-American Review called “The Evasive Magnolio” that I loved when we read it in our editorial meeting. I’m so glad it made it into the journal.

Hopefully in 2012 I’ll read the new Murakami book, Michael Czyzniejewski’s Chicago Stories, Lydia Davis’s The Cows, and Donald Ray Pollock’s The Devil All the Time.

6. What’s up next for you, writing-wise? What are you working on now? 

I’m finishing putting together a collection of short fiction, and am in the middle of writing something longer. It appears to be a novel. It’s actually, in an oblique way, an animal story.

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Want to read “Signs” and the rest of the amazing stories in the Fall 2011 issue of ASF? Click right here to get your very own copy.

Want to read more fantastic flash fiction online? Check out our web exclusive archive.

Welcome to November, friends, and to the latest installment of our web exclusive series. It’s so nice to see you here. This month, we present Tien-Yi Lee’s “Penetration”—and we couldn’t be more thrilled. It’s a challenging piece, about damage irrevocable and endured, but rewarding, too, and very, very beautiful. It’s one of those stories that stills the world for a moment, and leaves you, we hope, in the hush of something complicated and new.

You’ll find “Penetration” here, and you can read more from Tien-Yi in our interview, below.

1. Tell us about the genesis of “Penetration.” Where did the idea for the story come from and what kind of evolution did it go through to get to us?

This story was stitched together from a number of different pieces:

1.  I was taking a flash fiction class and the prompt was, “Write about sex. . .” That’s where the initial image of Sulie and Jack originated.
2. I have one of those over-the-door hooks on my bedroom closet, and whenever I hang my jeans there to dry, it creeps me out, especially if I wake up in the middle of the night. I always thought a roomful of drying jeans would be a great image to use in a story. For “Penetration,” it seemed like the perfect symbol of disembodiment.
3. I had a friend in high school who loved asking questions like, “What would you do if you only had 24 hours to live?” (Yes, sex was her answer.)
4. I had written down a bunch of notes for another piece, where an engaged couple is swapping stories about their former lovers. I was trying to think of absolute secrets—things that a person would never tell someone else, no matter how close. Sinjin Seymour seemed like one of those secrets.
5. Who hasn’t thought about digging out the hair dryer?
6. I liked the title “Penetration” and wanted the story to earn it. In order to do this, I needed the events in Sulie’s childhood to affect her throughout her life. I wanted her to be a successful adult—smart, thoughtful—because she was clearly those things as a child. But in spite of her resilience, there are still certain elements from her past she can’t escape. The story formed around this premise.

2. This is a challenging story. It’s beautiful and so skillfully crafted, but difficult, too, because of the subject matter it deals with. You take readers into some pretty dark territory. Did this feel risky to you?

Absolutely. Writing this story made me feel really uncomfortable, particularly when I added in that last section. I’ve found that readers (especially the ones who know you personally) tend to assume that you write from your own life, so that made it feel more risky, too.

3. What writers or stories do you admire for the risks they take?

I admired Miranda July’s story collection (No One Belongs Here More Than You) for the quirkiness of her characters and their situations. A great imagination is hard to come by. Chris Adrian writes a lot about sick kids, and I admire how he is often able to veer into the fantastic without losing the heart and humanness of the story.

I admired Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad. Her story “Safari” uses an omniscient POV, often switching between multiple characters’ POVs in a very tight space, and also ventures into somewhat outlandish plot premises. But it’s so skillfully crafted. I thought it was brilliant. She also wrote a story in the form of a PowerPoint presentation, which some may say it’s gimmicky. . . but it was a risk, and I found the story unexpectedly moving.

That being said, I tend to read a lot of stories and novels about the mundane, and my favorite short story writer is probably still Raymond Carver. I love simple, beautiful writing.

4.  One thing I love about this piece is its precise sense of chronology. The reader has a sense of history and the passage of time—which is notable in a very short piece like this.  Can you talk a little bit about how you constructed this story’s timeline and why you felt it was important?

I think this comes back to the title again. I thought it was important to see the impact of the events in Sulie’s childhood throughout her life.

