SmokeLong Quarterly

You wrote a beautiful essay for SmokeLong several months ago, “The Silence and the Flood,” which talked about your father briefly instituting a Korean-only rule at home and how that influenced your flash fiction. One of the ideas you explored in the essay was the concept that withholding some words can give others greater power. How does that affect what you like to read, and what you may be reading for this week?

I love stories that understand how words work with or against each other. That allows for gaps filled with meaning. Semi-related: I was talking to a friend earlier about how, instead of saying “She looked at the moon” you can just say “Moon.” and there’s an understanding of the moon’s existence and that it is being seen or noticed. That balance of words can also create poetry and rhythm. I want lines that I can taste and smell and feel when I read them out loud. It also forces a little experimentation and can make writers use more physical imagery in stories, instead of writing with abstract, floaty ideas. That usually means that I tend to gravitate toward things that are at least a little weird, but I want that. I want weird stories. I want writing that does something, anything, with language.

You’re active on Twitter @Chipmnk, and Twitter’s influence on writers is a topic that has launched a thousand think pieces. What does Twitter offer you as a writer and reader?

Twitter fulfills so many roles in my life. Part of it is that thing where writing can be a really isolating, lonely activity. Just a lot of staring into the middle distance. I know that there’s always someone to talk to on my timeline, and I’ve made so many amazing, true friendships with writers and non-writers through Twitter. I also feel like the people I follow are some of the smartest people in this galaxy. I am constantly learning and taking in all kinds of art. I mean, I’m learning things about writing and storytelling, of course, but also more broadly, I feel like just existing on Twitter has made me more informed about gender, sexuality, queer politics, diversity, and the world around me. All of that makes me a better writer.

And, okay, before Twitter, I assumed that every writer was a scholarly person who could quote Proust off the top of their head and only watched movies that were in black and white. But being on there for, what, nine years now, it’s so comforting to see that writers are just normal people who like weird horror movies and video games and talking about how great cookies are. It sounds silly, but that realization opened things up for me and made it feel like I was allowed to do and say things and be interested in what I wanted.

And I feel like writing really dumb tweets and silly things somehow helps my writing in some indefinable way.

In terms of reading, Twitter is the place to go if I need to find essays or stories or new lit mags. I know that I can always find something that will make me think or feel on my timeline. Or I’ll just go to Mr. Bear’s timeline and literally click any link and know it’ll be something amazing.

I noticed that several of your stories, like “Tree Rot” and “We Can’t Solve Everything,” have strong motifs around food or medicine. Tell us about a meal you’ve had that is somehow linked to writing in your mind.

I’m going to say that whiskey cocktails are not a meal, just for my own reputation and wellbeing, but I instantly thought about miyeokguk. It’s a really simple Korean soup that comprises almost entirely seaweed with a little bit of beef. It’s not a meal in itself, but it’s a common part of a traditional Korean birthday meal. It’s honestly one of my favorite foods. Like, real Korean soul food (Seoul food?). The reason it’s served on birthdays: miyeokguk is commonly given to pregnant women because it’s high in iron, calcium, and other vitamins valuable to expectant mothers. I like that idea of passing down food as a way of passing down history and memory at like an embryonic, blood-based level. I’m also realizing that food in my stories often gets wrapped up in this complex mix of love, nurturing, and sacrifice, which are tied to family and miyeokguk on birthdays.

I’m going to have to Google miyeokguk. It sounds amazing, and reminds me of a line you wrote in your essay: that you’re trying to “incorporate and connect with the Korean culture” in new ways as an adult. How do you see that manifesting in your writing?

It’s hard. Being a writer of color, there’s that balance of being a Korean writer versus being a writer of Korean stories. I don’t really see myself being too much of the latter, but I’ve also consciously decided to stop distancing myself from my own culture. In terms of my writing, for now, it’s some little things, like incorporating certain foods or mentioning onggi (clay jars).

One important thing: I tend to not describe my characters in detail to leave things intentionally open-ended, but I’ve been forcing myself to imagine my characters as Korean, to make that the standard when I write any character. Also, I used to imagine my stories set somewhere in the American South, but I’m more often thinking of them as set in Busan or in more rural parts of Korea. These aren’t really obvious to the reader, but they’re changing how I envision and write stories.

Other than that, it’s just a whole lot of learning and folding Korean history and ideas into my own Korean-American experience. Like, right now I’m trying to learn more about han.

If you started a lit magazine, what would you name it and why?

Shout out to Whiskey Paper, who, aside from being an awesome lit mag, legitimately has my dream name for a lit mag.

But if I started one, I think I’d go with Aspirin & Honey. Stories that have some bitter and some sweet. And also potentially make a good face mask for acne.