On Being Interstitial
There is a now a blog associated with Interfictions , an anthology in which I have a story. The anthology is the first from the Interstitial Arts Foundation , and I'm looking forward quite a lot to reading it, because I really don't know what "interstitial fiction" looks like. Niall Harrison has pronounced himself an interstitial skeptic , and there's been interesting discussion in the comments to the post. Here's what I submitted when asked for an introduction to my story that would explain how it is interstitial: Today the only labels I like for what I write are Wishes and Exorcisms . Sometimes the two labels overlap, like searchlights finding each other in a dark sky. A few months before he died in 1904, Anton Chekhov wrote to his wife, an actress in Moscow. He was forty-four years old, living in Yalta, and in the last stages of tuberculosis, a disease he had suffered from for almost half his life, a disease that had claimed his brother, Nikolai, in 1...