Mar-Queso Feature: VIVEK SHRAYA

It is with great honor and pleasure to present to you an exclusive interview with Vivek Shraya. She has well established her name in the world of literature having thus far received several awards and recognition for her work such as God Loves Hair, She of the Mountains, and Even this Page is White to name a few. Most recently, she has been a three time finalist for the Lambda Literary Award as well as the winner for the 2015 Toronto Arts Foundation Emerging Artist Award. Her most current book, The Boy and the Bindi has just been released as her first children's book. On top of this, she has broaden her talents as a public speaker, an essayist and has worked in film and music having made several records such as Breathe Again: A Tribute to Babyface, Girl It's your Time, I Could be Good for You. She is currently touring with her most recent project Too Attached as a duo with her brother Shamik on the #LY2D tour with Shura and Tegan and Sara. She currently resides in Toronto.

MQ: This might come off as sort of a broad question, but how would you define yourself as a writer, artist, and musician? Is there one motive, or do you wear several hats when jumping between music, literature, and art?

VS: I like the broadness, the limitlessness of ‘artist’. Artist encapsulates the many hats I wear and the art forms I have not yet explored.

MQ: I remember one of your posts a while back on how you would have anxiety over the ‘what if’ moments as in what if you didn’t finish your book (She of the Mountains, at the time). I guess with that said, how did you push through the ‘creator’s dark moment’? And with that, what drives you as a writer and has it developed into something different versus how you wrote in the past?

VS: I think I am largely driven by the pain of an unrealized idea – I am unburdened by the actualization of the idea.

MQ: What contributes to your success?

VS: I think there are a lot of factors that contribute to success in general but in my case, I would say the elements that seemed to have been most essential are a strong work ethic, persistence, taking risks and good old fashioned luck.

MQ: How do you stay fresh with projects?

VS: This is challenging because like most artists, I am drawn to similar themes. My way to counter this is to always ensure that I am approaching any idea, including a reoccurring theme, with a fresh or different perspective.

MQ: What would you like your readers to get out of your books?

VS: At the core of a lot of my art and books is self-love and my hope is this inspires readers to be able to do so as well.

MQ: Being so involved with ongoing projects, touring, creating your music, writing, and collaborations…how do you find the time? Or better yet, what do you do to balance it all along with family, friends, relationships, and personal time?

VS: Art is a discipline. Making art involves making the time to make art. This sometimes means making sacrifices – blocking off time to make art as opposed to seeing the new Jason Statham movie. But I do also work hard to prioritize my relationships. I think balance is found by understanding that art benefits from breaks and from leaving the house. And that relationships are just as important as making art.

MQ: With Too Attached, how do you and your brother Shamik work together? Do you collaborate together or separately?

VS: Shamik is the producer, so often he will send me a beat or sample he has been working on. I will ask him what inspired him or what he was thinking about when he composed it. Then I will try to build lyrics and melody on top of the sounds. Because we live in different cities, a lot of our collaboration happens over email. Too Attached is very millennial.

MQ: What has been your favorite experience thus far while out on tour?

VS: The opening night of the #LY2D tour was surreal. It was the first night of the tour, which always has a certain magic quality, and even though my brother and I have been playing music separately for years, I haven’t played a lot of giant theatre spaces like TCU Place in Saskatoon.

MQ: Congratulations on your latest book The Boy & the Bindi that just came out. Tell me a little about it. What was your inspiration in writing it? What were some challenges and rewards?

VS: While a lot of my day job and art work explores gender, I wanted to create a project that would explore gender at a younger age and in an innocuous manner. The biggest challenge was not knowing if a publisher would pick up the book especially as my publisher was not accepting children’s picture book manuscripts at the time. It was rewarding to have them take a chance on this project, their first children’s picture book!

Closing Up

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I look at the calendar and see my name is up for closing tonight. Not a big deal, I think to myself. I check my watch, quarter to 6. “JACOB!” That’s my name that the boss from the other office down the hall is shouting. That’s the big man – literally, he’s huge, built like a rock. Nothing could stop him. He clicks away on his keyboard while never looking up at me.

