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Author Interview: Samuel Snoek-Brown
If you’ve been wondered what was rolling around in author Samuel Snoek-Brown’s head as he wrote his new short story collection, There Is No Other Way to Worship Them, today’s the day to find out! We sat down with the Tacoma-based author to chat about how his new collection came to be, the narratives inside, and some of the secrets hidden within its stories. Enjoy!
Q: We heard through the grapevine you like to hide secrets or slip riddles into your stories … is that true?
A: Iโm a big fan of literary puzzles and Easter eggs! So yeah, I hide all sorts of nerdy things in my stories. The main thing I hope every reader keeps an eye out for are the hidden connections between my stories, not just in this book but in all the stories I write. (Example: Thereโs a connection between the story โJarabeโ and my Civil War novel Hagridden, but Iโll let readers find it on their own.) But there are also other little games I play while Iโm developing stories, and I donโt know if anyone else will spot them or if theyโre just for me, but I like that theyโre in there. A lot of my stories come from songs, for example, as did the title of this collection. But I wonโt spoil the game of figuring out which songs. And those Easter eggs arenโt as important as the stories themselves, anyway.
Q: Many of the stories in the collection have Mexican or Mexican-American protagonists or are immigrants to the U.S. Why write from these perspectives?
A: I tend to write about the things I most want to know. I learn through stories, both the reading and the telling. Besides, I donโt think anyone can honestly write about Texas, or the parts of Texas I lived in, without writing about Mexicans and Mexican-Americans. All the whitewashing of the โold Westโ and โcowboysโ aside, the essential nature of Texas is its own mixed heritage, and over the years, as I wrote my stories about Texas, I realized that by writing only from my own limited perspective, I was only telling a small part of the truth that is Texas. Iโm not a sociopath, but one of the characters is a sociopathic killer. Iโm not a libertarian or a street preacher, but both those men inhabit my stories. Iโm not a veteran of any war, but war veterans survive my stories. I write from other perspectives not just to round out the reality of my fiction and tell truer, more inclusive stories, but also to learn from other perspectives, to consider the world from more than I own point of view. Or, I try to, anyway.
Q: What would you say to those who feel youโre appropriating othersโ experiences for the sake of fiction?
A: Iโm really sensitive to this critique. Itโs one I continue to think aboutโand itโs something I raise with my literature and creative writing students as well. Whose stories are we telling, and who has the right to tell them? Thereโs been a lot of attention the past few years to the science of empathy and how reading fiction about diverse characters and experiences helps us develop into more thoughtful, compassionate people. I think the same can be true of writing diverse characters with a range of experiences, but I also know that the line between respectful storytelling and thoughtless appropriation is thin and always in motion. And I donโt know that itโs my place to determine whether Iโve crossed that line. I hope that readers will have that conversation. My role as the writer is to write with as much respect and compassion as I can, and that was certainly my intention here. I spent a lot of time running these stories by a range of people who might feel represented in them, to make sure I was honoring the people Iโm writing about. So far everyone has signed off on them, but I hope thatโs not the end of the conversationโI hope that conversation carries on, about my fiction and everyone elseโs.
Q: When you wrote these stories, did you have border issues like violence, immigration, or shifting identity in mind, or did those issues and themes arise organically?ย
A: At the time I was writing these stories, those issues werenโt always at the forefront of my thought process. But growing up with friends who routinely crossed a whole range of borders and boundariesโnational, cultural, sexual, religiousโand struggled with identity, I was always aware thatโs what these stories, in general, are about. Personally, Iโve always been fascinated by these things. I am a devout pacifist whoโs as fascinated by violence as I am appalled by it. I am a white guy born in the States but Iโm descended from immigrant relatives I knew in my lifetime. And Iโve lived overseas, so even though we tend to call white folks โexpatsโ wherever we live, I knew in that country that I was an immigrant and a minority. In my own hometownโwhich really isnโt my hometown but itโs the town where I graduated high school so I claim itโthere has always been debate about whoโs a โlocalโ and whoโs just passing through. My parents have lived there the past 30 years and theyโre still considered โnewcomersโ by some folks, even as the town has grown into a city and practically everyone is a newcomer and my โhometownโ barely resembles the place I write about in my fiction anymore. What is โhomeโ and when does it become a home? What is our identity, and who decides it? So in a way, these themes are always in the back of my mind.
Q: How long was this collection โin the making?โ
A: Some of the stories took decades to sort out, and some of the stories only appeared in the past year or so. But the collection as a whole only revealed itself to me fairly recently. Iโd been working with a few of the stories as a chapbook, but it never quite worked on its own. I finally realized that I need another story or two to tie the narratives together. But as I started pulling in more stories, I began to see how they overlapped with still more characters and events and themes, so I kept pulling in more stories, until I finally saw the wholeness of this collection. That process felt so organic that I canโt recall exactly how long that took. Sometimes it feels like it happened in the space of an evening; other times, I know it took me months to really wrap my head around it. Putting together this collection felt a bit like falling in love, I suppose. I could put a date on the moment it happened just for the sake of claiming an anniversary, but the actual process was a lengthy evolution, a slow dawn in the heart.
Q: Did you make any cuts from the collection and if so, why?
