When we started Ghoti a little over a year ago we were terrified as to how we would fill the issues. A lot of our first issue consisted of solicited work. But we knew we couldn't fill every issue like that, if nothing else, we were running out of people to solicit. But just as times seemed at their most hyperbolic, a short story called "Leisure" came across our transom. It was innovative. It was unlike anything we'd seen for Ghoti. Here was a story that followed the internal life of a character, with no tricks, no tedium, doing it not as an experiment but because this was the story. .

So when we found out Leslie had a collection out, we asked if he would speak to us about the stories and writing in general and he was gracious enough to agree.

CLB: DRIVERS is your third short story collection; what is it about the short story form that appeals to you, as opposed to, say, the novel?

NL: The genesis of DRIVERS was in the mundane day-to-day experience of driving in the Baltimore-Washington area where I live. When I began writing the stories in this collection, around 1999, I was doing quite a bit of commuting on Route 95 and on the DC Beltway. I suppose this is a case of turning lemons to lemonade: finding something like inspiration in the frustrations of the nation's second worst traffic (after L.A., of course). I also did quite a bit of car-oriented research for this particular collection. The stories that need telling are the ones that portray what Frank O'Connor called "submerged population groups." The outsiders. The people unrepresented on soap operas, reality television, and in slick Hollywood productions. Ironically I believe short fiction can portray character as effectively as the novel. In the end short fiction is all about character, allowing psychologies to surface. No element of the writing process is more enervating than slipping into the skin of another person's fictional voice. In this sense writing short fiction is like acting for me.

At any rate, short fiction is the form to which I naturally gravitate, for whatever reason. But there is also a larger issue at stake here. I am interested in using the form of the short story collection as a means to focus my fictional energies on a particular theme--which novels can't do as well: the novel is pinned to the arc of its plot. For some reason the
thematically linked collection concept helps me generate stories, but more importantly I strongly believe that the short story as a form is THE native American literary form (I'm thinking of Poe, Hawthorne), and that ironically it still has yet to reach its full potential as a form. There is an element of American self-loathing in our attitude toward the short story. Where we laud the (historically European) novel, the short story is a form that Americans dismiss too readily as secondary, as less-than worthy somehow. Nothing adds fuel to my writerly engines than voices saying "Here is the line in the sand you can't cross." Ray Carver saved the short story and brought it to a level that it hasn't seen since, but the form needs saving once again.

Even if Esquire, and The Atlantic Monthly, and all the now-defunct magazines no longer publish fiction, in terms of the short story I'm on board for the long haul. The big-wig New York publishers don't think the short story can provide much of a societal impact:
this is what happens when commerce drives art instead of the other way around. So my ultimate career goal is to prove them wrong. To this end I'm working with the album concept for now (think Pink Floyd's THE WALL--linking stories thematically to dissect those within the grasp of car culture. In this way DRIVERS is a "horizontal novel." I have another collection of thematic stories called BELIEVERS coming out later in '06, and I'm finishing another collection with a completely different focus.

CLB: It is becoming harder and harder for writers to make a living at writing. There are a multitude of journals and small presses *publishing* fiction and poetry though, they just aren't paying for it, or not paying enough. So writers can get their work out there, but they can't survive. Even with a novel or a collection, most writers don't make enough to live. How do you think this lack of monetary interest in writers, especially short story writers, is changing or affecting writers?

NL: This is a subject which I used to think about quite a bit: I would worry about how my day job (and the fact that I had to have one) was effecting the purity of my artistic vision. Writers who publish with independent presses and in literary magazines don't make much money on their writing. Period. It is a sad state of affairs. Writers should band together, support each other's work--both financially and otherwise. In our culture literary work is marginal enough as it is, but it seems to me as if the ego-battles rage as strong as ever. We fight over scraps. I also think writers need to spread the
news--convert intelligent friends who read to independent presses. We need an audience of savvy readers who anxiously await the next literary offerings from the small press world. As crazy as it sounds, there is precedence: the audience for independent films has grown substantially over the past quarter century.

But back to your question: from a writer's standpoint, I don't think I can worry about the bottom line when I'm writing. As a writer, in the end financial success is not really important to me. I'm much more concerned with aesthetic success. I'm much more concerned with how I progress as a writer. I'm much more concerned about the effectiveness of the voice of an individual story or how it reads than I am in how much money I'm going to make or not make.

So we need readers, and we need to push for that—for a greater readership. And if they come I suppose more money will come our way as well as a result, but I'm not overly concerned with that. How did money or sales become the barometer for artistic (or any kind of) success anyway? It's not. Screw money.

CLB: You mentioned writers "fighting over scraps," have you encountered this kind of attitude in MFA programs or university settings?

NL: I don't want to get myself into too much hot water, but the short answer to your question is: yes, absolutely. In my undergraduate creative writing classes and especially in my MFA program I found the competitive atmosphere to be counter-productive to the
entire enterprise of learning how to write well and how to develop a writing career. I'm not necessarily a believer in the innate value of MFA programs; MFA programs tend to revolve themselves around the individual members within the program--especially the
instructors, of course. If the students and instructors are helpful and generous and open-hearted, the MFA program as a whole follows suit. And many of the individual
workshops I have taken over the years have been rich and rewarding--especially with great instructors/mentors like Reg McKnight and Steve Watkins. But on the other hand, if students and instructors are selfish and back-stabbing and cliquish, the MFA program as a whole follows suit. It can go either way.

