1. How did you get started writing fiction?

My school was having a writing contest when I was in either seventh or eighth grade. I won second place and was pretty surprised. This told me I might have a chance at this game, so I kept doing it. I also draw, and after a couple of years I started making satirical Inside Edition tabloids starring all of my friends and some teachers, writing jokes based on my observations. This (among other developments) eventually turned into what was called The Misadventures of Richard Thruster, which was the Inside Edition thing I did crossbred with extreme satire, pornographic, horrifying, gory, et al. John Bruni (EYE CUTTER) and I printed copies of these and left them all over the school for people to find. Next thing we knew, the writers of Thruster were famous. Not us—no one knew it was us—them. And as soon as the authorities found out what we did, he was put into detention, and I got expelled. Heh. I was already a hellion. I deserved it. This experience has never left me. I figure if I’m that good, I ought to keep doing it, and here we are. I’d be famous already if it wasn’t for bloody H and Meth.

2. What kind of fiction do you enjoy writing? (Such as fantasy, romance, horror, or unspecified)

I prefer horror. Even when I’m writing a blog piece, there’s something scary about it. That’s just my life, it’s not a flex. There have been horrors. A lot of them are in Prince Junkie. So, I have made a friend of it. We may even be lovers. There’s mirth here—we laugh with each other often.

3. What was it about writing short stories that just seemed to "click" with your writing career?

I don’t think I ever thought that deeply about this one. I just write them like I do anything else under the same auspices. I strive to do everything with no lust of result as it were, meaning I just do things to do them, for that sake alone, free from the concerns of success (“Why be concerned about what’s guaranteed?” he asked with a smirk). Short stories, however, are what editors take the most. As a nobody like me, you’re not going to sell 160k words to a publisher. 1,500, now you’ve got a shot. Baby steps, right? Start with shorts and flashes and build a bio, next thing you know it’s novel time.

4. Is there a type of short story that you enjoy writing most? Please explain.

I like to write the most gut-wrenching psychological horror I can muster. I also write scathing and arguably schizophrenic dystopian political opinions columns. I briefly did that for the Chicago Tribune via Chicago Now, the Trib’s internet blog site (In 2012, anyway—I don’t know if they’re still around). I think I was a bit too heavy for them. I have that problem with things. Funny—I don’t feel so heavy. Anyway, I think that heaviness kept me out of most of the lit mags. The only one that really flipped over what I do was the Perch, I don’t know…since they’re Ivy League editors, I think they saw something in me that I don’t even know is there to find. Anyway, and lucky for me, Dark Moon Rising eats my style up.

5. What was it like when you sold your first short story?

Backflips and fear. My mind said, “Ýeah, there you go dingbat, ya finally did something good. Now let’s watch you fuck it up.” Joke’s on it, I guess. I haven’t so far.

6. Where do you find short story markets to submit to?

Author’s Publish—anyone who wants to try with the lit mags, go there and subscribe. Duotrope is good sometimes. My best advice, and this was reflected by a video that came out of Author’s Publish, can’t recall who it was—the woman said your best bet as an author is to find an indie niche. By the time I saw that video, I’d started to do that, this is in July I think, by then Kasey Hill had taken me on as an editor…I had to laugh. I was all excited about watching this video and the lady only told me to do what I was doing anyway. That happens so much to me. Nothing against the video…it was more one of those things where you realize you’ve done right. A little totality, maybe. You can also just Google “sell my horror story” and you’ll get a bunch of hits. I’ve done that.

7. What is one lesson you have learned as a writer when it comes to writing short fiction?

Know when to show and when to tell. Mostly show. Sometimes tell. You have to know when to do which. And things like semicolons for dramatic effect add almost nothing. They make the story loose. Poetry and prose are as they are because the writer knows how to spice the meat. Over usage of punctuations like that, it’s the literary equivalent of chewing raw ghost pepper. I used to think they were the bee’s knees, but I grew out of that. I’m not the only editor to say this, but I might be the newest.

8. How is writing short fiction different from your work as a writer of longer fiction?

One is longer. That’s all.

9. What is some of the best advice you have received from other writers or editors when it comes to writing short fiction?

I’d have to write a book about that. John Bruni has, for thirty years, been indispensable as a teacher. Carnage House has some great guidelines. If you want to test your meddle, try impressing them. Good luck with that! What else? I’m trying to think of one thing in particular for answer and there’s so much that I’m coming up blank. Maybe this—

Character action. “Character dialogue,” he said. “More dialogue.” Incoming paragraph with relative action still connected to the dialogue. It shouldn’t be too long. It should be impacting. If it’s fluffy, make it funny. If it’s fucked up, make it hurt.

“More character dialogue,” he said.

“Impacting response,” said the other dude.

Super snappy relative one-liner here.

“Relative thought to the one-liner,” he said.

And now right here the dramatic paragraphs begin. And you can flip this out any number of ways. There endeth the lesson. Do this and you have a tight snippet. And you can move on to more action from there.

That was probably the best piece of advice I ever got, learning to format dramatic character interaction that way. Bruni. He should have really been a professor.

10. Do you have any advice of your own to share with other writers?

If you’re new, don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. They’ll just try to talk you out of it. No one believes in artists except for artists until they get famous. That’s about the best I have. Other things I could say don’t need to be said. It’s that which is first and foremost important. The first rule of manifest success is SHHH. There’s a reason the initiate’s sigil is finger to mouth, and I just told everyone what it was. People’s garbage opinions will fuck up your manifest. But if you don’t tell them anything, they can’t say or do jack, and you won’t have their subconscious bullshit fucking with you ether. This also argues for staying away from internet comments. Those things will bury you before you get a chance to tap out a single letter. That does happen. Think of everyone you ever told what you were doing, and they called you stupid for it. I guarantee they told 12 other people how stupid they think you are as well because heads get off on shit like that. And on the internet where everyone has a screen to hide behind, this has just gotten way worse. So tell them fuck all. Absolute zero. Your work will get you the acclaim you crave as long as it’s up to snuff. Worry more about making your words the best you can make them. To hell with the opinions of the naysayers, and I can’t say that with enough passion. Give them no ammo. When you succeed, that’s when you can talk.

ABOUT ROB:

Rob Tannahill is the author of Prince Junkie, an epic novel of life on the street, most of which he lived. His writing has also appeared in Yale Program of Community Health, Carnage House, Weird Fiction Quarterly, and other places. He is a regular contributor to and editor for Dark Moon Rising Publications. He is also a musician, and the artist and co-writer of The Cocaine Bros!, which will return on January 6th. Find more at amazon.com/authors/robtannahill