One Star Away From You: An Interview With Andrew Bertaina
The editors of Olney asked me to write an introduction for this interview, which is the first entry in my new column, “Mediocre Conversations.” Why the editors of Olney were dumb enough to give me a column, I will never know. It is something I am sure they will—if they don’t already—regret.
When I was approached to do a column I said yes, because the idea of having a column sounded cool as hell. The problem was I didn’t want to have to put a lot of work into it. So, I figured if I made my column a series of interviews with writers, it would only be half the work, since the other writer would be doing the other half. I also decided I would do no research or prep prior to the interview.
And so here is the first interview for “Mediocre Conversations.” It is with Andrew Bertaina, whose debut short story collection, One Person Away From You, winner of the Moon City Press Fiction Award, will be released next month. You can and should preorder the book here: https://www.uapress.com/product/one-person-away-from-you/. Andrew’s work has also appeared in The Threepenny Review, Witness Magazine, Redivider, Orion, and The Best American Poetry. He has an MFA from American University in Washington, DC.
The interview below is an absolute mess. I hope you love it.
Leigh Chadwick: Hey Andrew, I’d thank you for doing this, but it seems like it’s more of a favor to you, so maybe you should be thanking me.
Andrew Bertaina: Thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to type into a Google Document with me. It’s like we are using Aim. Did you use Aim? Probably not. I think it was like this.
LC: Yeah, no I didn’t but way to age yourself. Also, this is me interviewing you, so I don’t know why you’re asking me questions…
AB: I have this feeling that interviews are too one-sided. It’s like that one incredibly funny friend who talks so much that you can never get a word in. Anyway, so is this like a Paris Review type of interview where I share all of my wisdom about craft and writing?
LC: Paris Review. Never heard of it. When you say wisdom, what exactly do you mean? And yes, interviews are exactly that: one-sided. This is actually more about me than you.
AB: The Paris Review is a tiny lit journal run out of Paris, Texas, by two undergraduate dropouts from UT. You should check it out. As for wisdom, I’m sort of the worst at wisdom because I think writing is incredibly idiosyncratic. When I read your work, I love it, but I don’t think I’d use your advice for how to create poetry exactly like yours. It’s not that craft doesn’t exist. I just have a great deal of skepticism.
LC: This is what I’ve learned so far: you like to use words with a lot of syllables, and you do your best to suck up to the interviewer. We’re definitely off to a great start.
AB: Glad we are learning here! I may pour myself a glass of something amber-colored before we march on. And it’s probably a good strategy to be kind to your interviewer. I want you to channel your inner Charlie Rose and ask me incredibly deep questions that I have no answer to.
LC: Go pour yourself some hope. Whenever I hear the word amber I always think of the mosquito trapped in the sap shit in Jurassic Park. That is neither here nor there or anywhere. Let me know when you have your drink and ready to continue.
AB: I assume this interview is now going to turn towards the excellent Jurassic Park book by Michael Chrichton. I think we are united in considering amber colored liquid to be actual amber that mosquitoes are trapped in. Anyway, the less said about The Lost World sequel, the better.
LC: Now I am thinking about how many bugs we have probably swallowed in our lifetimes and I don’t know how to feel about that. Also, though you have the worst basketball takes ever, I won’t argue that The Lost World was a pile of shit.
Anyway, how about we actually start the interview, yeah?
AB: I am eagerly awaiting the first question while also googling, “Was Jurassic Park based on a true story.”
LC: I know where you were going with that, but I’m not going to bite.
OK, let’s start. And since you brought up true stories, that’s as good of a place as any. True story: you have a book coming out?
AB: I do have a book coming out with Moon City Press, which is the fiction arm of the University of Arkansas Press. I am excited despite the fact that I outed myself as almost X-generation, and I was raised to not ever be excited about anything. But yeah. All true stories. Especially the one about the moon being lassoed back to earth. What a weekend.
LC: Moon City Press. Arkansas. I’ve never heard of either, but I guess that’s cool. What kind of book is this? I do all my research through Wikipedia and it appears you are not famous enough for a Wikipedia page.