5. What are you working on now? Where else can we find your work?

I’m working on a short story collection. I’m hoping it will be linked, but we’ll see. In the past couple of years, my work has been published in the Southern Review, the Gettysburg Review, and the Missouri Review.

It’s us, ASF.

We’ve been very busy this fall, but we’re finally on top of things and we’d like to officially open up applications for our spring 2012 internship slots. Hooray! We’ll be taking applications over the next few weeks; the deadline is November 23, and we’re going to be strict about it.

If you’ve already sent along your cover letter and résumé, no worries—we have it under consideration! If you’re interested in our internships and haven’t sent in an application yet, read on.

Our editorial interns do things like evaluate submissions, correspond with authors, copyedit and proofread stories, help plan our launch events, and research for future issues and various ASF projects. Our internships are unpaid, but we’ll give you as much real-world lit mag experience as you can handle. We recommend that applicants have a strong background in English or American literature, or a related field. Interns usually work 10 or 15 hours a week for a period of three months–for the spring 2012 position, that’ll run from February to early May. The internship is in-office, so you’ll have to be in Austin for those months.

Here’s what you need to do to apply: send a résumé and cover letter to me, callie.collins [at] americanshortfiction.org. Please put “spring internship” in the subject line. Any questions can also be directed my way.

And here’s something important: In your cover letter, let us know why it’s important that we hire you and not somebody else. Demonstrate your undying passion for fiction. Tell us about your experience with contemporary short fiction. And talk about a story, an author, or a journal you can’t get enough of, and why. Our internships are pretty competitive, so make sure you pick an author or a story that has meant something to you and talk about it well.

We’re excited to hear from you.

Y’all. It’s finally here. The Austin Lit Crawl. Everything kicks off tomorrow, Saturday, October 22, at 8 pm.

The Austin Lit Crawl is a new collaboration among literary magazine American Short Fiction, the Texas Book Festival, and the Austin’s East Side. Inspired by the San Francisco literary festival Litquake’s long-running Lit Crawl (and produced with Litquake’s participation), our Lit Crawl will feature some of America’s most groundbreaking and beloved writers (along with equally beloved local literati) onstage and in conversation. The Crawl will host 11 events over the course of the evening.

Catch Susan Orlean screening clips of canine hero Rin Tin Tin. Brace yourself for a heady cocktail at Cheer Up Charlie’s–and take in performances from Erin Morgenstern, Hillary Jordan, and Mat Johnson. Match wits with Lev Grossman and Chad Harbach at Shangri-La. Converge with twenty YA authors in a cemetery.* Watch Ernie Cline bust some stereotypes wide open–probably while geeking out. There’s a lot more–including Chuck Klosterman, Chuck Palahniuk, Sharifa Rhodes-Pitts, and Meg Wolitzer. Perhaps you’d like to look at our comprehensive schedule** or our very pretty map and start plotting your Crawl strategy?

Put on your Crawling shoes.

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*You’ll need to BYOF. Bring your own flashlight.

** We’ve had to move Adam Mansbach’s Lit Crawl event from the Scoot Inn to Public School (1021 E. 7th St.). It’ll take place from 9 to 9:45 pm. His event, like other Lit Crawl events, is free. Donald Ray Pollock will still be opening for Chuck Palahniuk the Scoot Inn (1308 E. 4th St.)–but they’re now appearing from 9 to 9:45 pm instead of 8 to 8:45 pm.

Ever play that game Two Truths and a Lie? Well, this month’s web exclusive is a little like that. Blurring the line between fact and fiction, Aubrey Hirsch’s “Albert Arnold Gore” will keep you guessing. Rendered in clear, keen prose, this set of three linked shorts offers portraits that are inventive and intriguing—and ultimately poignant and revealing. Read “Albert Arnold Gore” here, and check out our Q&A with the author, below.

1. This piece is part of a series of what you’ve called “counterfactual biographies,” fictional stories about historical figures. Can you tell us a little bit about where you came up with the idea for these stories and what interests you about blurring the line between fact and fiction?

