Interview with Author Nancy S. Koven

We loved the breathlessness and absurdity amidst a real human story about loss and grief in Nancy S. Koven's story "Five Hours to Wilmington." Read our interview with the author, where she shares what she hopes readers will gain from her work, her favorite books and short stories, and what she did with cicada exoskeletons as a child.

What makes you keep writing, even when it's hard?

Writing’s addictive: it rewards inconsistently, but, when it does, it’s oh so perfect.

What do you hope readers gain from your work? 

An appreciation for the tactile nature of words, how the combination of words, even in prose, is sculptural.

Advice on creating that you’ve learned by trial and error.

When your sentences are stuck, go touch something: pet a cat, plant seedlings, wiggle your toes in sand, fold warm laundry, run your fingers along bark, rest your forehead against a window, braid someone’s hair. Your skin will suss out the words.

What's your favorite underappreciated novel or short story (a work you never hear anyone else talking about)?

The short stories “Watson’s Boy” by Brian Evenson; “The Universe of Things” by Gwyneth Jones; and “Amnesty” by Octavia Butler.

Do you have a favorite book on writing or creating that's been a helpful resource?

Ursula K. Le Guin's The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction, plus all the curated advice of Ray Bradbury.

What are your short-term writing goals? 

To finish many of the short stories that I wrote part-way, then abandoned. Or at least to remind them I love them by adding a few sentences, before inevitably abandoning them again. 

If you were a cryptid, what would your name be and where would you dwell?

I’d be called Bright Lights, a lost locomotive who wanders the seabed of the Mariana Trench in search of enlightenment, the perfect cherry Italian water ice, and the ghost of an old friend, Squigs.

What’s your favorite musical instrument? Why?

Laurie Anderson’s voice (which is already beautiful on its own), as mediated by vocoder. If your body doesn’t feel like it’s died and been reborn fifty times over when you hear the song “O Superman,” it’s time to listen again.

What is your writing strategy? Do you write every day with a rigid schedule, or are you more flexible with your practice?

I write whenever the mood hits, which ends up being nearly every day. If I’m unprepared for it, then I jot down ideas and fragments in my phone to tide me over until I can hop on the computer.

How is your closet organized? 

At the moment, I’m living somewhere without a closet. A closet would be good.

Have you ever had a supernatural encounter?

Only inside word documents.

Most unconventional place you’ve spent time writing in? 

35.650113, -106.718447

Do you know any magic?

No, but my sister can hypnotize rabbits, which is pretty magical.

What’s the one problem with the human condition you wish could be fixed? 

The illusion of human exceptionalism.

Why are manholes round?

As a woodworker, I can confidently say that round holes are much easier to drill than square ones …

Tell us a secret. 

I smile a lot, which people misinterpret for innate happiness. What’s really happening is that I’m humming the Fraggle Rock theme song over and over in my head.

What is your favorite museum or gallery?

Anywhere that features work by Patricia Piccinini.

Most triumphant thing you did as a child?

One summer I collected cicada exoskeletons in an empty coffee can, then went around the neighborhood attaching them to people’s screen doors in pleasing geometric patterns.

Unpopular opinion, go: 

Horseradish makes everything taste better.

Nancy S. Koven (she/they) is a psychologist and professor emerita. Her fiction is published or is forthcoming in MoonPark Review, The Future Fire, Kinpaurak, Thin Skin, Masque & Maelström, and elsewhere. Originally from New Jersey, she has lived in Illinois, Virginia, New Hampshire, and now divides her time between Maine and New Mexico. In her writing, she enjoys exploring the borderlands of body and mind, often weaving in speculative elements.