Interview with James Williams

by jcaska

1. How did you come up with the idea for your story?


Often my ideas just seem to float out of the aether and into my noggin  (often at the most inconvenient of times), but for this story I chased  after the muse instead of waiting for her to come around. I sat down and  forced myself to type something, anything. This is what came out:


"A man stands alone, watching the sky."


From there, I started to ask myself questions about that sentence. Why is  he watching the sky? Why is he alone? Where is he? Who is he? That one  sentence was the foundation the rest of the story was built upon, one brick  at a time. This is how I approached most of my work for F2K.


2. How long did it take you to write “Dragon's Tears”?


I completed the first draft in one sitting. I'd say it took about four  hours, give or take. I spent the next day rewriting and trimming it down.  From there, I came back to it sporadically throughout the rest of my work  week with rereads and edits in my spare time.


3. What was the writing process involved in creating this piece?


I'm a pretty ritualistic guy; I have a specific routine that I adhere to  when I sit down to write. It's nothing magic or mystical, no muse  prayers... just a fresh cup of coffee, some ambient music, and my lucky  writing hat.


In the past, I've taken the "outline" route with my work, but all of my  writing for F2K I wrote by the seat of my pants, so to speak.


4. Was there anything surprising that came up in the story - something you  maybe weren’t expecting?


The entire final act was a surprise to me. When I got rolling in the story,  I was expecting to end it with the confrontation between Oswyn and Caelen.  The ending I'd originally envisioned had a much different tone and outcome.  But sometimes the story dictates to the writer!


5. What was the revision process like for this story?


It was a real battle. It's funny, leading up to the final week I was  excited for the higher word limit. Then I ended up cutting more from this  than any other piece! My first draft far exceeded the limit, so a lot went  into the trash, including an entire 'harvest tourney' scene. But tough cuts  usually make for tighter work, and I'm happier with the end result than I  thought I would be when I was pulling my hair out trying to decide how to  maim my precious story.


6. Is there any aspect of your writing in “Dragon's Tears” you could  identify as something you’d like to change, or perhaps improve upon?


I'm always growing and learning as a writer, and looking back now there are  probably some stylistic changes that I'd make in a couple of areas. Beyond  that, most of my regrets with Dragon's Tears were symptoms of the cuts that  I had to make. I would love to revisit it one day and put some meat on its  bones. The first thing I'd add is more description. I'd also like to let  the reader into Oswyn's head a bit more.


7. What aspect of your F2K learning feels the most significant to your  success with “Dragon's Tears”?


The feedback side of F2K was a great experience. Beyond the great feedback  that I received for my own writing, I also learned a lot by examining the  work of my classmates. In the past, I've been reluctant to offer my opinion  on other writers' work. Learning to be comfortable with that in F2K helped  me to better recognize things in my own writing that need work.


My confidence as a writer also grew tremendously over the course of F2K.  The encouragement I received from the mentors and fellow writers here has  been tremendous, and I'm grateful for every word of it. If not for the kind  words of everyone here, who's to say if I'd even have made it through the  course, much less won the contest?


8. What reaction from the story’s readers has most surprised you, or  disappointed you?


It's always great to see how people react to my work, good or bad. I tend  to write the kind of stories that stray from the typical good guy/bad guy  paradigm, and I like to leave a lot of ambiguity and room for  interpretation. It's fun to see how people take that, and how they fill the  gaps that I leave for them.


I'll be honest, I was surprised at some of the flattering comments I  received when I initially posted the story. I don't delude myself in any  way, I still consider myself new at this. So the overwhelming positive  response that I've received with some of my work has taken me aback at  certain points. As I mentioned before, it's been very encouraging.


9. What, as a writer, scares you the most?


Failure. I will always be a writer, whether I'm getting paid to do it or  not. But I would love to do this for a living one day. I'm starting to take  my first tentative steps into the professional world, and I can't help but  hear those doubts that most of us probably have buzzing around in our ears.  I'm determined to give it my all, but I have a tendency to question myself.


10. What is the best writing advice you’ve ever received?


There are lots of different approaches out there to what we do, but there  is one fundamental piece of advice that just about every writing hero or  teacher I've ever had has been consistent about. If you want to be a good  writer, there are two things you must do every day:


You must read! Read novels, read short stories. Read within your genre,  read without. Read the classics, read the obscure. Read, read, read!  As a  writer, I've learned more from reading than anything else. Even the bad  stuff can teach us something.


