Coming of age ...

"Combustible is a wonderful story ... The author did a great job of bringing each character to life ... I recommend this book to anyone who is looking for a light read with a satisfying plot and interesting characters." 

— Kristi Elizabeth, San Francisco Book Review

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End of an Era

Sadly, Luminis Books is no more. The publisher of "Meaningful Books that Entertain" has closed up shop. This was the outfit that brought you Precarious, Sabrina's Window, The Possibility of Snow, and Then We'd Be Happy. It was, I think, a bold and noble venture, and I will always be grateful to Luminis for making my writing available to readers across the country and beyond.

When Characters Come Alive

I had more fun writing Then We'd Be Happy than anything I've done before. The characters came alive for me and now seem like real friends. They are energetic, funny, insightful, and face life's challenges with the same confusion and frustration we all feel. They have their faults, as you will see, but I can't help loving them all.

The Limits of Belief and Forgiveness

As I look back, I see that I've often written about missteps and misunderstands, crossed signals and bad timing, usually between men and women. In The Possibility of Snow, it's two guys. 

They become friends and then, well, not.

Big deal, right? Guys tend to become friends almost by accident—some combination of shared circumstances and sensibilities—and drift apart as easily as they came together.

The central characters in The Possibility of Snow, Steve and Neil, meet in college, where, away from home for the first time, guys find themselves in need of new friends as never before (and perhaps never again, not with the same urgency).

It's also the place and time in which we are all looking to define ourselves, to decide what and who we want to be.

The combination of similarities and differences that bring Steve and Neil together makes it hard for them to either stay friends or simply go their separate ways. Each is unlike anyone the other has ever known. 

To me, that dynamic proved fascinating, mystifying, and ultimately unsettling.

Through their story, I found myself exploring the limits of loyalty, compassion, belief, and forgiveness. 

See what you think.

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | INDIEBOUND

Publishing History

My first story was published when I was in the fourth grade. (Mrs. Hughes ran it off on her mimeograph machine and gave a copy to everyone in the class.)

Encouraged, I decided I would become the best writer who ever lived.

I had never heard of Shakespeare.

In the years that have followed, I've toiled as a newspaper reporter, magazine editor, copywriter, and ghostwriter.

Now, if enough of you buy my books—Sabrina's Window and Precarious—I promise to leave all that behind and focus on making stuff up for your entertainment.

How I came to write Sabrina's Window

Sabrina's Window is still a mystery to me, even though I wrote it.

I wrote the first few pages years ago, set them aside, and forgot about them. I can't recall how I came across them again, but I picked up the story where I had left off.

I never knew where I was going with it, but scenes came to me one by one in random order. Often I'd wake up early in the morning with a bit of dialogue in my head. I'd play the lines over and over again because I didn't want to get out of bed and I didn't want to forget. Then more lines would come and I'd have to get up and write them down.

Later I decided the story was taking place in Taos, New Mexico, because I've always liked it there. I surrounded myself with postcards, brochures and magazines that my wife and I had collected on our trips there. And I had an evocative water color by Greg Moon, "La Loma II," hanging in the studio where I write.

My soundtrack was The Wheel, a deeply moving album by Rosanne Cash.

At first I thought I was writing a short story, but it just kept getting longer. It took me about a year to write the first draft, and two more years to flesh the whole thing out.

I have always been fascinated by the conflicts that come up between the sexes. The mystery of attraction. Gender roles. Power struggles. Trying to find the right balance. Those are the things I tend to come back to again and again in my writing.

Those are the obsessions I explore through Sabrina's Window.

Story Behind the Story: "Men Are Such Boys"

This one is a story about an older woman dating a younger man. "Men Are Such Boys" was written before the term cougar became popular, and I don't think of the woman, Deirdre, as a cougar, which has taken on a derogatory connotation.

This is simply a story about a woman who thinks of all men as boys. Boys in bigger bodies.

In the first few drafts, I cut back and forth between Deirdre's point of view and that of the young man, Randy.

I was quite fond of the story then, but it wasn't getting the response I wanted from readers. Nobody really liked it, and I didn't know why.

I needed to do something, but what?

Then, I don't know why, I decided to present almost the entire story from Deirdre's point of view, then again from Randy's, finally bringing the two viewpoints together for the ending.

That did the trick.

Readers started saying it was my best story yet.

As I told the astute interviewer from Book Club Queen (who got me thinking about this story), I believe it's because you get more uninterrupted time with each character, enough time to bond. And you naturally buy into the first point of view before finding out there's more to the story. That change in perception makes it more interesting, I think.