The series started with a stand-alone piece about Amelia Earhart. I was fascinated by her story and wanted to tell another side of it, ascribing thoughts and motivations to her that we couldn’t actually know. I had so much fun writing it that I decided to try writing a series of these little flashes, each one about a different famous person.

The line between “fact” and “fiction” is something I think a lot about. They’re both fickle terms and there’s a lot of gray area between them. This is especially true when you’re talking about celebrities. At a certain point, their story becomes legend and it’s difficult to extricate the real from the invented. In my own work, I’m more interested in the fiction that lies around and in between the recorded facts: little details, inner thoughts, hidden motivations and so on.

2. OK, so why Al Gore? And how much did you know about Al Gore (or I should say the Als Gore) before you started writing?

When I’m sitting down to write one of these stories, I generally start by casting a wide net. I research lots of different people and ideas and allow myself to click random links or to indulge whatever curiosity arises until something strikes me as especially interesting. I can’t say exactly what led me to Al Gore, but as soon as I started reading about his life and his family, I knew there was a story there. I had also been thinking that it would be fun to try one of these pieces as a set of linked flashes that told one complete story. The three generations of Als, all with the same name, provided a perfect opportunity to do that.

I was still in high school when Al Gore was in office, so going in I only knew the basics: Vice President, failed presidential candidate, beard, An Inconvenient Truth. But now I feel confident in saying that I am an expert on all things Als Gore!

3. What do you find interesting about writing linked or prompt-based stories? I know I enjoy reading them—it feels almost like watching the gears of an author’s imagination turn as they trace an idea or theme through different worlds.

For me, it’s a kind of stretching. Having a “prompt” or “project” forces me to write stories I otherwise wouldn’t have written. It’s also nice to come to the blank page with some direction. I primarily work on these stories when I need a break from my novel, which is pretty intellectually draining. So when it’s time to write something else, it’s great to have a bit of guidance to get my creative energy flowing again.

4. My favorite line in the story comes when you’re describing Al Gore III: “His tongue slides around the gaps in his teeth like a worm on a hook.” This is such a small, but beautifully rendered detail. I’m wondering if you found it challenging, in this piece and the others in the series, to home in these kinds of details when the characters you’re writing about are all these historically significant figures, who are larger than life in a way.

The small details are actually the easiest part for me (and the most interesting). When I’m thinking about a scene, it generally comes to me in microcosm first. The harder part is contending with established facts, juggling the timeline and working with or against preexisting impressions of a famous person. I often find so much interesting material about my subject that I can only allude to a tiny fraction of it in the story. I guess I have to hope these little stories inspire people to do some more digging on their own.

5. What’s up next for you? Where else can we find your writing?

As I mentioned, I’m hard at work on my first novel. I’m also finishing up the counterfactual biographies series and hoping to send it off to chapbook publishers soon. You can find some of my recent work in PANK, The Emprise Review, and Daily Science Fiction, and I have stories coming out this fall in Whiskey Island Magazine, Fiction Southeast, and Confrontation.

Hey, hey! Our editorial assistant Katherine Johnson put together this fantastic video that explores issue 52, which is out now.

It’s got readings from the issue and loads of tips. Tips on: how to read these stories and why. You may want to get your hands on some Nilla Wafers, a bottle of red wine, and some Joni Mitchell. We’re just saying, they could come in handy.

You done? You may find yourself itching to get your hands on a copy of the new issue. You can do that here.

Oh, hey there.

Don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’re having a little party here in Austin tomorrow night. We’re celebrating the new issue of ASF (our twentieth!); we’re celebrating poetry; we’re celebrating memoir; we couldn’t be more inclusive!

Seriously, this one’s going to be a really great time. We’ll be at the Highball this Thursday night, September 15, with Wild Child, poet Roger Reeves, memoirist Andrew Tilin, and fiction writer Mary Helen Specht. 7 to 9 pm, but get there early for Happy Hour and to say hi to us.

More details and RSVP on Facebook.

We’d love to see you there.