               “Have a seat.” He says with almost a grunt. His office is decorated with family photos and several hunting trips and dirtbikes with what looks like maybe…his grandkids? The typing stops and a slam of one of his desk drawer snaps shut.

               “Alright Jacob,” His voice now is softer. “This would be your first time closing up. We are expecting three more truck deliveries to get in tonight around 11, so it’s your lucky night to wait for them to get here. We’re expecting over five thousand pounds of copper scrap coming in. Normally I would do it myself being that we are the only scrap yard east of the Mississippi that processes and resells that kind of material, but tonight I need to be in Pittsburgh.” He resumes clicking away at the keyboard some more.

               “No biggie really, you just need to stay awake, periodically check the monitors and sign off on the deliveries. Too easy.” He finishes with a short pause. “Oh and uh, do you like clowns?”

               “Excuse me?”

               “Clowns!”

               “Not particularly,”

               “Well, you’ll hate these ones. Unemployed idiots come around the site dressed like maniac clowns. They’re harmless, the police already know about these sightings, just call it in if you see them trespassing, but yeah. Any questions?”

No biggie, I think to myself. I excuse myself and leave the office and head back to my desk.

The last man leaves the trailer for the day. Immediately after, I unplug my headphones and let the music play fill the room. I respond to the ding from the microwave and pull out leftovers. My watch now reads 7:40 pm. Monitors show nothing out of the ordinary. I catch up on some TV – enjoying the quiet.

Currently it is now 9:10 at night, I re-check the monitors again. One of the screens show the entrance gate was never locked. No biggie, I think to myself as I go into the far end of the trailer to find a flashlight. Outside is a little windy with some street lights dotting the open yard with shadows of piled material forming small dark mountains. I speed through the open towards the gate much like how some might take the trash out at night. Once there, I quickly lock it and then the trailer door behind me in the distance, slams shut. Don’t get crazy, the wind is picking up. My eyes play tricks on me thinking there are silhouettes standing by the mounds of scraps in the dark. No, that’s impossible the dogs would have barked if they knew someone was there. And just like that, the dogs start to bark with the wind picking up. I bolt for the trailer door. Inside the trailer, I end up psyching myself out by trying to remember if I left the lights off in some of the rooms or not. I’m quickly losing it.

The furnace for the water heater kicks in inside the closet next to the bathroom. Nothing is in the trailer! Just cool it! You’re a grown man! I snap myself out of it. 

It’s now 10:23 pm. I go back to watching TV calming myself down until I hear the horn of a semi-truck from outside. I unlock the trailer door and head outside towards the headlights as the diesel engine gets louder.

“You got some trespassers coming in and out of your yard here!” The trucker shouts over the engine. I scared them off but those punk kids’ll probably be back.”

“Yeah, I heard the dogs barking....” The man looks over down the road and sees something in a black gown wearing a white mask. The trucker and myself are frozen in place. 

“You are trespassing – you shouldn’t be here!” 

The figure walks backwards slowly disappearing into the tall crop field. I sigh while thinking to myself, they don’t pay me enough for this job.

     

Paramedic Urban Legend

“No, no, no, no. That’s not how it happened. Look, I know – I was there!” Eddy says while cradling his coffee and glancing out to the night-lit streets.

“Well then how about you tell the story wit-a-little-bit-of-truth, huh? Stop making stuff up.” Paul comments.

“How many times do I have to tell the story while yous can’t keep ya mouth shut, huh? Seriously, who invited dis guy?” Eddy shouts for everyone to hear.

“Eddy, Eddy. It’s just dat we’ve heard it so many times that it’s kind of like white noise at this point, you know? No disrespect, but I think I could rehearse it better than you can, in fact, I think I’ll tell it at the wedding of my third wife.” Paul finishes while giving Eddy a pat on the back with the rest laughing around the booth at the diner.

“Who’s the kid?” Eddy questions while taking another sip of his coffee.

