American short story writers

“Mandala” by M.C. Schmidt

NEW FICTION

(image c/o the independent)

There’s a photograph from the 1990s of a city salt truck turned onto its side in a snowy ditch. Those who were there will recall it from glossy posters and keychains and silkscreened t-shirts. It was a bumper sticker on the Ford Escorts of that generation’s first high school girlfriends, the ones who picked up mothers’ sons and returned home men of certain experiences.  

The popularity of the image came from its accidental perfection of storytelling: the history of the truck in tire skids; the driver’s panicked face as he leaned on the mound of salt gravity had evacuated from his vehicle. It spoke to our universal lack of control. The futility of man preserved in one lucky shot.  

It was an image powerful enough to drive my parents to divorce and put my father permanently out of work. He was thirty-six the night he turned over that truck, the same as I am now. He entered the ditch with his bloodstream meff’d on Alival, Tryptanol, and the thorny bloom of gas station Wild Irish Rose. Three decades on, my own bloodstream sometimes begs for similar potions.  

I’ve come to regard the photo as a kind of mandala—the ditch that represents the whole tight universe I’m destined to occupy. It’s a mnemonic to remind me just how badly the world can treat you. And because it’s been there to warn me, I’ve never been surprised—that I’m not as smart as I’d like, that I’m fatter than I was and thinner than I’ll be, that I’m under-employed, -sexed, and -appreciated. On and on.

There was a lack of fanfare when your mother left me, because I always assumed I’d end up alone. (And, in case you’re sentimental and believe it’s better to have loved and lost, I’ll remind you that when Tennyson wrote those words, he had a mortgage and health problems and was in desperate need of cash. He knew, as all desperate people do, that there’s no limit to the amount we’ll pay to pretend our second act will be better than our first. See, as evidence, those recent Frasier and Sex and the City reboots.)  

So, why am I telling you this? Because you’re my son, and you should hear it from me: time is a flat circle. It pains me to say, but gramp-gramp’s failures, and mine, will be your failures too. The die has already been cast and, I’m sorry to say, little dude, that die is loaded against you. Welcome to the ditch. 

That’s all I wanted to say. Okay, go on now. Have a good first day at school. Daddy loves you, kid.

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M.C. Schmidt‘s recent short fiction has appeared in The Saturday Evening Post, Southern Humanities Review, EVENT, Coolest American Stories 2024, and elsewhere. He is the author of the novel, The Decadents (Library Tales Publishing, 2022) and the forthcoming short story collection, How to Steal a Train (Anxiety Press, 2025). He appeared previously at our main site, with the entertaining story, “We Love You, Ringo.”

An Excerpt from “Fame and Fortune” by Alan Swyer

NEW FICTION

Despite the lingering sense that he’d been conned, duped, or sold a bill of goods – the exact term depended on his feelings at a given moment – Jeff found himself not merely adjusting to Southern California life, but actually enjoying it. Having lucked into an apartment a block and-a-half from the beach in a still somewhat funky part of Venice, he loved the climate, which allowed him to run or bike at dawn on Ocean Front walk without encountering sleet, hail, or  horrendous humidity. He got a kick out of being in a place that had more yoga teachers than Mumbai, as well as ubiquitous Pilates studios, gyms big and small, and even a place called  Stretchlab. And he marveled at the restaurants catering to diets unheard of on his home turf. Though he had encountered vegetarian before, he hadn’t been aware of Ethiopian vegetarian, or  multiple examples of paleo, keto, gluten-free, Atkins, plus something called Zone. 

As for the infamous LA traffic, it only became a bother when, in a used Camry that made his cousin cringe, he had to make an emergency run to Children’s Hospital on the eastern edge  of Hollywood. 

In the low-rise Santa Monica office he shared with his cousin, the division of labor was clear. Steve treated the offspring of the “high-ranking industry folk,” while Jeff tended to the sons and daughters of what were termed “the civilians.” 

That, Jeff quickly came to realize, meant that he was spared the fawning, pandering, and  indulging that Steve felt provided the pathway to the success. 

COMING SOON to New Pop Lit!

Interview: Joshua Vigil

1.)  Have you known women like the character in your story, “Straight and Narrow”?

I think everyone shares morbid desires similar to the woman’s, whether we admit to it or not. Certainly I see myself in her just as much as I do in the narrator. But do I know anyone who has gone out and done what she’s done? I don’t think so. Though, I guess, who’s to say? Perhaps I do and I just don’t know.

2.)  Who are your favorite writers, present or past?

Rebecca Curtis is one of our best living writers, in my opinion.

Other writers I return to often: Barry Hannah, Amy Hempel, Mary Gaitskill, Denis Johnson.

Also, Amie Barrodale’s collection is perfect.


3.)  Have you written a novel, or do you plan to?

I’m a little superstitious and so all I will say is: Yes. If nothing comes from it, I’ll trash it and try again. And then again? And then again? Probably one day I’ll give up actually. Maybe get into gardening. Birdwatching.

NOW read Joshua’s story, “Straight and Narrow.”

Interview: C.A. Shoultz

1.)  Your story, “Killian and the Black Blade,” has a 19th century, Robert Louis Stevenson vibe to it. Is he an influence on your writing? If not, who is?

The Killian Archibald stories, of which there are several and of which I hope to write more, have two main influences.

The first is the long tradition in the United States and Europe of children’s short story collections, meant for young adults. The most prominent of these to influence the Killian stories are the Wayside School books by Louis Sachar.  Saint Catherine of Siena’s School for Girls is crafted very much in the spirit of the titular Wayside School: a building of strange happenings and odd events.

The second major influence is the slice of life stories featuring groups of female friends that are very popular in Japanese anime and manga. In particular, the anime Azumanga Daioh, with its laid back, realistic stories of the misadventures of a group of high school girls. 

Finally, my general love of fantasy, science fiction, and magical realism creeps into this story in all sorts of ways.

2.)  What’s most important to a short story: characters, setting, or plot?

This is a difficult question because it will be different for different writers. Jorge Luis Borges was not typically in the habit of creating memorable characters. His stories are powerful because of the ideas they explore, the imagination they show off, the way they weave fiction and nonfiction together. James Joyce, on the other hand, is all about characters in Dubliners; we continue to read it because Joyce makes us connect deeply with the characters in each story.

Setting is the least important part of a good short story. One must sketch one’s characters and lay out their affairs with the space one is allotted, which does not always leave time to dwell on the landscape where the story takes place. Edgar Allen Poe, in his masterful story “The Masque of the Red Death,” manages to beautifully sketch out the castle that is the story’s setting without sacrificing the thrust of its plot and the horror therein.

Characters are the key to good fiction’s power. If I had to rank my own valuation of these three elements, in my own stories, it would go Characters > Plot > Setting. But they are all important.

3.)  Have you done any fencing yourself?

Yes! Years ago when I was an undergrad at Baylor University I dabbled in the fencing club there. I have also had some minor experience training with the Japanese long sword. But competitive fencing is something I’m not keen on doing. I generally don’t like to participate in sports and games of chance, where the outcome is in doubt and factors not in my control have an influence on the final result. That’s the nice thing about being a writer and telling stories: nothing happens in them that isn’t completely up to you. Most of the time anyway.

XXX

NOW read C. A.’s recent feature story with us, about fencing: “Killian and the Black Blade!”