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.

The Glow in the Jar

Sky Sanchez, writing for the Sacramento Book Review:
"A dwelling teetering on the lip between dark and light, resignation and defiance, brokenness and unity; the short story, a world of possibilities within the confines of so few pages, and to capture them is to watch lightning bugs bump into the walls of a jar. What will the characters make of it? How will they get out? Al Riske has taken this form and made light in his collection, Precarious, not that he has made light of his characters, though. He has given them voices of volume, of life. Each story carries weight of its own, leading to the common denominator that we are all flawed. You will meet a man who loses what he needs in search of what he thinks he wants; a pastor who is shunned by those he preaches forgiveness to; and a man with a new set of eyes. Riske's stories reveal impulses and happiness, the search of and, sometimes, the consequences following. You will experience all of it through a keyhole, unnoticed, but aching all the same for these that live it. Riske uses words to bring us closer to the glow in the jar."

'Enthusiastically Recommended'

Midwest Book Review says:
"The literary art and tradition of the short story is alive and well in Precarious: Stories Of Love, Sex, And Misunderstanding, by Al Riske. This collection of fifteen short stories ranges from tales set in Seattle during the rainy season to California during an extended drought. From a Cape Cod vacation cabin to a get-a-way island. These are deftly written stories that not only entertain, but engender reflection long after they are finished and Precarious is placed back upon the shelf. It should be noted that one of these unique tales, "Pray for Rain," won the 2008 Blue Mesa Review prize for fiction. Precarious is enthusiastically recommended reading for anyone who appreciates the literary artistry of the short story format and an ideal addition for community library fiction collections."

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.

What Copy Editors Know

Highlights from an article I put together years ago, when I was part of the crack copy-editing team at San Francisco Focus ...

> "Whenever writers say, 'Not to quibble,' they're about to quibble."

> "There's no comma in 'Louie Louie,' no period in Dr Pepper, and no apostrophe in Grants Pass. There should be but there isn't."

>"'Not to mention' is a mention."

>"It's okay to end a sentence with a preposition. Always has been. I don't care what English teacher told you. That's the sort of bogus rule up with which I will not put."

> "The word very is supposed to be an intensifier, but it's used so much that most statements are stronger without it."

> "Isn't it weird how many exceptions there are to the rule: i before e except after c?"

> "Never begin a story with 'Yes, Virginia,' 'According to Webster's,' or 'What do ____, _____, and _____ have in common?'"

> "Most stories can be improved if you shorten them by about a third."

> "I believe it was Rene J. Cappon, the veteran Associated Press editor, who said: 'Call a spade a spade and you evoke a picture. Call it an agricultural implement and you might be talking about a plow, a rake, or an air-conditioned tractor."

> "Quotes are doctored all the time in the name of clarity and grammar. Q&A interviews look like transcripts, but they're not. You wouldn't want to read them if they were."

> "Never use an exclamation point!"