A: In Guadalupeโs story, โIt Was the Only Way,โ thereโs a background character that we never quite meet, the boarding-house owner Consuela. Years before I wrote that story, I wrote a piece of flash fiction about Consuela, which is how she wound up in Guadalupeโs storyโshe was already there, waiting for me to bring her back into fiction. I thought about including her tiny story, โConsuela Throws Her TV Away,โ but it always felt a bit out of place. So I didnโt so much cut it as I couldnโt work it in to begin with. Itโs out there, though, in the online magazineย Fiction Southeast, if anyone wants to find out more about Consuela.
Q: Which story in the collection was the hardest to write?
A: Every story is the hardest to write. Itโs true what they say, that every time you sit down to write, you have to learn all over again. In many ways, I think the Miguel stories (including the one with his mother, Guadalupe) were the hardest, because I wanted to make sure I was getting the characters right, that I was honoring their experiences. I leaned heavily on some of my friends from high school and college for cultural and linguistic details there, and I hope Iโve done those characters justice.
The story that took the longest to write was โThe Penitent Go to Texas.โ The kernel of that story began as an assignment in undergrad, back in 1994, and while the basic narrative (a one-night stand) stayed the same, I was never happy with the characters or the ending, so I kept reworking it over and over, trying new people in each draft and seeing how they changed their story. A decade later, in grad school, I was studying medieval hagiographies and fell in love with the lives of the married saints, and once I started trying to imagine their stories in a contemporary setting, I realized what was missing from that old one-night stand story, so I put the two together. But it still took a few more years of revision to finally make that story work, so that one story took me more than 20 years to get right.
Q: Who are some of your biggest inspirations as an author?
A: My go-to answer is always, first and foremost, Tom Franklin, who has not only been an inspiration but also a mentor and a friend. I want to be him when I grow up. Iโm also a huge fan of Dan Chaon, whose โfrayed edgesโ in his fiction taught me a lot about how to not tie up a story, and of Debra Monroe, whose sense of place and inner conflict with home was an education in how Iโve always wanted to write about my own home. But I think the inspiration that might surprise folks is Jane Austen. My wife turned me onto Jane early in our relationship, and now Iโm a lifelong member of JASNA. Few writers have ever done character or dialogue better than Jane, but also, her precision and insight when describing a culture, a society, relationships between human beings, is practically unparalleled in Western literature. Maybe Alice Munro approaches her, but not many others.
Q: Do you have any writing rituals?
A: Iโm not a terribly disciplined writer. I work hard at my fiction, but Iโve never been one of those โwrite every dayโ types, let alone writing at the same time of day or in the same environment, etc. Iโve valued the consistency of that kind of habitual writing when Iโve had the luxury of doing it, but mostly, Iโve trained myself to write anywhere, in any circumstances, during any time I can set aside. But one thing I do as often as I can is write to music. Sometimes itโs just background mood-setting music, and sometimes itโs not even musicโI have a couple of websites of atmospheric sound effects I sometimes listen to. But for larger projects like books, I often put together particular playlistsโmusic from certain time periods, or songs with lyrics I reference, or music with the same energy I want in the fiction. I do write in silence sometimes, or in the din of public life, but when I can, I write to music.
Q: What is the most difficult part of your artistic process?
A: Waiting. I am terrifically impatient, and while the sexy part of writing is the writingโI even love revision, hard work though it isโbut in the longer view of things, most of writing is about waiting. Ideas, submission responses, the publication processโthese things happen at a pace I have little control over, and it drives me up the wall sometimes. Itโs one reason I always have a handful of projects going at any one time, so Iโve always got some story or other to distract me from my own impatience.
Q: What do you hope readers take away from this collection?
A: As a reader, I know that one of the most valuable parts of any reading experience is discovering the text, in revealing what you see in the text. And thatโs mostly about the readerโwho you are, what you bring the to page, whatโs going on in your world when you take up a text. And I feel like talking about what I want readers to take away is a bit like spoiling that experience for the readers. Itโs why I never write in books myself, never annotate or highlight on the pages of booksโany book I read, I hope will outlast me, and if I mark up the text, Iโm telling future readers how to read that text, and I would feel like Iโd be robbing them of their own experience with the book. Which is my own hangup, and I donโt apply it universallyโI love book reviews, for example, and what are reviews but explications of how one reader engaged with a text and how other readers might read it in the future? But I know from my teaching how often people want to talk about โwhat the author intendedโ as though itโs some sort of standard against which we should measure our own approaches to a story, and I donโt like being party to someone elseโs โintentional fallacy.โ Once these stories are out there, in your hands, in your mind, they become partly your stories, and Iโm much more interested in finding out how other people receive them.
If all of that sounds like a cop-out, Iโll say this instead: I hope readers see the humanity in these characters, even the jerks. I hope readers can relate to these charactersโ longings, their love and their anger, their pathetic failures and their heroic failures. I hope, after reading these stories, people might walk through their own neighborhoods or sit in their own coffee shops or attend their own churches, and theyโll see a stranger, some random person they donโt know and might never see again, and theyโll think, even from a distance, even for just a moment, โI wonder what that personโs story is.โ
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