INTERVIEWS


by Susan Tepper

Bonnie ZoBell

Bonnie ZoBell’s new linked collection from Press 53, What Happened Here: a novella and stories, was released on May 3, 2014. Her fiction chapbook The Whack-Job Girls was published in March 2013. She has received a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship in fiction, the Capricorn Novel Award, and a PEN Syndicated Fiction Award. She has held resident fellowships at MacDowell, Yaddo, VCCA, and Dorland, received an MFA from Columbia University on fellowship, and currently teaches at San Diego Mesa College. Visit her at www.bonniezobell.com.

Susan Tepper: What Happened Here is a captivating book title because it’s so beckoning. It is also the title of your first piece (a novella) in this collection, which encompasses so much life and death simultaneously.

What-happened-HereBonnie ZoBell: Lord knows I appreciate that, Susan. I went through so many titles over the years before arriving at this one. Briefly I liked Block Party, but then it seemed too ghoulish since the party in the book is commemorating a real-life plane crash in which 144 people died. Vessels was a little too. . .literary? Trying too hard? Before that it was This Time of Night, after one of the stories, and then Why Are You Here.

Finally, Steve Almond, who was a wonderful mentor and reader for me for this book, pointed out that often when I talked to him about the novella, I started sentences with, “What happened here was . . . ” Finally I had a title.

ST: I’ve had some personal experience with a plane crash, but nothing near what goes on in this novella you wrote, Bonnie. What makes your novella so masterful is the way you interweave past and present, allowing the current inhabitants of the neighborhood to lean into the ghosts of those who fell from the sky. At the same time respecting them, while trying to exorcise them. It’s tricky business.

BZ: Part of the reason I wrote about this crash is because I live only feet away from where it occurred thirty-five years ago.

ST: I had no idea!

BZ: Debris fell on my cottage, though it didn’t get demolished like twenty-two nearby houses did. Next door a body fell through the roof and landed on the then-owner’s home. Refrigerated trucks were a regular feature on our streets for some weeks because of the number of body parts found and the need to identify who they belonged to. I lived in this neighborhood, but on the other side of it—some miles away. I remember that morning distinctly.

ST: It isn’t the sort of thing you’d ever forget, right?

BZ: Right. But as for melding past and present together—I was writing the novella about a man who is bipolar and sinking fast, and I was living in this cottage where the crash had occurred, and they sort of melded in my mind—the trajectory of both.

ST: That’s a perfect example of the creative mind putting together seemingly diverse incidents to form a work of art. You set the story in the present time to integrate the character of the bipolar man.

BZ: Yes, most of the story is set in the present, and it was hard not to spend too much time in the past. The crash and the ghosts left behind from it inform the present story, but I didn’t want to bog the story down with too much. I took a lot of the parts about the crash out. It was tricky.

ST: I can imagine. Because such a thing is so emotionally charged. So inconceivable really. Planes are supposed to stay in the sky, not crash down onto neighborhoods. Similar to when the World Trade Center came down, people cannot let go of that, and those living in that area will never let go, I suspect.

Your character inhabitants, though it’s many decades later, have identified with the crash and can’t seem to shake it off, though some were probably not even born when it happened. Why do you suppose it has its grips in them?

BZ: It’s part of our history. And there are very physical elements still here that mark where it happened. The neighborhood is full of Craftsman-style homes and Spanish Revivalist cottages built in the ’20s and ’30s. Twenty-two homes were demolished in the crash and others were damaged, and these homes were replaced in the late ’70s and early ’80s. As you can imagine from the unfortunate architecture of those later dates, these places look entirely different than the rest of the neighborhood.

We’re reminded, perhaps more than other neighborhoods, that fate can step in and change everything in an instant. It would be like if there was a home in your neighborhood where someone was murdered. Afterward, the home will always be remembered in that way. Often-times it’s even hard to sell a house like that. This is on a much larger scale. Besides which, we have the spirits of all those poor souls still here. We have to respect them.