AB: What does it take to achieve that level of fame? Can you research that? The book is a collection of short stories, some realist, some fabulist, some flash. I’d like to make some sort of argument about the aesthetics behind that decision, but it’s actually just that I get bored and try my hand at new genres. I mean, you write flash and poetry. You get it.
LC: I don’t know the level of fame it takes to achieve getting your own Wikipedia page, and unless there’s a Wikipedia page about being famous enough for a Wikipedia page, I will never know. My assumption, though, is that you’ll probably never be famous enough to get to that point, so it’s probably not worth researching.
Also, you are very bad at selling yourself. You didn’t even tell us the title of your book.
And to your point regarding aesthetics--I get it. I do write both flash and poetry because I’m awesome as fuck.
Is there a specific word limit you like to keep your stories at? And as a reader, what is your ideal length of a story you prefer to read?
AB: I appreciate the faith in my writing, Leigh ;).
My book is titled, One Person Away From You, which is actually a really great title, and I say that as a person who usually title his stories things like, “The wall.”
I’m glad you read between the lines on my comment on your writing. I am quite subtle, but you’ve framed it in a less judicious but more accurate fashion. I just find so many varieties of stories interesting. I don’t ever understand when people become obsessed with any one variety. Minimalism? Sure. Maximalism. Also good. IDK.
Good question. I just Googled this yesterday. I feel like I’ve written so much flash that I’ve become convinced everything has to be 1,000 words, but I’ve started to write some longer things again. To be grossly commercial, it’s hard as fuck to get your longer stories published. I had a recent reject where the person said the story helped them think about the way to live a meaningful life. Like, that’s not enough? Thus, the ideal length is roughly 100 words. Or every Alice Munro short story, which is 40-50 pages. Everything in between is garbage.
LC: First, you wrote “reject” instead of “rejection,” which is pretty embarrassing. And I’m not changing it post-interview. (Unless both are technically correct, in which case, none of what I am writing here and here and here will appear in this interview.)
Also, way to humblebrag about a rejection.
It is a good title. This book of stories that you wrote that is getting published in a fictional arm of some press in a place called Arkansas. The title is so good I’d probably pick it up at a bookstore and read the first page or two before setting it back on the shelf. I have trouble with my own titles, too. But we are all full of our own failures.
You say you got a rejection for a longer piece of work. I’ve read your online publications and they do tend to be quite short. Do you find it easier to publish shorter works?
AB: I was using reject as a shorthand for rejection to appeal to a younger audience. Will this interview be available on Tik-Tok?
Not to brag, but I get a lot of rejections.
Wow! You think you’d actually buy the book? I mean, then I stand to someday receive proceeds. That’s good enough for me. The first story is good, and it’s short. I think you’d make it to page seven, but maybe I’m being ambitious.
I want your answer to this question as well. I have no idea what it’s like to be a poet in terms of pub rates etc. Like all people who write in a different genre, I assume it’s easier. And yes, it’s easier to get something shorter published. I think that’s primarily because of page space, but it’s also the genre that every MFA program teaches, so you’re competing with everyone from Iowa and like, Colm Toibin, who feels the need to adapt his latest novel into a short story too. Sigh. No really, I’m happy.
LC: You’re not getting out of the “reject” mistake, so I’m moving on from that.
And not to brag, but I figured you get a lot of rejections.
Also, I don’t remember writing that I said I would buy the book. I said I’d probably pick it up based off the title and read the first page or two “before setting it back on the shelf.” Page seven is probably ambitious, but it’s good to dream.
Regarding page space, yeah, that’s probably true. Print publications can publish more poems than short stories. So, is it easier to publish a one page poem than a fifteen page short story? I’m sure. Though I’ve never been an editor of a literary magazine, and I have too much important shit to do than waste my time being an editor of the Paris Review or whatever, so I wouldn’t know for sure, but common sense would tell me yes, it’s probably easier. But do journals receive more poetry submissions than fiction? I don’t know.
