This is a reprint from an interview I had with Kathy Fish for Flash Fiction Chronicles, published June 6, 2012.
One
of the first names I heard when I discovered Flash Fiction was “Kathy Fish,”
and I’m delighted to have the opportunity to interview her about her newest
collection,
Together We Can Bury It.
Gay Degani: Your stories are clear-eyed and
lyrical with characters that provoke curiosity and concern. It’s easy to make a
connection to them, their humanity, their strength, and their frailty. But
there’s something else, something I find most intriguing about your writing.
Your
work is subtle and sometimes the “meaning” seems just outside my reach—until I
read the story again. Each new look produces a fresh nuance and I can't quite
figure out how you create something
that circles back on itself the way "Swicks Rule" or "Baby,
Baby" "Orlando" or "Maidenhead to Oxford" or
"Moth Woman” do, and still satisfy the reader so thoroughly? How do you
break the "rules" we take so seriously?
Kathy Fish: Thanks so much for the kind words, Gay.
You're asking such an interesting question here. I've had to ponder this a little.
The
simplest answer I can give is that the way I write is the way I think. I've
always stayed pretty loyal to the voices in my head or rather, the sound in my
head. I hear a certain rhythm to a narrative and plug in words and images to
fit that rhythm. This is especially true of first sentences and
paragraphs.
Imagery
takes over after sound and I just layer image upon image and somehow in that
process, something like a narrative emerges. I guess when you put sound and
imagery first, rather than plot and characterization, you're going to break a
few rules. I know what the rules are and I know I'm breaking them, but it feels
right to me, so I trust it.
And
that's not to say I don't revise. I just don't revise to fit the rules, I
revise to get it closer to how I hear and see it in my head.
As
to making it work, I think there's something to be said for staying true to
your own style and voice. There's a certain authenticity to that. Also, I
realize it probably doesn't work for every reader, but I'm very grateful there
are readers for whom it does work.
GD:
What about the "voices" in your head? Most writers experience this, but
often discover "voice" only takes them so far, but I see in your
response you've developed a process that goes beyond voice. When you say,
"I revise to get closer to how I hear and see it in my head," what
questions do you ask yourself?
KF:
There is always that voice asking me, "Why are you writing this?"
that I have to try to shut out. Confidence, as a writer, is not so much always
feeling like your instincts are right, but doubting them and writing anyway.
I
think process is ever changing, for all of us and what works now may not work
later, but it helps to have an approach to writing fiction and that's my
approach. My road blocks in the beginning had to do with not knowing my own
voice and trying out all kinds of other writers' voices. I suspect that's how
we all start, like learning to speak, it's all about imitation. Also, there was
the self-doubt that had me changing tenses and POVs compulsively. I still do
that, but not like I used to.
When
I revise, I read the story aloud, over and over again. Almost always I will
find myself stumbling in the same places and it's usually where I've
overwritten or gone off-voice. Flow and rhythm are huge for me and where a
story is lacking in those becomes really obvious when it's spoken. I think it
does take practice and lots of trial and error.
GD:
Your work has a lyrical beauty to it that must come from this technique of
reading your work aloud. I see it especially in your opening sentences. You say
"Flow and rhythm are huge for me and where a story is lacking in those
becomes really obvious when it's spoken."
I
love sentences like "I stand hugging my light sweater around me on
Platform 6 at Maidenhead Station." Or from "My boyfriend and I grab
our bikes and pedal across town for a parade that has probably been
cancelled." ("Tenderoni")
Or
"It was like the time we broke icicles dripping from the low eaves and
brandished them like swords, slashing and sparkling, and you cut my cheek and
dropped your weapon." ("Watermelon")
Or
my favorite: "My twin cousins, Margie and Mae, are manning the grill,
telling me about their diverticulitis." ("Swicks Rule")
You
do more with these opening sentences than seduce the reader with rhythm. You
promise something else is in store for the reader. The way you work is to
"get closer" to what you hear in your head. Is this how structure
evolves for you?
KF: I
think a mosaic structure is a means of reining in stream of consciousness
writing. Thoughts and images and language shifts from section to section rather
than sentence to sentence or word to word. Meaning emerges from how the
sections are ordered, emphasis, etc. I like using it when it feels right for
the story.
GD:
“Mosaic structure” doesn’t seem easy to pull off, yet you manage to do so time
after time. Can we talk a little bit about pulling this collection together? You've
created section in your book using lines from one of the stories in each
section. What were your guiding thoughts?
KF:
Pulling the collection and ordering the stories was very difficult. My stories
are all over the place in terms of theme, point of view, and style. I envy
writers who write all their stories in first person, for example. And write
stories that are semi-autobiographical. There you already have one voice, a
unifying theme, a sense of cohesion. I just don't do that. My narrators are not
"me" and so there are all these disparate voices.
But
some themes do run through my stories with consistency and that was our
starting point. Molly Gaudry, who runs The Lit Pub, was extremely helpful with
this task. She gave me lots of intuitive and intelligent feedback as to how the
stories felt to her. She also noticed how the stories seemed to weave in an out
of the seasons of the year and also, the seasons of one's life: childhood,
adolescence, and adulthood. This gave us a starting point and we started
grouping the stories this way. I also wanted to begin and end on
"wintry" stories so that the book resonated with the stunning cover
art by Jana Vukovic.
I
pulled sentences or phrases from the stories to introduce the different
sections of the book. I felt those phrases gave a good sense, emotionally, of
the stories for their sections. I wanted each section to feel like a mini
collection in its own right. It took a long time to get it just right but I
think we were successful. I am very happy with how the collection reads and
flows and the overall feel of it.
GD:
You've been a pioneer in the genre of flash. What advice would you give new and
emerging writers about writing in general and writing flash in particular?
KF: That
is a very kind thing to say, Gay, thank you. My advice for new, emerging
writers:
1.
Work hard.
2.
Actually have something to say. Maybe you will have to do a lot of thinking to
figure out what you want to say. Thinking takes time and you might be in a hurry
to get published, but there is enough trite bullshit in the world. You're
better than that.
3.
Read read read read read. Read only what excites you. Don't read, ever, out of
a sense of obligation. Read what inspires and challenges you. Fall in love with
stories and books and other writers. They're your true teachers.
You can purchase Kathy's book at the Lit Pub store
HERE.
Kathy
Fish’s short fiction has appeared in
Indiana Review, The Denver
Quarterly, New South, Quick Fiction, Guernica, Slice and elsewhere.
She was the guest editor of
Dzanc Books’ Best
of the Web 2010. She is the author
of three collections of short fiction: a chapbook of flash fiction in the
chapbook collective,
A Peculiar Feeling
of Restlessness: Four Chapbooks of Short Short Fiction by Four Women (
Rose
Metal Press, 2008),
Wild Life (
Matter Press, 2011) and
Together We Can Bury It, the 2nd printing of which is forthcoming
from
The
Lit Pub.
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