The Precarious Writing Process

For the most part, the writing process remains a mystery to me, even though I've been doing this for a long time now. My first story was published when I was 10 years old. On a mimeograph machine. By my fourth-grade teacher. (Everyone in the class got a copy, and I signed each one.) I've written a lot of stories since then, including the fifteen in Precarious, but the process is never the same.

That first story was in response to an assignment: Write a story about anything you like. I wrote about a baseball game with an unlikely ending. (I had cast my two best friends as the captains of opposing teams and couldn't decide which should win, so I had an escaped elephant interrupt the proceedings.)

Much later, when I started to get serious about writing, stories came to me in different ways. I didn't have to write them, and yet I did. Looking back, it seems almost as if I had no choice. The ideas never came easily to me. Well, never and always. I couldn't turn out a story at will. I couldn't just decide to write one. But then a story, or the beginnings of a story, would suddenly take shape in my mind. It was easy if I wasn't trying. The story might be inspired by a photograph in a magazine, a song on the radio, a snippet of conversation overhead at lunch. Or it could come, seemingly out of nowhere, in the form of a first sentence.

I almost never know where I’m going with a story. In fact, most of the time, I’m not even conscious of why I’m writing it, unless it's simply to find out what will happen. Invariably I get stuck and don't know. Have no clue. Can't figure it out. The remedy is usually a long walk, a hot bath, or a good night's sleep. In extreme cases I've been forced to leave a story half finished for years, as was the case with both "Taken," which was inspired by a photograph, and "Dance Naked," which was inspired by a true story.

The phrase “inspired by a true story” should always be regarded with suspicion because you never know how much is true. Very little, in this case. But years ago, as a newspaper reporter, I had the chance to cover a murder trial and that’s where I got the idea for “Dance Naked” — two guys fighting over one woman and how ugly that can get. But it’s a much different story than the one I covered. I made up 99.9% of it. And it doesn’t end the way I thought it would.

In some ways, I think, my process is probably similar to what an actor goes through to get into character, drawing upon his own memories and emotions in order to empathize with the person he's portraying—only I get to play all the parts: The hero, the villain, the man, the woman, the faithful friend. On the page, I get to act out lives unlike my own. Not that I consciously think of it as acting. My process is largely unconscious, and a lot of my best stuff comes to me as I'm waking up in the morning, as if from a dream. It's just there and I don't know where it came from.

Originally posted on TSP.

What Does the Word "Story" Mean to You?

I did an interview recently in The Short Review (which also featured A.J. Kirby's insightful review of my story collection, Precarious).

I tried to keep my answers short because that's my strategy to avoid boring people. It's been my strategy since I was in the first grade, but that's another story.

No, that's not fair. I'll tell you.

A classmate asked me what I got for Christmas and I started with the mundane stuff like new pajamas and socks. The kid turned away before I got to the really cool thing, a slot-car set, probably the best present a boy could get back then.

So, lesson learned.

Back here in the future I was asked, “What does the word 'story' mean to you?”

Good question. I had never been asked that before. Never really thought about, either.

I said, “I guess a story is what we tell ourselves to make sense of our lives. The stories may not be factual but they are as true as we can make them … or as true as we can stand to make them.”

I left it at that because shorter is always better and because I couldn't remember all the stuff I'd heard about memory not being reliable so we fill in the blanks with whatever makes the most sense and over time that becomes part of our so-called memory.

I also meant to imply that we sometimes make up stories to fool ourselves, but you got that, right?

At a party once, someone asked me, "How many of your stories are based on your own life?"

"Three," I said.

I wouldn't say which three.

The truth is I would have a hard time separating fact from fiction in those stories. Did that happen to me or did I make it up? I'm not sure.

“But,” as Ken Kesey wrote, “it's the truth even if it didn't happen."

Behind the Story: "Just Admit It"

"Just Admit It" is another one of my earliest stories. The first draft was written for a creative writing class when I was in college.

To this day, more than 30 years later, I remember the instructor telling me where the story picked up interest for him, which was about a third of the way into what was then called "The Sinner and the Would-Be Savior."

It was a painful but important lesson that helped to shape everything I've written since then.

In the years that followed, I rewrote the story several times, in the first person, third person, first person, third person. I could never seem to make up my mind which would be better.

As I began to gather my stories into a collection, "Just Admit It" was in, then out, then in again after one final round of changes.

In Precarious, the final version of "Just Admit It" is in the first person, but I suppose I could change it in a future edition. I could even go back to the original title, which I still like, even if it is a bit long.

Then again ...

It's a wonder I finished any of these stories.

Behind the Story: "What She Said"

This was my breakthrough. That's what I thought when I wrote it. But it didn't become my breakthrough for another decade.

When I wrote "What She Said," I was working for a city magazine in San Francisco and the executive editor wanted to publish it. Her boss, as it turned out, did not.