So you think your shorter works get published more than your longer works because of page length when there are no page lengths online? Instead of, say, maybe your writing gets boring after word 902 or, let’s be liberal here, 956?
AB: I am still betting on page seven. You’re not considering the front matter.
I can’t speak for how many poetry vs. fiction submissions that magazines receive, but from my brief tours of reading for lit mags, fiction seems to be endlessly submitted. Why is that? Is it that you can just pull whatever from the ether? Is poetry mostly autobiographical or ether? Tell me! I’m conducting this interview now.
Maybe I haven’t researched enough. I just follow the discourse, Leigh. The discourse says that everyone loves things to be neat and short these days. Is that true? Do my stories get boring after 1,000 words? Who knows. I just follow what the discourse tells me. And the discourse tells me that people like poems, 100 word stories and things published in The New Yorker. How long do you think until you publish in The New Yorker?
LC: I assume I’ll be published in The New Yorker as soon as I submit. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. It’s hard when you keep getting so many acceptances that you are constantly writing poems to try to keep up. Supply and demand. My poems are close to being on backorder.
Speaking of supply and demand. What do you think your publisher will do with all of the copies of your book they can’t sell?
AB: True. I’ve noticed this. My Twitter feed is basically just some combination of your poems being published and people Tweeting writing tips. I’ll give you one of my tips. Reader, there is still time to get that MBA.
I am hoping that they use the remaining books to build a bonfire. Then, just spitballing here, the some page will float up through the cosmos and be read by an advanced species like octopuses or whatever, and my fragment will become like our version of Shakespeare. I think that’s the likeliest scenario, but I’m also willing to consider the books being sent off in little bottles and blue whales reading them to their children. Probably one of those.
LC: MBA and MFA. One letter can put you into an entirely different tax bracket. I know you have an MFA. I don’t. That wasn’t a question. I just wanted to state that. It’s one of the few things I know about you even though you don’t have a Wikipedia page. Also, your Twitter feed might be me Tweeting about my publications and random writing tips from random writers, but a portion of my Twitter feed is you posting short videos of babbling creeks. Isn’t one babbling creek enough?
AB: Yes. I try to bring up my MFA as often as possible. How was your day? By the way, I received an expensive degree in a field with no possible chance outside of a lightning strike of making it back. It really impresses people. I apologize for my degree in Washington, DC. I’m like, sorry I don’t know everything about the world. You don’t either, but they do pay you a lot to pretend as though you do. Yikes. Resentment is not a good look on me. Take this part of the interview away and replace it with a babbling brook.
As for babbling brooks, huge fan. You were supposed to ask me how the pandemic changed my writing habits etc, but you didn’t, so now I have to talk about how I took up meditation and gained a deep and abiding love of babbling brooks. I consider myself the William Wordsworth of flash fiction Twitter. No one else has called me that, but I think it’s fair to say they are thinking it. Right?
LC: I’m about to probably become a bit of an asshole a few questions from now, so let me say with all sincerity that the MFA comment was of no judgment. I was just proving my interview research skills. I hate the MFA Vs. No MFA discourse. It’s bullshit. People should do what they want. Why should anyone care if someone gets an MFA or not? Or whether it was worth it or not? Why people get so heated about it, I’ll never know. Also, I think resentment fits you well. Like a mock turtleneck.
I don’t care how the pandemic changed your writing habits. Feel like there are/will be enough interviews surrounding that. (Though, I am upset with myself for using “babbling creek” instead of “babbling brook.”)
No, no one has called you the William Wordsworth of flash fiction Twitter. Are they thinking it, probably not. Will the seven people who might read this interview think it after they read it? Probably not. We can hope though. We can hope.
OK, serious question: when did you realize you would never be a famous writer?
AB: I don’t understand the discourse about MFA vs. non either. I am but a simple poet, wandering the countryside and looking for brooks to post on my Twitter. What about Gerard Manley Hopkins?
I realized I wanted to be a famous writer a few times. I wonder, was it that same for you? The first time was when I finished Tolkein and Lewis etc and realized people would pay you to make up shit about hobbits or wardrobes. Kids have amazing imaginations! Who wouldn’t want to use it for a living? Then we get rid of it.
