Monday, March 19, 2012

Cycles Of Waiting: An Interview With Siobhan Fallon

Many thanks to Shana at Her Circle for her swift publication if this interview!  I love Siobhan.  How can you not?    http://www.hercircleezine.com/2012/03/19/cycles-of-waiting-an-interview-with-siobhan-fallon/


CYCLES OF WAITING:                                                              
AN INTERVIEW WITH SIOBHAN FALLON

Siobhan Fallon is a remarkable writer and mother, who also happens to be a military wife. She survived several difficult years of living on insulated Army bases while her husband was deployed. Most recently she capably dealt with a move from the Middle East to Falls Church, Virginia during Christmas week - while battling a killer sinus infection, caring for a sick child and looking for a rental house. Her first novel, You Know When The Men Are Gone (Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam) is a collection of intelligent, heart-wrenching, unforgettable stories. (MaryAnne Kolton)

MaryAnne  My first question is going to be a compound one. Who are you? Where did you grow up?  Brothers and sisters? What was your family like? What drew you to reading as a child? Please let us know a bit about the "you" before you became the wife of a soldier.

Siobhan  I come from a family of bartenders. My father was born in Ireland and came over to New York at sixteen, working his way through high school in Queens, doing a stint in the Army during Vietnam, then settling down when he married my mother. They chose to live in the small town of Highland Falls, about an hour north of New York City, because my father fell in love and purchased a bar/restaurant there, the South Gate Tavern. Part of this particular Irish pub’s charm is that it stands right outside of the front, or south, gate of the United States Military Academy at West Point. And in a small town like ours, where everyone has gone to school with everyone else, the South Gate Tavern has become a large part of my family’s identity.


 I credit bartending with teaching me as much about story writing as my MFA. There’s a tradition in my family of sitting around the kitchen table with hot cups of tea and sharing whatever wild happenings unfolded at the bar the night before, and we had to vie for the best hook to get our listeners’ attention, the best delivery and story arc.There are the mundane moments to bartending — handing people their pints as they watch Army football games, refilling the hand soap in the ladies room, washing glasses until your knuckles ache from the hot water. But there are a lot of transformations as well, from the shift of a mellow after-work-crowd to the take-it-to-the-face college kids or soldiers, to the fellow in the bar stool in front of you slowly changing from sober to drunk. People of course have a tendency to reveal secrets, to say and do incredible things when they have been freed by a touch of alcohol. The bartender is the observer, the person who tries to keep things easy, handing out vodka or conversation or music on the jukebox, but she is never truly part of the party, she is outside of it all, aware and ready.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Lost In Thought Issue 2

This is stunning! JLD and I both have stories in this issue.   Thank you Kyle Schuder.
issue preview
Each issue of Lost in Thought pairs a writer with either a photographer or illustrator. The result is 84 pages of great fiction, photography and illustration.
Print: $18.00
Free Digital with Print Purchase!
Digital: $3.00

Thursday, March 1, 2012

A Perfect Family House

Many thanks to Shana at Her Circle Magazine for publishing this story.  "Kate" is my friend.
http://www.hercircleezine.com/2012/03/01/a-perfect-family-house-by-maryanne-kolton/

A Perfect Family House
by MaryAnne Kolton

Kate begged off carpooling that day and cancelled a dentist appointment.  She waited until her two oldest, Michael, age six, and Amanda, age four, had been picked up by an obliging neighbor, to be delivered to the grade school and pre-kindergarten.  At nine o’clock, she gave Lyssa, her eleven-month-old daughter, a bottle laced with two-milligrams of crushed Xanax, held her over her shoulder smoothing her back until she slept.  As she carried her up the stairs, Kate sang softly into the sweet smelling spot on her baby’s neck just below her seashell ear,
“Pack up all your care and woe, here we go, night, night Lyssa.”
She placed her in her crib, laying her carefully on her back and then, with just a moment’s hesitation, placed the palm of one hand over the baby’s mouth and held her nose closed with the other.  Lyssa squirmed for a second or two and lay still.  Kate covered her, brushed a few silky, dark hairs back from her baby’s forehead and walked from the nursery down the back staircase to the kitchen.

Monday, February 27, 2012

Robert Vaughan Interviews MaryAnne Kolton for Some Unknown Reason

Remember this, Robert? 


RV     Name one food you have not eaten since childhood, and why?

MAK  Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup.  My father was out of work and money was tight.  My mother found an unbelievable deal on the above, so she bought three cases!  We lived a half a block from the school and came home for lunch every day.  For almost a year we arrived in the kitchen to face a steaming hot bowl of ( makes my stomach roll just to think about this) Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup.  Yuck.

RV     Is there one person you can think of whose writing makes you want to write immediately.  If so, who, and why?

