Amanda Rea lives in Colorado with her husband and daughter. She is the recipient of a Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers’ Award, a Pushcart Prize, and the William Peden Prize. Her stories and essays have appeared in Harper’s, One Story, American Short Fiction, Freeman’s, The Missouri Review, Kenyon Review, The Sun, Electric Literature’s Recommended Reading, Indiana Review, and elsewhere.
• When my brother and I were children we were told a story about a distant relative who tried to hang us. According to family lore, the young man led us away from our backyard and into the forest, where he was later caught trying to hoist us into a handmade noose. Neither of us were hurt or remember the incident; it remains, for me, just outside the realm of believable. But I have always been intrigued by what the hangman’s mother reportedly said when she learned two small children were alone with her son: We’d better find them quick. When I started writing “Faint of Heart” there was something about this line, the mystery of it, that felt like an entryway. Still, the story took an appalling number of drafts (and, incidentally, years) to finish, and I’m grateful to Patrick Ryan of One Story for giving it a chance, and to Otto Penzler and Jonathan Lethem for showcasing it here.
Duane Swierczynski is the two-time Edgar-nominated author of ten novels including Revolver, Canary, and the Shamus Award — winning Charlie Hardie series, many of which are in development for film/TV. Duane has also written over 250 comic books featuring The Punisher, Deadpool, Judge Dredd, and Godzilla (among other notable literary figures). His original graphic novel, Breakneck, with artwork by Simone Guglielmini and Raffaele Semeraro, was published in 2019. A native Philadelphian, he now lives in Los Angeles with his family.
• “Lush” was partly inspired by an article I read years ago where a liver specialist tried to estimate exactly how much James Bond drank and came up with something like forty-five drinks per week. (The results were published in the British Medical Journal.) It was kind of a miracle that Mr. Bond could tie his shoes, let alone engage in fistfights, daring escapes, and endless sexual dalliances. So I got to thinking: what if a spy had to drink? I wrote the story, but couldn’t think of anyone who would want it.
Enter Rick Ollerman, who years later asked if I might contribute to his anthology honoring beloved bookseller Gary Schulze, who died from leukemia in April 2016. The only rules: the story had to mention a book, bookstore, or tuba. Of course I said yes (I’m never one to shrink from a challenge, especially when it involves a large brass instrument), and I thought about “Lush.”
Blood Work appeared in August 2018, right when my fifteen-year-old daughter Evie was enduring a second round of chemo in her own battle against leukemia. (She would lose that battle on October 30.) I think Evie would have enjoyed this loving Bond parody — we watched quite a few of the Daniel Craig movies together, even though she probably wasn’t old enough. Every December my wife and I host a book drive in Evie’s honor, something Gary Schulze no doubt would have appreciated. I just haven’t found a way to work in a tuba. Yet.
Robb T. White was born, raised, and still lives in Northeast Ohio. He made it to China once but has been content to remain in his backyard with garden and hammock. He has published several crime, noir, and hardboiled novels and three collections of short stories. He’s been nominated for a Derringer, and many of his stories have appeared in crime zines or magazines including Yellow Mama, Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Switchblade, and Down & Out. His new hardboiled series features private eye Raimo Jarvi (Northtown Eclipse, 2018). Murder, Mayhem and More cited When You Run with Wolves as a finalist for the Top Ten International Crime Books of 2018.
• “Inside Man” was a different writing experience for two reasons: first, Down & Out editor Rick Ollerman, who accepted the story “conditionally,” worked me over in the details, grammar, and word choice until he was satisfied, and we’re talking weeks, not days. I don’t think the Dead Sea Scrolls received as much critical attention, and for his keen eye, and that story’s place in this prestigious anthology, I’m very grateful.
The other reason is that my narrator fits a niche I’ve tried before to squeeze my other narrating criminals into — and not always successfully. Cold-bloodedness doesn’t always work well with the jocular. If it does work here (I defer to the reader), then my ex-con’s heist borders on a kind of hopeless, disciplined lunacy that will affect the reader as I intended. Mindful of those readers who like to peruse a writer’s notes before taking up the story, I’ll say no more about it here.
I suppose, as a crime-fiction writer who turned late in life to writing fiction, I was never tempted by elaborate plots or clever characters. The thrill has always been in a character’s self-revelation through a brutally honest introspection in that neutral zone between writer and reader. This also speaks to my natural antipathy to avoid anything remotely “cozy” in my fiction. I made it to page 25 of my one and only Agatha Christie novel (title forgotten over the decades since) before that paperback went flying into the garden, where it did more good as compost than if I’d forced myself to finish it — not finishing a book begun being a lifetime taboo, not easily violated then or now. I think it was Browning who was chided by his wife in a letter for his lack of spirituality, or something similar, and he responded with a line I’ve regrettably forgotten and won’t try to paraphrase. The gist was that we all need an “appreciation” for evil. For that, an unblinking gaze is required. Stories serve as a prism for that. Hard to do in any era but in our time where everything is psychoanalyzed and nuanced, dissected and filtered through a collective and increasingly more delicate sensibility, it’s almost impossible to do. Let the shrinks and behaviorists scoff. I deplore academe’s desire to eradicate the word evil from our consciousness.
Genre fiction also gives us something besides entertainment and is worth the effort Rick Ollerman and every good editor or publisher demands. Besides, unless I’m wrong about anthropology’s origins, the more violent chimpanzees came out of the trees first, not the gentler bonobos, those sexualized apes from the simian tree. I place my hope in the future of humankind there — in the heavens, the Milky Way, to be precise. If there really are a hundred billion stars swirling about the black hole in the center, then about half should be surrounded by planets, as the astronomers tell us. That increases the odds mightily that there might really be intelligent, civilized life in the universe. It’s just not down here very often.
Ted White began his writing career as a jazz critic, writing for Metronome magazine in 1960. Since then he has been a science fiction writer (more than a dozen novels, many short stories) an editor (assistant editor of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction for five years; editor of Amazing Science Fiction and Fantastic Stories for ten years; editor of Heavy Metal for one year; editorial director of Stardate for one year), an agent (at the Scott Meredith Literary Agency, then solo), an FM radio deejay, and a musician (winds and keys) still currently in a band, Conduit. He has lectured at the Smithsonian Institution. He is currently the copy editor of the Falls Church News-Press, a local weekly.