When I finally began to write about what I knew (it’s obvious— but it’s not obvious until you know what it is you know!) it felt like opening a door and coming home. This wasn’t really a matter of the subjects—people, relationships, families: I’d tried all that before. It was a matter of the voice; it was that I discovered what I sounded like, what I needed to sound like, to tell my truth about what I saw.
by Evelyn Somers
There’s nothing monotonous about the intensity of Hadley’s perspective, even if her gaze is often turned on the details of daily life.
by Kaulie Lewis
On reflection, [Megan Mayhew Bergman] concludes that “I do not find it unusual that many writers I know acquire vintage clothes, buy old homes, and rescue animals. For one, we don’t have Wall Street salaries, and secondly, we’re suckers for backstory, particularly that which is left to the imagination. Our job, after all, is to make up lives, engage in epic games of pretend.”
I believe that intentions matter. They matter in life and they matter in writing fiction. If you sincerely want to explore the humanity of a character who happens to be of a different race, that sincerity will shine through. Readers are so awesomely smart.
by Michele Beller
A bell of familiarity clanged in my head when I read that Stern’s father defended himself, reminding her how much he “tried to help” her during her “troubled childhood.” The exasperated voice of my mother came back to haunt—“You have a fear of success,” she would say to me when I was at my lowest.
Bloom Staff Writer Joe Schuster had the chance to chat with Katherine Heiny, author of the just-released story collection—25 years in the making— Single, Carefree, Mellow.
by Joe Schuster
The truth is, however, that . . . you did not, of course, disappear. You were just continuing to live your life and write—write a lot. It was just that most people did not notice.