“Oh uh, this here’s Kevin. I thought I’d let him on our little spot here at George’s, you know being new to the PM shift, that’s all. I figured he’d be with us until he’s ready to leave the nest, besides a little bit of the night life would do him good, huh?”

“Hey kid, which responder did you transfer from?” Eddy asks

“Brooklyn College EMS.” Kevin finishes before taking a bite out of his tuna sandwich.

The dispatches comes over their radios, “ Calling nearby units, traffic incident - corner of Eastern Parkway and New York Ave, please respond.” Everyone checks their watches and motions to get out of their booth until Eddy waves them to resume sitting, “Listen, listen” The dispatch continues, “ This is truck 335 in pursuit, ready to respond, en route via Atlantic,”

The paramedics take their seats again. 

“So Eddy, Kevin is a little new to your, uh, predicament of a story. Why dontchu share what happened exactly? The real version, Eddy.” Paul suggests with the rest snickering.

“Ok, ok, ha-ha very funny. But I know what I saw.” Eddy points to every single one of them.

“Alright kid, so we are in the business of saving lives, right?” Eddy asks Kevin as he responds with a nod.

“Well who do you think is trying to take them away from us?” A few cars with their taillights swish past on Coney Island Ave outside of the diner storefront windows.

“Who?” Kevin asks at the edge of his seat.

“Death, my friend. He is real and I saw him take one of my patients – right in front of me.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Death, like the Grim Reaper?”

“Oh yes, it was ten years ago. I was just like you, taking on every shift they gave me. It was in Gowanus off of 3^rd and Union. I was giving a man CPR with my buddy in the other room calling in the vitals and dat’s when it happened.”

“What? What happened?”

Eddy leans in closer, “A very handsome man in a three piece walks around the co’ner – smiles at me and apologizes. He says, ‘Sorry I was late, I didn’t think you’d get here so soon.’ I then says to him, ‘hey mister you need to let me do my job.’ And then he replies back, ‘No, you need to let me do mine.’ I had the defibrillator ready to go and then his hands go on his chest and he said something that I will never forget…”

Suddenly dispatch comes on over their radios again causing everyone to flinch,

“All nearby units, multiple collision located at Interstate 278 – mile marker 23 – northbound. Be advised engine 3 already en route.”

This time everyone gets up, “That’s our queue!”

Kevin hurries with his coat while trying to get close to Eddy, “Wait, wait, what did he say to you though?”

Eddy throws cash at the table and turns to look at Kevin, “He says, ‘You’re a very good man. You’ve saved many, but not tonight – it’s his time.’ And just like that, he left and I couldn't find him in the apartment building, the streets, he was gone.”

Halloween Commercial Pitch

“Look bottom line, we’re not doing so well with our ads and with Halloween coming up, we’re out of ideas. Eric, as requested, I’m giving you two minutes to pitch your commercial idea. I don’t want to hear another ‘running down the street, racing the streetlights at night’ bit,” The man in the suit sits back in his chair overly confident that Eric will botch this. Eric remains seated while taking a light sip of his water. The room is dead quiet. He proceeds to button his jacket while standing up. To someone who doesn’t know Eric, you would think that he is very driven and confident in what he does.

“Alright, so here’s is something we haven’t done before.” Eric approaches the head of the table, standing in front of a large projector. He gives a quick nod to someone on the other end. The lights go out and the screen lights up. “We are a shoe company for runners,” He laughs quietly to himself while continuing, “I guess I’ll shift gears and ask you this, so during Halloween, I’m sure when you were kids, you would watch all those slasher and chainsaw movies under the covers – scared out of your minds for the female actress getting chased all the time, but here is something that I noticed after recently watching a few.” The board members remain silent.

“Why is it that the girl in the horror movies always gets taken by the killer or monster?” There is still silence. The screen in the background shows old 80’s horror movie scenes as he continues talking.

“No one, really?”

One woman raises her hand, “Because she slept with the love interest and now she isn’t a virgin anymore, isn’t that like a rule you can’t break in horror movies?” 