The second thing probably goes without saying. You must write! Write every  day, even if it seems you don't have the time, even if it's only one page.  Even a couple of hundred words are better than nothing.


11. Do you have any plans for “Dragon's Tears” beyond publication in the  F2Kzine?


I think at some point down the road I'll come back to it and give it a nice  rewrite. I'll probably flesh it out a bit more and reintroduce some of the  elements that were cut. If I'm still happy with it after that, I may  consider seeking publication for it in a professional market.


12. What direction is your writing taking now?


F2K had a very big influence on the direction my work has been taking. When  this session began, I was in the middle of a science-fiction novel that  I've been working on for quite some time. SF has always been my main genre  of choice. But something strange happened during F2K.


As an experiment, I chose to abandon my typical method of preplanning my  work before sitting down to write. What began to emerge was mainly fantasy.  I've had very little experience writing fantasy before now, but it feels  natural to me. This is also the first time I've ever made any genuine  attempt at short fiction.  As a result, the novel I was working on has  taken a back seat for now, while I play in my newfound genre of choice.  Since F2K ended, I've been working on short stories, including one that I'm  currently shopping around for publication.

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BIO:


James Williams has been writing stories since he's been old enough to use a  pen. His work has been published previously in the video games industry,  including work as a Senior Editor and Writer on the video game Academagia  for PC. He is currently working on a science-fiction novel, as well as  several short stories that take place in the same world as Dragon's Tears.  When not glued to the writing desk, he enjoys a passion for music, games,  and martial arts. He lives in south Florida with Allison, his girlfriend of  six years, and a bratty dog named Rusty.

Cinderella, the Real Story (WC: 1500)

by Mary Matsumoto

I’ll bet you’ve read the Cinderella story a hundred times (yawn)—Cindy’s version, that is.

But let me tell you what really happened.

First, my name’s Annestasia, Ann for short. And my older sister? Her name’s Drucella. Call her Dru. Cindy’s our stepsister—you know, blended family?

You see, when Cindy’s mom, a model for Victoria’s Secret, took off with the photographer, Cindy’s father, was devastated. Enter: my mother.

“Ann, put that dress on and get out here this minute!”

That ear-splitting voice from the other room is Mother. See, the company where Father works is having this banquet slash dance—a formal affair. Word’s out the boss’s son, David, is looking for a wife. He’s heir to the company—and his father’s money. It’s the biggest company in town. Everyone works there. They make sports shoes—as in jogging, golf, bowling. You know what I mean.

Actually, the boss has another son, too, an older one—Harold Scott Williams II. He’s a recluse. So everyone’s attention is on David.

Me? No. I’m not interested, definitely not interested. Cindy and Dru can have him.

“Ann?”

I hear footsteps tap, tap on the wood floor outside my room, and I snap my laptop shut, then shove it under the pillow. Not a moment too soon because the door flies open. Mother says I spend way too much time online.

“So help me, Ann, you get that dress on or I’ll put it on you myself.”

Yeah, right. Like she could.

See, I’m what you call a full size gal—queen size. Queen? That’s a laugh. I feel like a queen—not! Look at me. Fat bulging out like dough in a bread pan. I haven’t the courage to step foot on the scale, let alone to a formal banquet. And to add to my humiliation, Mother picked out the dress.

“Put that dress on,” she stretches out the words like the elastic on my hideous outfit. “Now.”

She slams the door, and I hear her heels click down the hallway. When I think it’s safe, I slide my laptop out, log on, and type, “Harry, are you there?”

Harry’s my best friend—but my laptop comes next. I’d die without my laptop.

Not that I’ve ever met Harry for real. We bumped into each other on the forum of Weight Watchers Online. Before you knew it, we were private messaging, exchanged e-mail addresses, and now we chat regularly.

“Yeah, I’m here, Ann.”

“My mom’s having a fit. She’s making me go to the banquet.”

“You should go.”

“I’ll be the fat, homely girl in a red satin dancehall dress—puffy sleeves, ruffled skirt. My mom picked it out. I’ll die.”

“Listen, Ann. I worked it out so I’ll be there, too. You have to go.”

I sit stunned, hands resting on the keyboard, and look at myself in the mirror. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

“Come on, Ann.”

“Listen, Harry. I’m not the woman you see in fashion magazines. I’m the sweat suit, size eleven jogging shoes type of girl.”

“I like sweats and jogging shoes.”

That’s my Harry. He always makes me smile.

