I was interviewed by Gary Kaill for The Skinny, and he had some really kind things to say about Flesh of the Peach:
Flesh of the Peach is both a gripping re-imagining of the traditional American road trip and a character examination whose deep focus is testament to the author’s forensic detailing and abiding humanity. In a novel that weighs the twin uncertanties of who we are and how we got here, it’s a pointed summarising of the ongoing struggle to outrun the past and establish yourself in the here-and-now.
read the full interview here
I was very kindly sent some thoughtful questions on my writing (both flash fiction and my forthcoming novel). In it, I push The Unsung Letter, talk about my nervousness of Plath (it’s true, one day I will face it) and what I’d take if my house was burning down.
Read the full thing here.
Writer Hayley Webster is hosting an online literary festival right now, and as part of it she has interviewed me on On the Edges of Vision and being a writer and speaking up for other writers (which she does herself very often, as evidenced by the efforts she has gone through to organise a literary festival under her own steam!)
Read the interview here
and keep an eye out on her twitter feed as she posts interviews with other writers!
Not in any particular way spooky (happy Hallowe’en by the way) but next Saturday, if you are in Berlin and attending the Indie Book Fair, you’ll have a chance to go into some fluffily-outfitted booths and listen to writers read their work down the phone. I’m taking part (remotely) and will be reading some flash fiction and poetry. Ahead of this, IndieBerlin kindly interviewed me!
Have a look here!
I was asked some great wranglesome questions by Tobias Carroll about On the Edges of Vision, realism, place and the current state of Scottish literature:
How did the particular group of stories that make up On the Edges of Vision come together? What was the process of ordering them like?
I had two stories, ‘Pretty Dead Girl Takes a Break’ and ‘Boy Cyclops’ that were a bit older, and I think the impetus behind them was something that my subconscious needed time to gnaw on a while. I wrote most of the rest of the stories in a month and a half, pushed on by the sudden realisation that I really wanted to write about monsters, and monstrous humanity. The various shifting and unsettle selves we carry or let rattle around in these strange things, our bodies.
Ordering was based around looking to compliment themes and styles – if one story was first person, it should go next to third. If the story was of corpses or reanimated bodies, I wanted its neighbour to be full of life. It was pretty intuitive that way. Stick each down like a coloured scrap of paper, where it feels like it will look best.
I’ve been interviewed for the ‘Career Wha?’ column on the Spark Notes community website, SparkLife! Here’s a bit:
What were the steps to getting to where you are today, and is there only one way in? How long did it take?
I think there is only one way to write and that’s to read your heart out, and write even when it’s terrible, and listen to the world shifting and being ugly and hard sometimes. They way you go about being a writer differs from person to person. You can keep yourself tender and raw, however difficult that might be, or you can be stern and have a vision and just crack that out, or be a storyteller and weave a star-blanket, or shape only one tiny thing, and give that tiny thing, as frugal as that might seem.
The comments from readers are wonderful, heartwarming too. and really made my day.
In other news, a flash fiction of mine, ‘Pretty Dead Girl Takes a Break’, which was inspired by True Detective and Twin Peaks (the 25 anniversary is this year) is going to be published online. More details when it goes up.
‘As If a Beastiary Had Wings’, the story I chose while guest editing at Smokelong Quarterly went up today, along with an interview I conducted with the author, Michael Chaney. Here’s a snippet:
Other dogs were still friendly to Buddy in the waiting room, though he was a polar crash site of pustulance and carbuncle. His brown eyes drooped to see beyond everything, even the scene that awaited us on the other side of fuschia smocks and posters of hopping dachshunds where the death room lay, more cell than room, as if emptiness could chase away the impression of it being an old utility closet, as if the dog’s grim reaper should hang in sundry, as if the mere addition of this horse blanket on the floor might cozy the blue liquid that takes forever to prickle his grey veins and heel them up, upper ventricle, up the column, upwards hind brain, and away.
Read the interview