The audience starts to laugh with another hand going up, “It’s probably karma, she was mean to all the other girls?” 

Eric stands there puzzled by the answers. “It might be because she is always alone – away from the group.”

“Well these sound like pretty good reasons, I would have to say that you are all wrong.” Eric finishes while the screen behind him changes. It shows a woman tying the laces of her new runners.“It’s because she didn’t have the right shoes on.” Some lean in to fully grasp the concept.

Eric goes on, “My commercial would show all of the old school zombies, vampires, goules, slashers – one scene after the other trying to chase the girl. The camera would focus in on her new shoes and that she can’t be caught.” The big man in the suit speaks up, “Eric, while that sounds like an interesting idea, how would you present this?”

Eric moves beside the projected screen, “I’m glad you asked that, she would be sitting in a cabin living room with some friends and then trouble happens and she runs into the next scene with other monsters chasing her, and goes through a dark house and through corn fields and then she would run across that football field scene where the zombie hands would reach up from the ground trying to catch her, but she would do one of those high-knees-going-from-tire-to-tire bits and at that point there would be like 20 of these monster/killer bad guys trailing behind her with their knives and chainsaws and eventually there would be a finish line that she would be sprinting to with all the police and FBI officials waiting to take down all the bad guys once she finishes the race of her life.” Eric takes in a deep breath as the lights come back on and the projector turns off.

“Well, what do you think?” Eric asks. 

Should've Disconnected the Phone

The rings are getting louder and louder. My hand slips out of the covers fishing over in search of the receiver which ends up knocking everything else over but still no phone. The rings persist. It was too good to be true that I took today and tomorrow off from work. For some reason, I knew that call was for me. Finally, my hands meet the receiver – bringing it to me under the covers much like how a threatening predator drags its prey back to the lair. So blurry eyed, so tired. After a long yawn comes a weak, “Hello?”

               “Emi! Oh thank the world you’re up!” The high pitched voice makes me wince in pain caused by the late night blur of events prior. I lift the covers and see that it is still dark and only 6:19 in the morning.

               “What do you mean?” I ask reluctantly.

               “We have an emergency. Jackie went into labor. John and Christi are AWOL and we need someone to come in and fill in for the registers. We are so understaffed today!” This would be the assistant manager. She did me a solid once and now I am forever branded as her...

               “What time do you want me to come in?” I ask as I roll to the other side of the bed, still trying to come out of the veil of sleep.

               “I need you here as soon as you can, and I only trust you to close with me tonight too! I know today was your day off and all. I’ll make it up to you. I’m so sorry. So much for relying on others, right?” She tried to laugh at her own joke but I could hear her cutting herself short seeing that she isn’t very good at bearing bad news to people.

               “Ok fine,” Why did I do that? I’m just too nice.

Later that day I realized that I should’ve disconnected my phone as I tried to break up a dispute from some customers fighting over the bins with all the clothes being dumped in. Once that was settled, one of the bathrooms clogged up. And as if the day weren’t exciting enough, there just happened to be three attempts of shoplifting all from different people. We usually have a security person on site but today they were just on call. I can’t say I wasn’t warned when I made the transfer to the donation store all the way in South Philly by the 95. And then it happened…out of all the days I was here, it had to be today,

               “Emi, can you deal with him again? He’s back.” An old man walked up to me partially dressed for church but wreaked of old alcohol. I think birds live in his pocket, not quite sure on that.

               “How much do you want for the blue car outside?” He asked me with no control of his tone.

               “Sir, for the last time, those cars are not for sale. That is the store parking lot.”

               “Dammit! I want the blue one! I’ll pay whatever price you’re offering! Here, here…” 

The old man dug in his pockets leaving some pieces of papers, Frosted Mini Wheat cereal, some screws and a book of matches on the checkout counter.

               “Now that’s my final offer! You tell those corporate slugs that I’m not getting pushed around any longer and that I am a loyal customer and deserve only the best. Now get on the phone!”