ST: At the conclusion of the novella, you have added ten stories to this book. How did ‘Uncle Rempt’ find his way into the storyline?

BZ: “Uncle Rempt” was written from a prompt on Zoetrope Virtual Studio. I like him—he’s an oddball of a guy, which the narrator of the story, Susan, really needs. He’s some bit of light-heartedness, needed after the novella, which did have some dark humor in it, but was a much more serious story. Since Uncle Rempt was already off to some idyllic sort of spot, I just made that be North Park, where the rest of the book is set.

Susan herself is imprisoned at the beginning, as many of the characters in the collection are, and manages to find her way out to a better life as even the macaws in the neighborhood have. She comes of age and no longer has to be beholden to her archly conservative and overly-religious father. With her foot already halfway out the door and into the dorm her father only recently let her move into at a Catholic university, it’s easier. He becomes enraged when he finds out that Susan has taken a liking to his free-spirited brother Rempt. When Susan’s father summons her back to the house, she instead takes off cross-country with her uncle to a great place in Cali called North Park. There they sell air, and Susan lets her hair fall into dreadlocks. A whole new life!

ST: Uncle Rempt being attached to North Park, where the novella is set, breathes new life onto North Park in an abstract sort of way that’s really interesting.

Your final story in this collection is titled “Lucinda’s Song” and involves an elderly woman. A kind of circling around and coming to rest. But, gently. You wrote:

But mostly North Park brought Lucinda peace.

BZ:  Glad to hear you feel “Uncle Rempt” is a nice change after the opening novella. I mean to show how eclectic the neighborhood is by placing stories with dissimilar characters close to each other. Lucinda in “Lucinda’s Song” may be an octogenarian and her story might be at the end of this collection, but she’s no shrinking violet, as she’d be the first to tell you. The story starts in her voice:

“The night Ramόn Fernández first turned up at Sunday bingo hosted by the Sisters of the Precious Blood, Lucinda Sánchez couldn’t have cared less. He and all those old hussies in attendance could kiss her eighty-year-old ass. And, frankly, it wasn’t such a bad ass. They might be surprised. “

Lucinda is finally free in this tale. Like the macaws and other stories in this linked collection, she has found a way to leave her unhappy past behind and has fallen in love and into a torrid love affair with Ramόn, so much so that when they make love, one or the other always seems to throw his or her back or hip out when they do it against the dishwasher or refrigerator.

ST: I can think of worse ways of getting injured!

_______________________

 

Susan-Tepper200w

Susan Tepper has authored 5 published books. The latest is a novel in stories called The Merrill Diaries, from Pure Slush Books. She is a named finalist in storySouth Million Writers Award for 2014, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in fiction (2010), and nine times for the Pushcart Prize. Tepper is a staff editor at Flash Fiction Chronicles where she conducts the interview series UNCOV/rd. www.susantepper.com

 

by Jim Harrington

jimharrington2

I began writing fiction in January of 2007. In October of 2008, I created a blog where I posted a quote and then wrote about what the quote meant to me as a writer. Honestly, the daily posts were intended for myself. They were a way to force me to think about each quote and how it might change my writing. If people reading my comments gained from them, so much the better. I’m going to post a few of these as I wrote them—even if I feel differently now. Feel free to agree, or disagree, or add your own take on the quote and what I said. Here’s the first one.

***

The Rejection Blues (first published on October 23, 2009)

As part of a panel on “Submitting Your Short Story,” I found myself saying, “I totally grant the possibility that a story I sent out sucks, and I do give rejections and comments the power (eventually) to let me know such a thing. But I would never grant them the power to determine whether I’m a writer or not. No one gets to decide that but me. -Randall Brown in Submitting Your Story (As Opposed to Yourself).

