“I write almost exclusively after midnight and drink many ill-advised cups of coffee.”
–Marilyn Hope
What struck us about “Deadheading” was your point of view and the lens you chose to tell the story through. What was your process in finding the perfect narrator?
Thank you for your attention to that detail! I believed it was important to tackle this narrative from the point of view of a loved one. I was looking for an analogue instead of an authority—someone who could offer readers a little more maturity of perspective, without being locked out of a child’s confidences entirely. An older sibling felt like the correct choice.
What inspired you to write this story? And how did that initial spark evolve into the final product?
I occasionally deadheaded my mother’s roses when I was younger, and I always thought it was such delicate, romantic work until I started finding earwigs hidden in the petals. It felt so duplicitous of nature to be so beautiful and so disquieting at the same time. When I began drafting “Deadheading” many years later, the danger and charm of peer pressure was at the forefront of my mind. I was on the lookout for a metaphor about dualism that I could manifest at least once as a literal scene. I wrote that passage first, and it informed the rest of the piece.
The relationship between Olive and Knox is complex, taking on grief, coming-of-age, and family dynamics. Did you draw from your own life experiences while writing, or did something else prompt you to discuss these issues?
Thankfully, I don’t have comparable firsthand experiences about grief—I’ve been lucky. But when I consider my own coming-of-age, I think of two very distinctive periods of my life— an “identification” of self when I was around Knox’s age, and a shedding of ignorance when I was closer to Olive’s. I wondered what it would be like to explore siblings who were undergoing those metamorphoses concurrently, with the same catalyst.
What do you hope people take away from this story?
I wanted to write about peer pressure and grief as two unique forces, how they coalesce to inspire dramatic action. I don’t mean to provide any commentary on whether or not the change they incite is positive or negative, because it’s highly situational. But I’ve always been awed by the fiercely motivating nature of friends and heartbreak.
When did you first start writing? What was the first story you ever wrote?
One of the first substantial stories I wrote was co-authored by my dear friend Rachael in the fifth grade. I started writing with more serious intent shortly thereafter, and haven’t stopped since. In 2019, an amazing publication called CRAFT picked up a piece of my short fiction called, “Winters,” which was my first original work that felt “complete” to me. I’m so grateful for their support of my work—for Mud Season Review as well— for the opportunities and confidence they’ve afforded me.
What are you reading right now? And how does what you are reading impact your writing?
I’m rereading Alas, Babylon and The Hours, and am about halfway through The Brief History of the Dead for the first time. All books affect my prose or subject matter for a while after I’ve read them. So I’m careful to give my projects a little downtime to be sure I’m writing in my own voice again. I’m highly susceptible to beautiful words and ideas, and there’s certainly no shortage of them in literature.
What is your writing process like? Do you have to be in a certain room, have a certain snack, etc.? Or is it more spur-of-the-moment?
I write almost exclusively after midnight and drink many ill-advised cups of coffee. I produce my best work when there’s a cat in my lap.
What advice would you give to a writer just starting out?
I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling like I’m “just starting out” myself, but the most helpful technique I’ve discovered is to consciously seek out angles through which I can deeply enjoy my own writing. I used to trudge through structurally necessary bits of exposition and dialogue that I didn’t actually want to write. Then I realized that I could refocus on details or approaches that were fun for me, or that challenged me more. Now I’m almost always exploring forms and subjects that I love. I don’t bore myself anymore. Maybe I’ll bore readers less, too.
You’re currently working on a speculative fiction novel and a short story collection. What can you tell us about these projects?
My speculative fiction novel, now complete, is about the staff of a retro-dystopian nation’s only library, and the difficulties they experience when they are caught in the crossfire of a territory war. It features queer and interracial relationships, and an overuse of the word “books.” The short story collection contains a few pieces of short fiction that maintain a similar light sci-fi bent, and some that don’t—it’s not as cohesive as I’d like it to be yet, but it intends to explore a theme of “consequence.” Both projects have been extremely fulfilling.
How has the pandemic and other global unrest inspired you or hindered you in your writing process? Has writing been an escape?
Some of my work is wholly escapism, but other projects, like my novel, aim to address our current sociopolitical climate. As a queer Asian-American writer living with mental illness, I feel like I’m at the intersection of certain important discussions. I’d like to learn how to weigh in while remaining conscious of my own privilege and limitations. Writing is great practice, though it’s not as “safe” for me as it used to feel. Hopefully that means I’m moving closer toward answering some of the questions that matter.
