Smoking With Pia Z. Ehrhardt
I was working with some word prompts, and mermaid was one of them. This image came to me of a girl in a pool, her paralyzed legs trailing behind her, and the story took off from there. A lot of my pieces start with a singular image of a character in an odd situation.
Your sentences read like some kind of languid, jazzy music. Do you listen to music when you write?
I'm glad that my sentences feel languid to you, because I worry that they are too laconic, always in a rush to get somewhere. I do love sentence rhythm, and reading my work out loud helps me hear the beats. No way can I listen to music when I write. It's too stimulating. I keep CNN on in the other room, turned down low, for company.
The characters in this story seem to breathe and fill the room—how do you create a character—what's important to you in discovering a character?
Stuff pops out of my characters' mouths that gets me in trouble. I give them dialogue, sure, and then I have to listen to what they say and what they leave out. I try to explore what's being left out through gesture, setting, the sensory details.
I like a story to be honest with me, take me into its confidence, and show me the stuff in people's lives that doesn't get out in the light much. And I admire the shape of great stories, how subtle bits you might've noticed in the beginning come back at the end when you've sort of forgotten them and then there they are, knocking on your heart.
Who controls the fate of your stories, you or your characters? How necessary is tension in your work?
I'm at the tiller, but barely. The reticent, coded stuff in my sentences ruins whatever plan I had for my story. And then I have to figure out what's really going on, and it's not usually a place I want to go to just then. But I try, or I leave the story in a file under my desk for a year or five, and go back to it when I understand things better.
Read Summer Swim.
|Issue Five (August 15, 2004): Lovers by Karen Simpson Nikakis «» Shore by Susan Henderson «» Lovechild by Ellen Parker «» Lipstick by Claudia Smith «» Back Home by Bob Arter «» Gloves by Gary Cadwallader «» Gilda by Patricia Parkinson «» Attic by Kim Chinquee «» The Radioactive Chicken or the Egg? by Randall Brown «» Summer Swim by Pia Z. Ehrhardt «» Two Benches by Pasha Malla «» Fall by Richard Hulse «» Drop by Roy Kesey «» Galveston by Steven Gullion «» Every Pane of Weathered Glass by Ellen M. Rhudy «» I Can't Talk About Butter Because Margarine Is All I Know by C.R. Park «» Something of Value by Brian Reynolds «» The Therapist Told Her Not to Stop Smoking–Right Now by Astrid Schott «» Maintenance by Miriam N. Kotzin «» Enough by Katrina Denza «» Interviews: Karen Simpson Nikakis «» Susan Henderson «» Ellen Parker «» Claudia Smith «» Bob Arter «» Gary Cadwallader «» Patricia Parkinson «» Kim Chinquee «» Randall Brown «» Pia Z. Ehrhardt «» Pasha Malla «» Richard Hulse «» Roy Kesey «» Steven Gullion «» Ellen M. Rhudy «» C.R. Park «» Brian Reynolds «» Astrid Schott «» Miriam N. Kotzin «» Katrina Denza «» Cover Art "A Character in Short Fiction" by Marty D. Ison «» Letter From the Editor|