Randall’s post comes at a perfect time for me. I received two rejection e-mails this week, and the last two stories I submitted to a weekly writing challenge received less than rave reviews. I checked my submissions database, and I’ve received 181 rejections since July of 2007. I didn’t look at how many stories this covered. Some were rejected multiple times.

You might think I’d be used to rejection, but it still hurts; especially when, for whatever reason, I expect an editor to fall in love with a story. One aspect of the process that bothers me is when an editor (and this happens in critique groups also) explains how he would have written the story, or what he expected at the end. Gosh, if I wanted to write his story, I would have interviewed him before I started. Okay, that may be sour grapes, but I’m interested in how my story worked, not what someone else’s expectations were. I don’t remember who it was that suggested no critique should include the word I, but I agree.

In the end, I have to remember Randall’s advice and realize it’s not me an editor is rejecting. It’s my story. On the good news side, I received three acceptances this week, and a three-to-two ratio is something to be happy about. Still…

____________

 Jim Harrington began writing fiction in 2007 and has agonized over the form ever since. His stories have appeared in Every Day Fiction, Liquid Imagination, Ink Sweat and Tears, Near to the Knuckle, Flashes in the Dark, and others. He serves as the Managing Editor for Flash Fiction Chronicles. Jim’s Six Questions For . . . blog provides editors and publishers a place to “tell it like it is.” You can read more of his stories at http://jpharrington.blogspot.com.

 

by RK Biswas

Ekphrasis is not a common literary art form as far as fiction is concerned, unlike its use in the case of music or painting. How can one category of prose try to relate to another by delving into its essence and spirit and still manage to come up with a story that narrates the original story without becoming a copy or a caricature? A question like this begs another: How can a cat disappear into thin air, leaving behind its smile intact?

Seabrook Cover

Going by William Todd Seabrook’s chapbook, The Imagination of Lewis Carroll, it is all perfectly possible, and as easy as finding a wonderland beneath the ground, as long as one is willing to lose one’s conventional senses, conventional essences, and conventional ideas of what a writer is supposed to do. Carroll’s Cheshire cat did just that; un-cat itself I mean. And we, the readers, can too, so long as we are willing to enter Lewis Carroll’s mind through the tunnel, or rabbit-hole if you will, that Seabrook has dug in his chapbook, published by Rose Metal Press.

As Michael Martone says in his introduction, “It is into one of these mad elastic petrified steam-punked tropic jungles of a book of wordy words that William Todd Seabrook prospects here, using the fracking apparatus of flash fiction to crack open the quarried quarry and mine the refined riches he finds elaborated within Lewis Carroll’s work.” He explains further, more succinctly (lest we wear the Mad Hatter’s hat the wrong way or pour the potion down the drain, perhaps!), “this is a gutsy book as it confronts the exhilaratingly convoluted quagmire of high Victorian nonsense with a minute poacher’s spade shaped from a sterling coffee spoon.”

A “gutsy book that confronts…with a minute poacher’s spade….” This is what the reader encounters right from the start, during that golden afternoon when Seabrook’s Lewis Carroll begins to disappear, not the way the Cheshire cat does, but almost as if he is being consumed by his own story, each physical sense at a time. Carroll has no power to stop it, for every time he tries to end the story, the imaginings, by saying “the rest, next time,” the three Liddell sisters cry out, “it is the next time.”

In Seabrook’s chapbook, we trace Lewis Carroll’s life and imagination through this portal of “next time,” which lets us grasp the kernel of his sensibilities, and creativity, without being tied down to physical reality. Needless to say, the situations that spring up from the pages are indeed about being in the ‘next time.’ No present time can be more bizarre. So it has to be a time that cannot be clocked at all. Readers on a quest will certainly be given answers. Just as all ‘ravens and the writing desks had answers, and none of them actually right.’ Not one from the total of 500, asking the same question; so it is here as well.