I humored him by picking up the phone. I tried to dial for the on call security that was until I saw him already outside smashing open the driver’s side window of the ‘blue car’ he wanted.

              

“Call security now!” Someone shouted as I ran out there.

“Yep, she’s a beaut!” He says as he sits there with his flat hat and sunglasses still on.

            “Hey! That’s my car!” Shouted the owner coming out of the store. 

By then, the police came and forms and witness statements were being filled out. After all of that, it was 8 in the evening. I was already tired. Jamie the assistant manager, now owed me and let me go home for the rest of the night. And that was how I spent my day off. 

How I met Alicia

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Dear Diary,

I can’t believe I survived and lived to tell the tale! But I did it! I met Alicia from Tammy and Alicia!!! She came up to me from the stage and… Ok, ok. I’m getting too far ahead of the story. Let me start from the beginning. So my older sisters, their friends and me were originally going to get there like before the arena opened up – we were planning on being there 4:30 in the morning. Oh yeah that meant camping out in front of the doors and everything!

With that said, we were on the interstate by 2:30 in the morning – northbound on the 10 doing 85, status, too excited to be sleepy (I couldn’t sleep the night before), time, 3:15 am. They usually do quick Q and As in between their sets and I was trying to come up with a question to ask them. Also when to give them my gift. (I painted them in watercolors). And that’s when it happened…the car started freaking out with smoke coming from the hood and all. We were midway between Scottsdale and Tucson – it was too early to call anyone. My plans and dreams were ruined!!! They were still 60 miles away!! An eleven-year-old can only take so much!! A state trooper came by – helped us get a tow truck, the car went into the shop, we were losing time and the day was ticking away!! We couldn’t call anyone in fear that parents would get worried and would want us back home and everyone was at school, and we were too broke to catch a bus the rest of the way. We pretty much had to wait it out until one of my sister’s friends came to get us all.

Long story short, we owed my sister's friend big. We finally got to the venue though, even if it was a couple of hours before they opened!  We would’ve been first in line – front row had the car worked!! But now we were more like 200,000^th in line. So so sad…The venue was packed and there were miles and miles of the line wrapping around the theater maybe three times!! It was the worst. The show started with other bands playing before them, they were so great too!! If only I could’ve seen past everyone!! (It’s awful to be this short!). After waiting for a good twenty minutes, the lights were turned off and the crowd thunderously cheered and then everyone pushed over me, making me move further in the back. It was them!! Those glorious goddesses!! It wasn’t fair! We were supposed to be up there and I even made Alicia a shirt that I was wearing for goodness sake!! 

I tried to find things to stand on, but I kept getting yelled at by the security people. They played through their entire setlist with their usual banter in between which I would’ve loved to see up front. But instead I was only catching their punchlines just seconds before everyone started laughing and hollering. The typical drunks would shout out their names over-powering my voice trying to call out to them. It was no use, Diary, it was at that point where I started to feel inadequate and that I was too little and unimportant to be seen or heard after spending the entire show trying to get their attention. That was when I started to cry. It wasn’t fair!! I used up a whole years’ worth of allowance to see them and that was how I spent it.

And that’s when it happened. It was a miracle. Tammy from the stage somehow heard me crying in the back and asked who that was. A drunk person claimed it, but was quickly booed as the crowds saw me and then parted slowly opening up a path to them. 

“Hello little girl, why are you crying? Was it Alicia? I know, she’s been known to make people cry, it’s ok.” Tammy said to me over the mic. The crowds laughed and awed. It was so sweet. I couldn’t believe it. 

“Come up here,” Those were the sweetest words I have heard from Alicia as I wiped my eyes and moved up. From there, I explained our crazy mishap on the way to see them and for the rest of the show (after Tammy and Alicia put it to a vote), I got to see them with my sisters and friends up front and afterwards MET THEM IN PERSON!! It was truly a miracle I will never forget.    

Quitters for Hire

“How did you hear about us?” The man asks while scrolling down Albert’s application.