After I log off, I wiggle the dress on. I can’t even close the zipper. Great. I throw myself onto the bed, and break down in tears, drowning in red satin.

I’m doomed.

The next day, eyes red and puffy, I tell myself I’m going to lose weight. I can do this. How hard can it be? Cindy’s slender. Maybe it’s the cleaning she loves to do—down on your knees, scrub the floor kind of cleaning. Exercise. You know, that eight-lettered word?

So I fill a bucket with water and start scrubbing, but Cindy comes in and tells me to get out of “her kitchen.”

I go back to my room to look up diets on the internet. I think that may be the way to go, until I smell chocolate cake wafting up from Cindy’s kitchen. She’s doing this on purpose. Keep us fat to get rid of the competition for David’s hand. I’ll bet she’s responsible for my dancehall dress, too. How low can you get?

So here I sit in ten yards of red satin after dinner at the Williams’ mansion, watching everyone dance to “Move Ya Body,” and I know I’m not going to move my body off this chair. Dru hasn’t been asked to dance either, but Cindy made sure David asked her. She has her ways.

I look around the room for the hundredth time, searching for Harry. I don’t know what he looks like, so everyone’s suspect.

Then I see a guy walking my way. He’s carrying two glasses of punch.

I give him a tentative smile and feel my face grow warm.

But just as I’m thinking it’s Harry, he waddles by, trips, and spills punch in my lap. Seems he was on his way to the girl beside me. They both apologize profusely, and he offers me his handkerchief.

I look at the spot on my lap that is spreading along the fabric like some kind of disease. I can’t meet Harry like this, even if he is here, although by now, he probably caught sight of me and beat it on home.

I feel the urge to cry, and I’m not going to do it in front of all these people, so I make a beeline for the door.

I’ve had it. I’m walking home.

When I reach home, I change clothes to my sweats, and pull out my laptop.

“Harry, are you there?”

No answer.

“Harry?”

Nothing.

Now, I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again. He saw me at Williams’, and he’s not interested in a fat girl. Tears burn my eyes and blur the computer screen.

Suddenly, my bedroom door flies open. Mother! She’s home early (my fault!), eyes on fire, and so angry she can’t speak. She grabs my laptop and hurls it to the floor, then turns on her heels and slams my bedroom door behind her.

Horrified, I pick up the pieces and try to reassemble, knowing it’ll never work again. I’ll never be able to talk to Harry now. Never. I feel as if my heart were literally cracking apart.

Even a fat, ugly girl can suffer a broken heart, you know.

I don’t know how long I sit there, computer pieces in my hands, before I hear a car pull up. I look out the window to see a man getting out of a Porsche Panamera S Hybrid. Not that I know anything about cars, but I do know it’s a Williams’ car.

The man is backlit yellow-gold by the street lamp, but I can see he’s a big guy. He’s carrying something under his arm.

I’m curious, so I peek out my room just as my mom opens the front door. Cindy and Dru are huddled around her as the man walks in. He has curly chocolate brown hair, a curl hanging down on his forehead.

“Is Ann home?” he asks, and my eyes widen. Me? What does he want with me?

Mother is probably wondering the same thing.

I can’t let a stranger see me like this. My sweats and stocking feet. I’m fat and ugly and—but then I see that he is also wearing a sweat suit. Who is this man? My curiosity overtakes me.

I slip cautiously out of my room and stand in the shadows where I hope no one can see me. “I-i’m Ann,” I whisper.

He walks up to me, kneels down, and puts the box on the floor, which I can now see is a shoebox. Williams Sport Shoes.

He looks up at me with the warmest eyes I have ever seen, brown with little green specks. A smile spreads across his lips. The room is silent as he reaches for my foot and slides it effortlessly into a size eleven jogging shoe. Then he puts the other shoe on my other foot and stands. This man is Harry—my Harry.

“What the—” Mom starts, but for once she is lost for words.

Harry turns to her. “Pardon me if I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Harold Scott Williams II. I believe your husband works for our company. I hope you won’t mind if I take your daughter for a ride in the company car?”

No one breathes as he glides me to the door. At the threshold, he reaches into his pocket and turns.

“Oh yes. I think one of your daughters left this on the steps of our house.” He tosses a glass slipper onto the couch. Then, he looks back to me, and we walk outside, the air warm and fresh as a new day. A breeze tickles my face.

Suddenly, I get this crazy thought: I have to go back for my laptop. But then I remember it’s broken.

And anyway, why do I need a laptop when I’ve got my Harry?

THE END