Seabrook is after all imagining what Lewis Carroll did—digging a hole and closing it up again, ‘leaving his discovery to be discovered by other (children), again and again.’ We are taken by the hand down Seabrook’s rabbit-hole, and not only led through events in Carroll’s life that wound up in the book but also the other way round; book life and real life events being interchangeable. The experience is akin to Alice falling, very slowly, with plenty of time to look about her in the tunnel.

In The Imagination of Lewis Carroll, we witness an execution, watching young Lewis in the crowd screaming “Off with his head” along with everybody else. We have tea with a Bishop and the grown up Carroll, notorious for his books already, in which his Excellency is shown the door for taking life too seriously. We participate in Carroll’s relentless micro-management of his characters and their appearances, watching helplessly with John Tenniel, the illustrator of his book, but in the end finding them exquisite, because we are on Carroll’s side. We suffer his three-day-long sermon along with his congregation, but in the end we want more, whether it makes any sense or not. We read his essays, and agree (with him) that “a mathematical student must keep his head level at all times–that way it will be much harder for it to roll away.” We practise turning our names into Latin and then anglicizing the Latin names, because we have been convinced that readers of nonsense must be twice removed from reality always. It is of course no surprise that we side with Carroll during his duel with Lord Viscount Newry, even when he steps over his opponent’s broken body, because the duel too is part of “fits of nonsense, completely absurd, but still, it is all that matters.” Like Carroll, we imagine time to be accurate always, and stand in wonder at the intellect pouring forth from his ambidexterity.

Literary largesse, and certainly when it is of genius proportions as in the case of Lewis Carroll, does not come without its shadows. In Seabrook’s retelling of the writer’s life, opium dims memories and knowledge, instead of slowing them down and fading away; life is laid out like a chessboard, and the Red Knight sleeps soundly, knowing that he has already won.

According to Seabrook, Carroll created 5000 card games, as well as word games. After his death they uncovered a chessboard where all the kings, queens, knights, rooks and castles had been replaced with pawns, and behind the board was a picture of Carroll, sitting alone, toying with the world in his head. It gets progressively darker, in spite of the innocence that was Carroll’s hallmark. The controversy in his real life (about photographing children in the buff) has been captured with irony, tenderness and sorrow, paying homage to his friendship with the real Alice. His terror of the Jabberwocky is as real as Alice’s in the book. The looking-glass reflects in reverse. Constantly looking at the world through the mirror, therefore, will take a toll. And Carroll’s interaction with the physical world becomes increasingly fragmented.

The pseudonym—Lewis Carroll—increasingly takes charge of the man christened Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, until the latter is certain that it is not his real name. And we may assume that it was as Lewis Carroll that he won the deadly duel with Lord Newry in 1862, even though it was Dodgson who fired the shot, eschewing a mental duel for a physical one. Dodgson remains a child at heart though, refusing to let the “harsh penetrating eyes” of adults to influence him. In the end, his obsession with childhood and the characters he created, especially Alice, hacks away at him. The world outside Alice’s creator can neither be controlled nor contained.

Seabrook vividly captures Carroll’s terror of being alive in the casual chattering of people long after he is dead, “a terrible fate.” He’d rather be extinct. But in Seabrook’s imagining, Carroll suffers a similar fate at his burial, after dying of pneumonia. Nevertheless, he doesn’t become a prized exhibit in a museum like the dodo. His afterlife, according to Seabrook, is a happy world, where Carroll makes peace with his tormentor, his muse, his alter ego. In Seabrook’s own words:

It is time to wake up,” Carroll said. “One can’t sleep forever.”

But who is dreaming whom?” The Red King asked, adjusting his spiked crown.

I should think we are all dreams,” Carroll said. “I can’t imagine anything more.”

What a beautiful imagining of a great writer’s life, lived after his physical life is passed. This is how every lover of Carroll would wish him to be, and for that we must give thanks to William Todd Seabrook for letting the imagination of Lewis Carroll in our lives, making us “fat with words,” “swollen with jam.”