“I just can’t kick this problem, you know? And so a friend of mine referred me to you guys. He said that you guys are the best at helping people with their…issues.” Albert finishes while moving in his seat uncomfortably. The room they’re in can only support two chairs and the table between them, along with the clock ticking on the wall. The silence is thick between the conversations.

“Are you a man of taking great risks?” The man asks while jumping through the stapled packet of his application – carefully skimming through the pages.

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t need to come here, now would I?” Albert gives off a nervous laugh.

The door opens up with another man bringing in connected sheets of paper. They both study the readings from the sheets. They trail one of the sheets with a pen, following a diagram and sound as if they’ve come to an agreement on something. Soon after, the other man leaves with a quick nod to Albert. The door slams shut behind him.

“Congratulations. Your test reports came back confirming that you are severely addicted, this qualifies you for our six-month program. The terms and conditions are very simple. You stay clean for six months and this amount will be paid out to you.” The man slides a sheet of paper across the table to Albert. He scrolls down the legal jargon and finds a figure circled in purple highlighter ink. Albert nearly falls out of his seat, blinking his eyes and trying to make sense of the number that was in front of him. He starts to laugh thinking this might be a prank that his buddy is playing on him.

“So repeat what you just said again?” Albert asks the man.

“All you have to do is stay clean for six months, and you will be paid this much.” The man says as he points the stated figure at the bottom of the contract.

“How, how is that…possible? That is a lot of money! You can’t be serious, this is uncomfortably… ridiculous! There are two commas…your organization must be losing so much. How are you able to pay this to everyone?”

“Despite this insane figure, there are a great number of people who still don’t make it, you’d be surprised.

Albert reads and rereads the number circled in purple and is puzzled. He starts to think to himself, ‘what would happen if he didn’t make it?’ His thought is interrupted by the man across the table.

“Now one thing you have to understand, if you do not follow through on your end, we will take everything from you. All your assets, investments, retirements, your property, anything and everything that you own will be repossessed by us – no questions asked. If you decide to go through with this and sign your name on that dotted line, you are committed for six months. If you come out clean, we wire the money into the account number you provided us in your application. Any questions?”

“How many people have succeeded at this?”

“That’s confidential.”

“Is it effective at kicking my problem?”

“Shouldn't this be enough to get to you to quit? You do realize this would be wired into your account no questions asked, should you come out successful? I mean, there are other avenues for help, but if you are willing to go through with this, you are committed to us for six months. A camera will be on you for the duration of the program. You will stay the night here while our techs have your house and car wired. Any tampering or suspected tampering will terminate the program and just like that all your assets are seized. Once you sign this contract, our organization has full legal protection under several federal codes and statutes and would uphold this contract before you in any court system, stating that under purging, you surrender all assets and properties to our organization, therefore we are protected from such claims despite whatever representation you are able to muster."

The man removes his glasses and with his eyes closed sits back in his chair exhaling loudly, "Look, with all that I said to you, I am obliged to ask you once more, do you want to proceed with this?"

Mar-Queso Feature: AC MOYER

Hello Readers, Fellow Writers, Friends and Visitors!

Today is a special treat. I have had the privilege to interview a very talented author, AC Moyer. Her current book “All Sleep” is a psychological thriller broken up into four short stories. She is currently attending New York University, Tisch School of the Arts in pursuit of a BFA in Dramatic Writing. She has released her play, Grave, which premiered at the Goldberg Play Festival in 2016.

MQ: First off, tell me about your new book, All Sleep. I have to say that the main character, Alexandra is very distinguished. Was she inspired from someone in particular?

AC: All of the characters in All Sleep have a psychological tendency that could be considered ‘abnormal’ or ‘disturbing’. Though, I feel that Alexandra Abrams is the best at hiding the crazy underneath a veneer of perfection. Alexandra is finely manicured, poised, and well-spoken, despite having been suspected of murdering her young child. In fact, she gets through the entirety of her first therapy session without revealing the death of her child until the end.