MAK  Aargh!  I hate being confined to a choice from a group consisting of one.  I'm not a very decisive person.  You know me, I'm the one at the restaurant where all my friends are starting on the third course, and menu still in hand, I'm musing, "Um, maybe the salmon, but I don't really feel like fish."
Getting back to your question, I get so much inspiration from so many writers.  A theme, a word, a phrase, or even an author's note can make me run to the computer.  That's not one person, though, is it?  Okay.  I can't pick one, however, I will say that writers whose fiction easily transitions to prose always makes me think, Now that’s how I want to write.  Kazuo Ishiguro, Leah Hager Cohen, Karen Alvtegen and Alice Hoffman are just a few examples.  Recently, I wrote a fairy tale that I thought came pretty close.  It’s been accepted and due to be published at some point.  Links will be everywhere.  I've considered hiring a skywriter. . .

RV    Any animal that terrifies you?  Why?

MAK  No.  I am such an over the top animal lover.  I suppose I wouldn't be enamored of an out of control orangutan with a face-eating compulsion or any animal with a face-eating compulsion for that matter, but overall I'm not afraid of much of anything.  I do have one sister that . . .well, never mind about her.

RV    First draft-Paper and Pen?  Or Computer and keypad?  Describe your first draft process.

MAK  Computer and keypad, even though I am the world's worst typist.  For a first draft I just write all the thoughts I have about the story any old which way - just to get ideas on paper.  Sometimes, the main character tells me the story, but that's rare. Then I go back again, clean it up, look for better words.  You know the drill.  It's not unusual for JLD and I to be in the kitchen getting coffee and I’m saying "Don't talk to me.  I'm writing in my head."  God forbid that I lose the perfect phrase.  My memory is not what it used to be, for sure.

RV    What matters more: expensive thread-count bed sheets?  Or fancy anniversary celebrations?  Why?

MAK  Twelve hundred thread count all the way.  JLD says I'm a hedonist at heart.  I have a luxe king size bed, down pillows and comforter and twelve sets of sheets.  Six for summer and six for winter.  Sleeping comfortably is more important to me than breathing.  Almost.  One of the stories I wrote, The Love Tap, is pretty much about me and sleeping.

Wow!  I really rambled on here, didn't I?  Sorry to be so wordy but you know how it goes. . .

Thanks Robert.  This was fun!

Robert Vaughan is a brilliant writer, a notoriously kind and handsome man, and happily, my friend. For his full bio see http://www.fictionaut.com/users/robert-vaughan 

Friday, February 10, 2012

insignificant compared to a tornado touch down


Thank you Liz (ahem) and Laura at The Toucan

Friday, February 10, 2012


We find it very ironic that this narrator's name is Liz, and that's all we're saying.

Now enjoy this whirlwind of a piece by one of our favorite contributors, MaryAnne Kolton. And just be happy you aren't this Liz. Or Editrice Liz. We know Editrice Liz is fabulous and rocks a mustache pretty hard, but you don't want to read the amount of things she has to read right now.

insignificant compared to a tornado touchdown
by MaryAnne Kolton

Liz huddled against the wall in the small space between the angled fireplace and the sliding glass door.

“Answer the door, bitch.  I know you’re in there!” He was pounding and shouting now.

 She was shaking.  Afraid of real violence.

  Liz started out on a somewhat even keel.  Good job as a Real Estate Broker, big house, two lovely, intelligent (or so she thought) teenager daughters and a so-so marriage. 

Boom!  Her oldest daughter is forced into rehab at fifteen, where she thinks she’s there as a counselor rather than a fuck-up like everybody else. 

Pow!  The thirteen year old resents all the attention her big sister is getting and begins to act out by doing things like going into the city with older friends to see the Smashing Pumpkins.  After asking permission and being told no.  

Bang!  Liz discovers her often-absent spouse has been seeing a wealthy, younger woman in Boston.  It had crossed her mind that he was spending a lot of time in Boston.  She files for divorce.  The thirteen year old goes to live with her father because he’s “so not such a pain in the ass”.

Splat!  She falls in lust with a married man who promises to take care of her forever or at least for the eighteen months they are together.  She neglects her buyers and sellers so she can be at her lover’s beck and cell phone call.  Her successful real estate business becomes less so.

Ouch!  His wife wants him back. 

The market turns, she sells her house collecting eight thousand dollars at the closing table.

 Duh!  She tries her damndest to fit all the furniture from her eleven-room house into a two-bedroom apartment and ends up selling or giving away most of her life’s possessions.  Most of her life.

Liz finds a job as a corporate salesperson hustling “connectivity” devices.  Read Blackberries and iPods.  She soon discovers that all the other corporate sales reps are twenty-two, blonde, and wear skirts that are eight inches long and shoes with six-inch heels.  She could arrive at eight o’clock for a ten o’clock appointment and still be the last one seen.  Her knees are too plump and noisy for short skirts. 

Ugh!  She tries a three-inch, semi-stiletto heel, but the right heel gets caught in the decorative brickwork surrounding the entrance to an office complex.  The fall breaks her ankle in three places.

            Whack!  Jobless, broke and four months behind on her rent, an off-duty sheriff’s deputy is trying to serve her an eviction notice for about the seventh time.  Her life has become a reality show.  A train wreck.
            As she trembles and crouches, she wonders what could possibly be next.