___________

Rumjhum Biswas

RK Biswas’s novel Culling Mynahs and Crows was published by Lifi Publications, India in January 2014. A short story collection—Breasts and Other Afflictions of Women—is forthcoming in mid 2014 from Authorspress, India. Another story collection from Lifi Publications, New Delhi in mid 2015. Biswas’s short fiction and poetry have been published in journals and anthologies, both in print and online, all over the world. Her poem Cleavage was long listed in the Bridport Poetry Prize in 2006 and also was a finalist in the Aesthetica Contest in 2010. In 2007, her story Ahalya’s Valhalla was among Story South’s notable stories of the net. Her poem Bones was a Pushcart Nominee from Cha: An Asian Literary Journal in 2010. In 2012 she won first prize in the Anam Cara Writer’s Retreat Short Story Contest. She blogs at http://www.rumjhumkbiswas.wordpress.com

by Christopher Allen

Christopher Allen

Due to some recent life changes, I’ve had to limit my writing and editing time drastically; stories, though—characters’ situations, lines of dialogue, phrases and titles—keep flipping me around at night. I guess the simplest answer to the question “Why do I write?” is that the ideas keep coming. Brilliant or bollocks, they keep coming.

But why do I write flash fiction? It started at university—or it tried to. I was making up 16 hours of undergraduate English in a summer so that I could start a graduate program in English lit (I’d majored in music and music business as an undergrad). On one of my papers, my Victorian lit professor wrote that my essays were like tiny stories—I think she might have used the word “gems,” but my self-congratulatory memory might have sneaked this in. The papers were those 500-word ditties we’re all familiar with. Later in the semester when I told her I was writing a screenplay, her reaction was “You should write short stories.” This was 1992. I published one short story in the university’s journal in 1993, but between then and 2007 I wrote two screenplays and three novels—never another short story. Call me hard-headed. Go ahead.

Maybe I was resisting “tiny” and “short” and “ditty”—and not only because I’m relatively tiny myself. Maybe I was under the impression that “tiny” meant unimportant, that what I had to say wouldn’t fit into “tiny.” Maybe I’d read way too much Henry James and George Eliot. You are, after all, what you read. (And if this is true, I’m Bill Bryson and Virginia Woolf’s unlikely lovechild.) My love for other people’s words is another reason I write. And edit.

The often condensed syntax of sudden fiction represents a uniquely contemporary voice. Trimming syntax urges the eye along so that the reader experiences text almost in a single moment. Of course this is impossible, but it seems to be the goal. Technology keeps changing the way we read. It’d be dishonest to say some (many?) contemporary writers are not reacting to current tastes and reading formats when choosing to write shorter texts. In Internet writing workshops and communities you’re much more likely to get feedback on a 500-word piece than a whopping 5000-worder. Just have a look at a few litzines’ word-limit guidelines. Scrolling sucks, and it definitely contributes to carpal tunnel syndrome. Faster online fiction is healthier fiction.

As fast as it is to read, though, sudden fiction can take a long time to write (I don’t write sudden fiction because I like to write fast). It’s rare that I’ll sit down at my computer and whip out a 700-word story that I love at first read. It happens, but I usually come back to the story after a week with ideas that rip it apart. Then more ideas rip it apart two weeks later. And so on. Each ripping strips unnecessary bits, refines character—and sometimes completely screws the story to hell and back; yet more often the story evolves, becomes bigger and rounder as it grows smaller, tighter. Tight is, after all, the new big.

Each time I finish one of these tiny stories, I have to look at what I’ve created and ask myself. . .Is this whole? Is the reader’s eye urged along? Will the reader have the same visceral reaction to this moment as I do? Will these characters, whose visit was so brief, stay with the reader beyond the reading? Or is this just a ditty?

I hope other writers of sudden fiction will agree with me that we write sudden fiction because we have so many different moments of being to share: those particularly deep moments my mother Virginia Woolf talked about. In this way, we’re more like painters, songwriters and chefs than novelists.

