1) Where are you from? Why?
I am from a shiny black space. Inside there are other versions of me all trying to get out. Some do. They hop on my shoulders, riding piggy back. Others scurry, joyous with their new freedom.
2) Generate a relevant formula.
Cormac McCarthy + Richard Price x Mary Gaitskill = The Atom Bomb
3) What is fiction?
Lies, beautiful or horrific, strewn together with language that pierces us and makes us bleed, that forces us feel emanicpated.
4) On your blog, you quote a poem that has the following line, “I think we are supposed to be in the world–present and in awe./ There is ecstasy in paying attention…” How can a person learn to do this (be in the world), or do it better?
Children do this best. Adults tend to lose their sense of wonder. I recall my son screaming at me once in the middle of his soccer game. “Look! Up the in the sky! It’s a double rainbow. Double rainbow!!” I would never have seen it otherwise.
5) Many of your stories are short. What virtues are there in the short form of fiction (less than 1,000 words), and why do you think this form has flourished recently?
Why does a goodbye kiss have virtue? Or the words, “I miss you?” A poem? A love message left on a crumpled napkin, written in lipstick? Short fiction, to be winning, has to have a sharp, pointed punch. It has to stun, and because it does, it is relevant. Because it does, we need it as part of our diet.
6) What is there, and what should we do about it?
There is suffering and we should shine a light on it, push it to the street so that traffic stalls and horns honk and people curse even as they ask themselves: How could this have ever happened? Is this, in fact, real?
7) Using the quotation from question four, focus on something in your immediate space and “pay attention” to it. Write the result of your “ecstasy” below in 4 sentences.
The sheath of clouds are thin scarves draped loose and shifting like gauze wraiths through the air, centered underbelly of the sky, falling from it to enwrap me, hold me, warm me this fine morning.
Len Kuntz lives on a lake in rural Washington State with an eagle and three pesky beavers. Over fifty of his stories appear in various lit journals and at lenkuntz.blogspot.com