But given writerly egos and the piss-poor precedent set by some of our infamous forefathers and foremothers, my sense is that at times MFA programs and writers in general can be less than helpful. Part of this is a direct result of what we have already talked about--the lack of true markets for literary fiction, especially literary short fiction. Writers fight over scraps because scraps are the only thing on the table. But on the other hand the prize-driven publishing world at large and the sometimes dubious smaller fiction contests encourage this winner-take-all mentality. If you win the Pulitzer or the National Book award, you are famous and read widely and your books are made into films. If you aren't, tough luck. This is, of course, just a microcosm of our larger culture.

CLB: What led you to Hamilton Stone Press?

NL: DRIVERS has had a long history of close calls with a variety of publishers prior to Hamilton Stone Press. Ultimately I approached Hamilton Stone Press because I was impressed with the work of Lynda Schor and Meredith Sue Willis in particular. Also, as an author who publishes with independent small presses, I gravitate toward presses who allow me the autonomy to get my vision of fiction across to readers. Would I like DRIVERS to be on the NY Times best-seller list with Norton or Dell or fill-in-the-blank? Sure, but the role of an independent press is, in my view, to push the aesthetic envelope. Partially this means avoid the kind of staid, "lyrical" stories published by some literary magazines and presses, but it also just comes down to writing stories about the contemporary world, using language to portray the characters on the fringes of society. And that's something I'm dedicated to doing.

CLB: You are an editor for the Pedestal. How did you hook up with them?

NL: I met John Amen in late 2003, I think. He published a collection of poetry with the press that published A Cold Glass of Milk (Uccelli Press). We hit it off and he asked me if I would edit the fiction for Pedestal. It has been a great experience for me. Since I'm
constantly reading submissions I have a pretty good sense of what folks are writing these days. It keeps me abreast of fictional trends, for better or worse.

CLB: Has working as an editor affected your writing? Or has writing affected your editorial preferences?

NL: I don't know if it has in either direction. I try to keep the editorial nook of my brain separate from my creative side, and for the most part, I have been able to. Actually, if I couldn't do this I wouldn't edit a thing. One of the difficulties of editing a popular
magazine like Pedestal is that so many of the submissions we receive are strong. As a writer who knows what it is like to be rejected, saying no ain't a walk in the park. It is painful to have to reject some of what we do reject simply because we can't accept it all, but then I can only accept about one percent of what I read. That's the reality of the
publishing game.

CLB: You mentioned Raymond Carver, what other models do you look to for the short story form?

NL: I read quite a bit, and not just literary short fiction. I'm a firm believer in the idea that writers shouldn't just confine themselves to reading work identical to their own aesthetic preferences. Actually I'm often influenced as much by music and painters and photographers as by short story writers. For instance, when I was writing A Cold Glass of Milk, I listened to quite a bit of Bruce Springsteen--especially Nebraska and The Ghost of Tom Joad--and the Talking Heads. The narratives and emotional clarity of their work helped with voice somehow. As an avid Jazz fan, I love listening to Charles Mingus or Cannonball Adderley or Dave Brubeck to spark the fires. Looking at Rothko's luminous work helps. I love portraits too: those help with characterization immensely.

In terms of fiction I really admire the recent work of T.C. Boyle, George Saunders, Edward P. Jones, Alice Munro, Annie Proulx, and recently I have been reading quite a bit of Robert Olen Butler, Richard Ford, Bobbie Ann Mason, J.M. Coetzee, Thom Jones, Steven Millhauser, Stuart Dybek, Nicholson Baker, Eudora Welty, Faulkner, Louise Erdrich, David Mamet. These are all influences. I could go on if you really wanted. I don't like to pin myself down to one aesthetic style. Evolution and growth are more
important to me than consistency.

In the end I always come back to Carver and Flannery O'Connor though. They are, for me, the two pillars of 20th century short fiction.

CLB: Who are you reading now?

NL: During the academic year I'm usually reading student essays and creative work actually, but when I have free time I read whatever I can get my hands on. Some of my reading is also in preparation for reviews or interviews. Right now I'm reading and rereading Matt Klam, Don Lee, and Dan Chaon in preparation for interviews I am conducting with each author. At this time each year I also begin reading the O Henry Prize stories, Best American anthology and the like. I'm reviewing the O Henry Prize collection this year, and reading these anthologies is a great way to attempt to keep my finger on the pulse of short fiction. I also firmly believe in reading and reviewing what the small presses publish: for instance, last year I read and reviewed Charles Rammelkamp's The Secretkeepers (Red Hen Press), The Body Parts Shop by Lynda Schor (FC2), The Horse Thief by Anna Balint (Curbstone), and several books by Lost Horse Press. During the summer I tend to read more novels and longer works of
nonfiction.

CLB: What is BELIEVERS going to be about?

NL: Believers is another thematically focused collection. This time the focus is on faith and spirituality. The collection is my attempt to understand the psychologies of those who find truth in faith in our contemporary society. I'll leave it at that. In terms of organized religion, I can be somewhat of a skeptic. But I'm also fascinated with those who do believe. I'm also working on a nonfiction project on religious converts. My agent is shopping this project around as we speak.

CLB: Any closing thoughts?

NL: One of the things that I hope comes across to my readers is the sheer love I have for writing--for the written word, for telling stories, for trying new approaches in developing character. In the end I suppose that's all there is. I can be pretty compulsive about writing, but then again I don't have a choice. I constantly seem to be pulled to new material, and I just have to press pen to paper to make sense of it all.

-CL Bledsoe