When imaging characters, I ask myself ‘what motivates them psychologically'. Psychology informs how a character dresses, what she wants, and how she behaves. Alexandra is motivated by perfection. So we find out that her father was a successful surgeon who pressured her to be even more successful than himself. We find out that the child, whom she may or may not have murdered, halted Alexandra’s medical career. We see Alexandra keep a pristine appearance and manicured visage. But underneath, she’s crumbling.

Admittedly, the Casey Anthony case partially inspired the concept for the first story of All Sleep. The 2008 social media trial of the century brought up many questions. What kind of woman would kill her two-year-old with chloroform so she could have a night out alone? How could the jury find Casey Anthony innocent? Was Casey a pathological liar? A sociopath? That line of questioning can bring out some ugly but intriguing ideas.

MQ: Wow, that gets really heavy. To be honest, I felt that sort of intimidation from the psychiatrist taking on Alexandra as a new patient. Even he has issues, how won’t admit that he is borderline OCD, if not completely. 

Going from what inspired you to write this, about how long did it take you to finish this novel from start to finish? And with that, do you have a routine that you normally go by, for instance, a favorite spot to write? Certain pens, notebooks? Do you have preferences to your materials or do you become like water and just go with what you have?

AC: I write in a traditional office space – desk, laptop, whiteboard – for about five hours a day. Some days I churn out 4,000 words, other days I’m lucky to reach 250. The important task is to show up at the computer every day. I don’t believe in ‘inspiration’ or ‘writing when the muse hits’.

I only write on my Macbook, and I carry it everywhere with me. Even my notes and journals are jotted down on Mac’s ‘Notes’ application instead of on pen and paper. The laptop feels more an extension of my body at this point, whereas a pen feels like a foreign object.

Each short story in All Sleep took its own time to fully form. A Doll’s Grave took a year, whereas Floaties only had a gestation period of two weeks including outline and final edits. I wrote most of the stories for All Sleep while completing the first draft of a novel about the modeling industry. The process of writing a novel is grueling. Edit after edit, after complete rewrite. So it was a welcomed relief to throw some short stories into the schedule.

MQ: I read a quote once from John Steinbeck who said something along the lines of, “To write about an experience you have not experienced yourself, is criminal.” And then you have other authors who have different views on this. When it comes to writing, what are your thoughts and opinions?

AC: To a large extent, I agree that it is best to write something you’ve experienced yourself. A former senator could write about the process of drafting bills more easily than a layman could. A fashion model could write about the runway experience with more specificity than a mere fashion-lover could. However, a writer’s greatest tool is research. Anyone can research an emergency room, spend time with a doctor, or interview patients to write a medical drama. If it can be researched, it can be written.

The most important thing, for me, when I consider writing an experience foreign to me, is whether or not I can empathize or imagine the emotions of that experience. If I can relate to the character, I can write her. That premise only becomes tricky when you’re writing a serial killer.

MQ: I guess with the serial killer, you could go off of their motive and drive. I remember reading about Bram Stoker who was a family man and was full of life and energy. However, when he was writing Dracula, he became an introvert and would almost transform into the very character he was writing about. 

If I may just ask one more question, you mentioned earlier as well as through some direct messages about your upcoming novel of the modeling industry. I’d like to talk about that. What is to be expected from this piece? Will it be told fictionally sort of like how Tyra Banks wrote Modelland, or is this from a documentary perspective? Would it be pro-industry or revealing it’s dark secrets?

AC: The novel is tentatively titled, Size Zero. Having spent time in the modeling industry, I couldn’t write anything but a sordid look at the underworld of high fashion. A glitzy, glamorous narrative world would have been a lie that I couldn’t dare write. Size Zero, is a murder mystery set in the world of high fashion. Through a traditional crime plot, I attempt to unearth some of the casualties within modeling – anorexia and sex trafficking, to name a few. For anyone interested in receiving updates on Size Zero can check out my website: www.acmoyer.com

MQ: Thank you so much AC Moyer for your insight and time.

AC: Thank you for the interview, Marquez.