But you still retain this idea that it’s possible to be a famous writer. Then you join an MFA program and do roughly two Google searches and realize you have no shot in hell. I was disillusioned roughly five months into my MFA program. It was quickly evident that I’d never be a famous writer, and I was confused about anyone in my cohort who thought differently about themselves or writing in general. When did you realize this would all amount to nothing and that we’d all be dead and then the sun would go out and no one would care if we had an MFA or not?
LC: I’m glad you gave up the dream (or at the very least, the idea) that you would become a famous writer early on. (I believe you got your MFA like thirty or so years ago?) I’m glad you’re still not carrying that idea around in your back pocket. I wonder: if you had done those Google searches before you started your MFA, would things be different? Would your book with the super long title that I’ve already forgotten that’s coming out with that press in that state still be coming out? Would we still be doing this interview on a random Sunday afternoon shaded amber?
I gave up the idea very quickly. After I realized I couldn’t write a novel, I knew. I thought about it in 2019 and gave up in 2020. I was writing four page paragraphs and mentioning birds even though I hate birds and I just knew, and it was like, fine, whatever, I guess I’ll write poetry or something.
Not worrying about “fame” is refreshing. I write what I want, how I want. People like it or they don’t. And if they don’t, they generally lie or just don’t say anything.
AB: Well, Leigh. I’m glad we have finally gotten to the meat of this interview, which I assumed would be philosophical. I’m a determinist, so I do believe this interview was fated to be as was the MFA and that really good sandwich I had in Montreal during a rough stretch of life in 2017. Who knows? We don’t know shit. This is my internal compass that I use to guide all my writing. What’s yours?
I can totally see how the birds would get you to move into poetry. I write about birds too. My mom likes birds, but I don’t. But once you’re writing about birds, it’s the short form for you. Or you’re Jonathan Franzen. And even though writing Twitter hates Jonathan Franzen, he manages to write about birds and be famous, which is like winning the Triple Crown in baseball or horse racing.
That’s a really healthy attitude. Also, being a famous writer in 2021 is the equivalent of what, a mid-range YouTube star? I think it has lost some cachet since the days of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, to mention two other writers that Twitter hates.
LC: All I got from any of that super long response was “that really good sandwich I had in Montreal during a rough stretch of life in 2017.” What kind of sandwich was it?
AB: Pastrami. Very basic but incredibly good. I wish I liked Montreal more. I really want to. I’ve visited twice. The people are beautiful and the restaurants are good, but I feel meh there. Like, maybe I should have paid for tickets to Europe. Don’t you have a small child to take care of? Can the infant ask questions of me?
LC: Pastrami. Nice choice. Funny, I actually have a meat related question to ask you soon, so that feels fated. I have never been to Montreal so that is all I have to say about Montreal.
Yes, I do have a small child. She’s seven months old, and she’s so stupidly cute it almost makes me sick. She’s hanging out with Dad right now, but she did leave some questions for me to ask. Some of them are surprisingly dark, especially for a baby, so I don’t know.
This will be a rapid response set of questions. Short answers. Let’s see how much we fuck up here.
OK: will you write another book after this one most likely fails critically and commercially?
AB: I’ve heard a lot of promising things from the industry about second books. Specifically, second books that are also a collection of short stories. Everyone is like, enough about your novel that incorporates all the elements of modern society including the Trump era in the United States. Are you working on any short form stuff? I haven’t ever queried, but I’m sort of counting on this interview as a launching pad for my career. I’ll thank you in the acknowledgements during my Nobel speech. (Aside: have you read My Prizes by Thomas Bernhard? I think you’d make it at least page 8.)
LC: I have not read My Prizes. I will check it out. I should have plenty of time since, you know, quitting by page two on yours, you know? Also, this interview is for my career. Though, let’s be honest, no one is reading this shit.
Next question: How much are you willing to pay for a positive Goodreads review?