You know, it might be as simple as feeling satisfaction in the completion of all those ideas that keep coming, the opportunity of plumbing, shaping and completing not just a few pieces of art but many—that’s why I write flash fiction.

____________

Christopher Allen is grateful to have his sudden fiction in Indiana Review, Quiddity, SmokeLong Quarterly’s Best of the First Ten Years anthology, Prime Number Magazine and many other great places. His book reviews have been featured at [PANK], Word Riot, The Lit Pub and Necessary Fiction, among others. He’s won some awards and come close to winning others. He keeps trying, and so should you. He lives in Germany and blogs at www.imustbeoff.com about his slight travel obsession.

 

by Susan Tepper

Gay Degani

Gay Degani has published fiction online and in print including her short collection, Pomegranate Stories. She is founder of EDF’s Flash Fiction Chronicles, a staff editor at Smokelong Quarterly, and blogs at Words in Place. She’s had three stories nominated for Pushcart consideration and won the 11th Annual Glass Woman Prize. Her novel, What Came Before, is live in serialized format at Every Day Novels. It’s also available from Barnes & Noble and Amazon.

Susan Tepper: Your debut novel What Came Before has been called a crossover book. Its primary scope is that of a literary novel, yet it also contains many elements that appear in the suspense genre plus it’s ripe with plot.

Did you know in advance of the writing that the book would go in this direction?

What_Came_Before

Gay Degani: I always have a plan, but nothing ever turns out as expected. This is what makes writing an adventure! The “plan” for this novel had been to make it a comedy, something along the lines of Compromising Positions by Susan Isaacs. I’d been writing screenplays—comedies, one about a weapon of mass destruction hidden in the main character’s gold crown, one about a playboy who owes a ton of money and ends up as a Tupperware Man, another about a housewife/mother/banker who gets cloned. I realized I didn’t have the personality to succeed in that industry so I decided writing a novel would be the better choice for a house-mouse like me.

ST: I’ve heard this scenario before, but the important thing is that you kept the book going in a direction. And you chose a direction you are comfortable with, which to my mind is key to the success of any book.

GD: So, What Came Before started as a broad comedy, but as it developed, I began to see deeper possibilities to it and it blossomed into a hybrid: comedic-suspense à la Susan Isaac’s with the mother-daughter relationship thrown in. It was when I made the decision that the half-sister to Abbie Palmer should be African-American that the heart of the story evolved.

ST: It was definitely a dramatic choice that influenced how the novel would proceed.

GD: Writing the back story to the romance that happened in 1949 also touched on so many of the things I love—history, the movies, and the unique niche I felt my generation of women fills. That change in the female ideal of June Cleaver and Donna Reed to Gloria Steinem and Erica Jong. So many ideas about what the book could be stymied me for years. The original version was told from three different viewpoints: Abbie’s, the “villain’s,” and Billy’s—Billy’s as a memory device to tell the story of what came before.

After many conferences, festivals, groups, and residencies, I accepted the fact that the book was way too complicated, and therefore pared it down to Abbie’s viewpoint. This left the book with most of the elements, the original humor of Abbie’s voice, the suspense created by both the murder and the mystery of the past, and the angst of my particular generation.

ST: Your book is structured in short flash-fiction chapters, a form I also have used and like very much. What made you go this route rather than a continual flow, with marker breaks, or the traditional longer chapters many novelists use?

GD: Publisher Camille Gooderham Campbell wanted my book for Every Day Novels, a new website Every Day Publishing was launching. Because the Every Day Novel concept was to serialize a book and have it appear chapter by chapter Monday through Friday just as Every Day Fiction did with short stories, the flash-sized chapters were absolute.

This adherence to word count proved to be a blessing. It helped me focus on the purpose of each chapter: how does the character feel, what does she want, what stands in her way, what does she do to get what she wants. Just asking myself these questions as I worked through my lengthy and sometimes convoluted chapters made the writing easier. It forced me to move things around, look for additional information if a chapter’s event was light, and to take out bits that didn’t have a purpose.

