“My family would be leaving soon; we always ended our Memorial Day vacation before lunch on Monday: on our way out of town, my father would drive to Duryea’s, a small place on Fort Pond Bay next to the railroad station, where lobster rolls were procured and savored on the journey home. I couldn’t imagine the car ride, what we would say to one another, if anything. I held out hope that Liam, in his infinite wisdom and narcissism, would occupy us with uncomfortably carnal stories. Maybe, though, we had already said enough to one another. Maybe we could just move on. Maybe, hopefully, there would be no need for apologies anymore.”
Read the opening excerpt of the novella, Memorial Day, over at Blue Fifth Review
Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone!
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“George dropped to his knees, clutching the piece of chalk between two gloved fingers. Writing frantically, dirty black hair springing out above the thick wrinkles of his forehead, he worked the chalk against the pavement in complete concentration, pressing down so hard flecks of broken yellow chalk fell to either side onto the street. He wrote in bold letters—BY RUSSELL AND DADDY—then stood up and sucked in a long breath, turned his head sideways to review what he had written and handed the chalk to Russell, watched as his son fumbled with it between his fingers, dropped it and then bent slowly to pick it from the ground.”
Sheldon Lee Compton, “Snapshot ‘87”
George allowed a long breath to ease from his lungs, patience slipping from inside him in a slow gush. His insides were turning on him now. Moving and shifting energy, an old energy, that nova blast that could create explosion from nearly nothing at all.That wild-wiring that had grabbed him away from the world once before. Only now there was nothing to hold it down. It spun and ran and shifted and did as it pleased.
Sheldon Lee Compton, “Snapshot ‘87”
“My job is to have empathy and curiosity for things that I’ve never done.” — Richard Ford, on writing (via dannygoodman.me)
(via dannygoodmanwriting)
“The shift brought more depth to the stories, my characters, my own style as a writer. For the first time, I felt my voice had arrived, and, along with it, themes that started to surface, along with an overall direction and purpose for my complete body of work from that time until now.” — Sheldon Lee Compton—whose short story “Snapshot ‘87” rocks the current issue—as interviewed by Meg Tuite, for fwriction : review’s Writer Squared series
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The reasons behind my affinity for today’s Daily Short are many: the protagonist’s twisted sense of entitlement and power and the way she counts “fat people in public”; how the waitress is described: “She’s had babies come out of her”; the lack of an epiphany from the characters; and, of course, my love for all sweet potato foods.
Daily Short #16 is Sweet Potato Fries Please, by Frank Hinton.
I read this story a year ago when it was published by Fwriction Review, and it’s stuck with me ever since.
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The new issue of Fiction Month, Sheldon Lee Compton's "Snapshot '87," is live at fwriction : review
“Later, I tell him, they left notes. My brothers had this painstaking script, they were at the arcade, they wrote on long yellow pads, they landed roles in All My Sons, studied Mandarin, or so they said. It was a matter of faith. Our house howled from poor insulation. After school, I’d dive beneath their covers, cradling division tables and lozenges encased in snappy metal, waiting as the hours collapsed, my brothers fleshed in Ronald Reagan masks from the Land of Confusion video blaring all night on TV while I dreamed between asteroid sheets, alone in their empty twin beds.”
Sara Lippmann, “Fun and Games”
“You start by writing to live. You end by writing so as not to die.” — Carlos Fuentes (1928 - 2012)
(Source: doubledaybooks)
“
He spits.
You mean Jehovah’s Witness, he says, coming out of the bathroom. I had a classmate once who wouldn’t stand for the Pledge of Allegiance. Wore burgundy bloomers and smelled like canned spaghetti; now, there’s a home life.
The B&B from our honeymoon was run by Jehovah’s, I say, but it is a digression. That couple serving blood pudding thick as pucks, just how you like it, have you seen a happier marriage? Their pamphlets warmed our bedside, glossy faces slid carelessly in the tub. You said you could live there forever, with your currants and clotted cream, never leave the countryside.
That’s because I assumed everyone was Catholic, he says, working a water pick.
I slide over on the bed.
” — Sara Lippmann, “Fun and Games”
Interviewed by Meg Tuite
Sheldon Lee Compton’s raw and powerful writing has been memorable since the first story I read of his, two years ago. I can hear the southern drawl of his characters either fighting it out in the bedroom or bar, or sitting outside on a hot night in Eastern Kentucky speaking of love, friendships, misunderstandings, family angst and unrequited love. But he is not only a regional writer. He takes us anywhere he wants us to go with his writing and that, for me, is the sign of an exceptional writer. I have been a fan of his from that first story I read and have never been disappointed.
I was ecstatic, as were his multitude of fans that a collection of his short stories, The Same Terrible Storm, was finally coming out through Foxhead Books. And then to find out that another collection, Where Alligators Sleep, is soon to follow and he’s working on a novel, as well, was icing on the cake.
Sheldon Lee Compton unravels his characters and plots with truth and straightforwardness that allow the reader to drop into a story and forget anything outside of it. There are many facets I love about Sheldon’s work, but especially his fearlessness in letting his characters reveal their vulnerability either through physicality or dialogue.
I’m extremely excited that there’s a long-awaited collection of knock-out Sheldon Lee Compton stories at Foxhead Books. I can’t wait to get my copy! Can you tell us some of the specifics of this collection, The Same Terrible Storm?
Thanks very much. I appreciate that. The collection is something I hope people will enjoy. These are stories about where I’m from, Eastern Kentucky, and told in a real and human way. I’ve tried to eliminate the tendency in readers to see only black and white when reading about a drug dealer, for instance, or a single mother of three kids. There’s always more beneath the surface, and I’ve tried to take off the blinders, so to speak, with The Same Terrible Storm. It’s [out now] from Foxhead Books, and it will be available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, as well as the Foxhead website.