AB: A dollar? Do people use Goodreads to make decisions about what books to read? I use it for confirmation bias. Oh, this widely praised book from x publisher actually sucked, Goodreads agrees. Oh, this widely praised book from x publisher actually sucked, Goodreads is a bunch of ratings from uninformed non-literary folk. I don’t know if it has much utility beyond that.
LC: Yeah, I have no idea. I don’t use Goodreads, though I suppose I should. Or maybe I shouldn’t. I would be curious to see who does buy books from positive reviews on Goodreads. Or maybe I’m not actually that curious.
Next: is there an animal you have not yet eaten that you would like to try?
AB: There is a guy on Goodreads who just goes around giving one star reviews. In the comments section of my book announcement, he wrote, One star away from you. I laughed. I love his commitment to the bit.
Morally, I think it’s highly suspect that we/I eat animals at all. Maybe horse?
LC: You brought up a pastrami sandwich in Montreal. You did this to yourself.
Also, I think we have a title for this interview: “One Star Away From You: An Interview with Andrew Bertaina.”
Next: have you chosen a day or night of writing over doing something else? And how much do you now regret it?
AB: I rarely choose writing over something fun. Luckily, the pandemic has already shrunk my limited friend base, so I’m rarely missing out on anything. If you invite me to grab an amber colored liquid and discuss dinosaurs or to karaoke to Celine Dion I’m probably going to do that thing instead of writing. I like people.
LC: What is your seventh favorite Celine Dion song to karaoke to? And you said that you like people, but do people like you?
AB: Seventh. Honestly, I only do “It’s all coming back to me now” and that might not even be the title of the song. It always clears the room. Suddenly, everyone urgently needs a drink. I think they really enjoy it.
Not at all. Totally non-reciprocal. Big fan of people. People of me? Eh. Not so much. Do people like you?
LC: I was really hoping you knew seven Celine Dion songs. I know maybe two. I was at least hoping you’d google her discography and make something up. I don’t know if that’s even the title, but if you’re not going to put any effort into this, then neither am I.
I am insufferable. So, yes, people like me.
This is my first time doing an interview. I doubt you have done many, as, let’s be honest, you don’t even have a Wikipedia page and I’m not actually sure your book is real, but do you think this is long or short so far for an author interview?
AB: “but if you’re not going to put any effort into this, then neither am I.” Feels like the end of all my significant relationships happening in this interview. :)
This is way too long. I think we will probably end up with about 4-6 questions and answers from this. Do you think we managed that?
LC: Oh, I have no idea. All I know is that Olney was dumb enough to give me a column, so I’m going to make them regret it.
OK, we can start to wrap up. It’s the basketball playoffs. The finals are, what, maybe two weeks away? Do you still have the Lakers winning it all?
AB: I think I remember someone having the Heat, then the Jazz...then. I’m waiting to see who you pick, so I can bet the opposite and win money. Be honest, have you been right about one series yet?
LC: This is fair. I feel like I’m the Charles Barkely of poets. My guarantees are complete failures. I still have the Heat winning by proxy. (James Jones, GM for the Suns, and Jae Crowder, king of the pissed off meme, both Miami Heat icons, are rolling through the west, and should take the Clips out in five.)
You told me the Bucks were going to take it. I think they’ll beat the Hawks, but I think it’s the Suns.
I guarantee it.
AB: Leigh, first off. Thank you so much for the interview and information on NBA betting. The Bucks it is. And secondarily, for mansplaining that the GM of the year, James Jones, was the GM for the Suns.
I hope that you and I both spend the rest of the afternoon composing the great American novel. I really look forward to seeing a heavily redacted version of this interview at Olney Magazine.
LC: Listen, I only stated GM for the Suns because who the fuck gives a shit about basketball GMs? Ugh, I guess you’re right, though.
None of this will be redacted, by the way.
This was pretty useless, though. So, that’s something. I’ll leave it here. Post the link to your book and maybe a link to a piece from it that was published online.
AB: Thank you for this promotion opportunity. It was a toss up between this and going on a season of the Bachelorette. https://www.uapress.com/product/one-person-away-from-you/.