ST: The situation with her half-sister fascinated me. I’d like to quote a little from the text here:

A few minutes pass and then I turn and ask her soberly, really wanting to know, “Makenna. Will you tell me what your mother was like?”

I wait a long time and realize with mild surprise, there’s nothing else I’d rather do than wait. She says, “She was afraid of elevators.”

To me, this is such a perfect example of how extreme and dramatic we often view personal aspects of life, when, in fact, just the opposite is true. Life is mostly mundane, with the drama sprinkled into the flour like chile powder.

GD: “Life is mostly mundane, with the drama sprinkled into the flour like chile powder.” Beautifully put, Susan. And what we strive to do as writers is hone in on the chile powder, the little details that make each human being unique, and of course the context of the detail is what gives it that charge.

Abbie, my protagonist, is one of those people who is always “there for you.” People call her up to know about the best place to buy lamb chops, how to get to the downtown public library, and can you go with me to this event so I have someone to talk to. She’s spent her life saying “yes,” and as soon as she finds the grit to say “no,” Makenna shows up in her life. Makenna happens to be part African-American and this gives Abbie a path to follow to find out about herself and her own mother. She can’t say no, though for a while she thinks she can. Makenna has been raised to know her own mind, to deal with her problems, to be independent and capable of saying “no.” I wanted them to have a believable dynamic, not one that was exaggerated. I wanted it to feel as if they were people who live next door to us, facing problems as we all do.

ST: You mentioned earlier two female forces (Gloria Steinem and Erica Jong). Do you feel the women’s movement factored into Abbie’s decision to part from her husband? If the women’s movement had not occurred, do you still see Abbie leaving him to go out on her own? Because she is facing a big economic ‘turndown’ from what she’s used to in terms of style of living.

I quote from the text: “The Tiki Palms Apartments are as far away from my house on Woodbine Street as I can get without changing cities.”

This was very interesting to me. She left him, but not radically. A radical move would be across the country, for instance, or across the ocean. What gives?

GD: I have always felt that women of my generation—say born in ’46 through ’56—could be called a “watershed” generation. Our mothers, for the most part, understood that things were different after the war, after Rosy the riveter, but for the most part, in what was perceived as the gentler prosperous “golden fifties,” tended to conform, still embracing the standards their mothers embraced: staying at home, raising their children, and if they had a job it was to be a teacher, a nurse, or waitress. Not saying there weren’t women who were striving to have serious non-female careers in journalism, business, and so forth, but that wasn’t how it was across the nation.

This is the world I grew up in, and the world Abbie grew up in. But then in the sixties, what we thought was iron-clad began to melt and disperse, reshape and become something new. Most women wanted to be a part of this revolution, but only in some way. Most did not burn their bras, but they began to push against the barriers. Some were confused because to push at barriers seemed to mean giving up something precious. Abbie found security, love, and a comfortable life with Craig, but she gave up her own aspirations to make it work. She was afraid to push at barriers because she was afraid of what might be on the other side. However as she grew older—and felt her own time running out—she realized that so many women, her generation and those younger, were managing to fulfill some of their dreams. She takes her first tentative steps at the Tiki Palms. Going across country to do the same thing, would have felt too permanent, too final.

ST: I envy young women today because they are less entrenched in marriage. If the marriage sucks, many will get out fairly quickly as opposed to Abbie’s generation, and those earlier, who hung in ‘for better or worse.’

_______________________

 Susan-Tepper200wSusan Tepper has authored 5 published books. The latest is a novel in stories called The Merrill Diaries, from Pure Slush Books. She is a named finalist in storySouth Million Writers Award for 2014, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in fiction (2010), and nine times for the Pushcart Prize. Tepper is a staff editor at Flash Fiction Chronicles where she conducts the interview series UNCOV/rd. www.susantepper.com

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