Aaargh!

So I sent the story around to eight or nine other places. They all said no.

I gave up.

A decade later (give or take a couple years) I took another look at the story. It was lean and sharp and fast. I liked it. With a few small changes I sent it to the Beloit Fiction Journal. The editor at the time, Shawn Gillen, said yes.

Soon I had a work of fiction in print for the first time.

Behind the Story: "Don't Stop Now"

I started this one when I was still in high school. In the years that followed, it grew into a short novel and kept getting longer.

I'd be embarrassed to have anyone read the full manuscript now, so it remains hidden away. But I'm glad I didn't simply burn it.

At some point I remembered that a friend said he really liked the chapter at the lake. So I took another look. It had potential.

The result is "Don't Stop Now" (first published in Hobart and now part of my story collection, Precarious).

I think of it as the Reader's Digest version of that first failed novel — a 342-page manuscript condensed to just 6 pages.

Behind the Story: "Sleeping with Smiley"

If you'll indulge me, I thought I might share the story behind some of the stories in my collection.

The first story, "Sleeping with Smiley," began its life as a screenplay, and I chose the setting and the sport for their cinematic possibilities.

Later "Smiley" turned into a novel, back into a screenplay, then a novel again, and finally a short story, which is how I like it best.

Here's a little glimpse of the screenplay:

FADE IN:

EXT. ROGUE RIVER — EARLY MORNING

All we see is the surface of the water, blue and calm, as the credits flash on and off the screen. Occasionally we hear the CRY of a seagull and see its shadow pass over the water. A fishing trawler CHUGGING out to sea can also be faintly heard.

As the last credit disappears there’s a brief silence, and then we see it: the narrow, pointed bow of a rowing shell glides into view, followed by the oars — two of them, close up, on the same side of the boat. They catch the water, not in unison but one slightly behind the other, and the boat lurches a bit.

The camera PULLS BACK and we stay with the boat as it moves along the river. The two scullers, the morning sun behind them now, are seen only in silhouette at first. The one nearer the bow is tall and lean; the other is several inches shorter but more muscular.

NARRATOR

I remember the river and the way it looked at dawn,
the feel of my oars catching the water in time with
Curt’s. The muscles don’t forget. Though twelve years
have passed, I can feel the strain even now in my legs
and lower back, in my shoulders and in my arms. It
was that summer between the end of high school and
the start of something else. Curt and I were best friends.

THE DOCK NEARBY

Standing on the edge is a massive man, bald except for a short white fringe. His name is WARREN ALT and he is dressed more like a gym teacher than the wealthy easterner he is.

ALT

(hands cupped around mouth)

Now, give me a power twenty!

THE TWO SCULLERS

are seen from over their shoulders. They really start pulling now, putting their backs into it, but their strokes don’t quite match.

The tall sculler notices the difference and shortens his stroke. Now the angle of his oars matches that of his shorter partner, and they start to glide, swiftly and smoothly, for the first time.

RESERVE ANGLE

We see the scullers faces as they continue to row in almost perfect synchronization. Setting the pace is 18-year-old CURT HUTTON, the shorter, more muscular one. When his face is not contorted with the strain of all-out rowing, he is exceptionally handsome.

Behind him is DEAN STOCKTON, who is also 18 and whose mature voice provides our narration. Although the muscles on his less-than-handsome face are slack, the pain still shows through.

ON THE DOCK

Mr. Alt paces slowly, following the boys’ progress. He stops, folds his arms, and nod appreciatively, but says nothing.

THE SHELL

continues to gain speed, and as it does, the expressions on the boys’ faces begin to change. We see a series of quick cuts — the bow cutting through the river ... the splash of the oars as they catch the glassy water and pull ... the boys’ seats sliding in the shell as they bend and straighten their knees — interspersed with close-ups of the boys as their eyes brighten, and smiles appear and grow on their faces.

When they finish the 20 power strokes, it’s as if they have crossed a finish line. Their oars come up and the shell continues to glide.

FAVORING CURT

as he looks over his shoulder at Dean and lets out a whoop.

DEAN'S VOICE

Rowing in harmony was an experience we would never
be able to describe. But then we wouldn’t really need to.
Not to each other.

Joy and Gratitude

I flew to Indianapolis over the weekend — my first visit to a beautiful, vibrant city made more beautiful but no less vibrant by a blanket of snow.

I was there for a party thrown by my publisher, Luminis Books, celebrating the release of its first three titles and previewing a fourth.

The party took place within the charming confines of Big Hat Books, where I got to see Precarious displayed in a store window instead of a web browser for the first time.

Excited? Me? You better believe it.

A steady stream of people came to wish us all well, and near the end of our time there, the upstairs was packed with people sipping wine, munching crackers and cheese and olives and tiny desserts.

Everyone was talking about books. Our books.

That's when I got the question: "How many of your stories are based on your own life?"

"Three," I said.

Which three, I wasn't saying.

I had never talked so much with so many people about myself and my writing. It was fun, because the good people of Indianapolis seemed genuinely interested.

Twelve people bought my book and asked me to sign it — and I did, with joy and gratitude.

Sex and the Short Story

The latest issue of 34th Parallel — Issue 9 — is now available, and it contains a real first for me.

Over the years I've interviewed a lot of people for newspapers, magazines, and websites, but this marks the first time someone has interviewed me.

Just check out the cover headline:

Gretchen Clark Interviews Al Riske
SEX AND THE SHORT STORY

Gretchen is a widely published essayist — I'm particularly fond of "This Is a Woman" — who teaches creative nonfiction at Writers.com. She also happens to be my sister-in-law and the first person I turn to for feedback on my own writing.

It was a fun interview and really made me think. I hope you'll check it out.

"Charming" - Publishers Weekly

I won't lie to you. The first review of Precarious was ... not great.

The first line was OK: "The lovelorn characters in Riske's debut collection are riven by confusion, to sometimes charming, sometimes infuriating effect."

But then the reviewer chose to focus on the (apparently) infuriating parts. The charming parts? Not so much.

Still, I suppose, it was somewhat of a coup to be reviewed in Publishers Weekly at all. (I'm including a link, but I'd really rather you didn't go there. See this instead.)

But there was good news, too.

Based on PW's not-so-great review, someone named Erica contacted my publisher to see if movie and TV rights are still available.

Which is interesting because, coincidentally, the first story in the collection. "Sleeping with Smiley," started out as a screenplay.

If anything comes of the inquiry, I'll let you know.

From the Shadows to the Marketplace

Though he's only been writing fiction for a short time, my good friend Mark Richardson writes with the assurance of a seasoned professional, and in just the past year he's had his first three short stories published:

> Tattoo Woman
"She had no tattoos when she left him. Just white twenty-two-year-old skin..."
> Boardwalk Gypsy
"From the balcony of my highrise Santa Monica condo, I looked down at the cars and bike riders and T-shirt clad pedestrians moving freely..."
> Moaning
"Orgasmic moans float through my open window and I get horny. It’s just before dusk in late September..."

Mark's non-fiction has appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, Reuters, Literary Traveler, and Dusty Shelf.

Keep up the great work, my friend. Can't wait to see what you come up with next.

Beach Cabin

This post is coming to you from my private ocean-side cabin.

The one in my head.

In reality, I'm in a shed in my backyard.

I call it a shed because it was built by an outfit called The Shed Shop, but it's much more than a shed. It has a real door and windows and electricity and wi-fi access.

I like to think of it as a rustic beach cabin, though. That's why I have a window-size picture of Haystack Rock on Cannon Beach, Oregon, hanging on the wall.

But I also have a bulletin board covered with postcards from New Mexico. I'm working on a novel set in Taos and the postcards are supposed to put me in a New Mexico frame of mind. Not sure how well that has worked but it hasn't hurt. The novel is coming along nicely.

The cabin ... I mean, shed ... was my wife's idea and has provided a very real retreat ever since it went up last year.

Thanks, Joanne. I never would have done it without you.

Why Did I Write These?

I got an interesting question from my publisher yesterday: Why did I write the stories in Precarious?

Believe it or not, I never really thought about why I wrote them.

The stories in the collection (due out in February) were written over a period of 30 years and are all very different, but as it turns out, they're all about the same thing. Women and men. An endlessly fascinating topic. I suppose I wrote them to figure out how I felt about certain things.

The great thing about stories is they can make you feel what someone else felt. The better the story, the more subtle and nuanced the feelings. Anyway, that's what I look for as a reader. The surprise as a writer is how you can make yourself feel things you never felt before or never knew you felt.

Writers are like actors. We get to play a lot of different roles, try out a range of personalities, and live lives very different from our own.

I wrote these stories to find out what would happen to the characters and how things would turn out for them.

I wrote them because I felt like I had some things to say that I couldn't say any other way.

Delayed, in a Good Way

The publication date for my story collection, Precarious, is being pushed out until January or February. While I can't help but feel let down — eager as I am to hold the final product in my hands — the delay is actually good news.

It means that extra care is going into the release of my book.

It means that Midpoint — a major distributor that my publishers recently signed up — is putting together a more detailed marketing plan for us.

So I can wait. In fact, I'm happy to wait.

I'm actually more excited now, and more hopeful about the book's prospects, than I've ever been.