Category: Eco-literature


An interview with Among Animals contributor Anne Elliott

By Midge Raymond,

Learn about Anne Elliott’s story “Strays” from Among Animals 2 in this interview below…and, offering a bit more insight into her writing process, Anne talks about her Cat Editors here

 

Q: What inspired you to write this story?

A: My husband and I took care of a feral cat colony in Flatbush, Brooklyn, for several years. A big part of getting a colony “fixed” is taking care of them in traps before and after surgery. We caught one very pregnant female who was mean and wild outdoors, but in the safety of her cage, became downright cuddly. She inspired the character of Gladys. We called her Juno. And yes, her unborn kittens were euthanized, for which one of the other cat ladies congratulated me at the mobile clinic.

This struck me, this moment of congratulation. Anyone who cares for feral cats is an animal lover, yet this love often manifests itself in measures like euthanasia in order to keep the population in check. Something about that irony felt, to me, like the hot center of a story. The cat lady congratulated me, and in my heart I knew I was doing the right thing by not letting the kittens be born, but I did not feel like congratulating myself.

My husband used to work as a vet tech at a shelter, and one of his first tasks was euthanizing kitten fetuses after a spay. He described it to me; an image I cannot forget and had to include.

I feel strongly that people benefit from taking care of animals. It makes you feel needed when the world of humans can sometimes have the opposite effect. I think this is why I introduced the character of Dwayne Junior, who many see as a burden but Lou sees for his ability to contribute. He is based, in part, on a kid I saw having a freakout in Duane Reade pharmacy. His mother was very calm through the whole thing, just let him express himself in the corner. He seemed feral, like he could not be handled. And yet she walked right over to him and picked him up when it was time to leave the store. He was nearly as big as her. I felt great sympathy for them both.

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Q: What was your writing/research process?

A: I did no research, other than living my animal-filled life, and looking up the names of Disney characters for the cats. I did get certified for feral cat trap-neuter-return (TNR), so I guess that is a kind of research. (I went to Neighborhood Cats in New York City, and they are a great resource if anyone wants to learn about TNR.)

The writing process for this story was interesting in a couple ways. It began as a NaNoWriMo that I used as a procrastination activity while avoiding another novel I was trying to revise. For those unfamiliar, NaNoWriMo is a goofy challenge writers of all levels give themselves to compose 50,000 words in the month of November. I did not hit the 50,000 word mark on this one.

It was a weird November for me to try it because I was also deeply involved in the study of writing with Gordon Lish. His classes were a unique format of interactive lecture. He would talk extemporaneously for about four hours, then go around the room and ask students to read sentences, one at a time, slowly, while he listened with his amazing ear for language. The goal was for him to let you continue reading. The opening sentences of this story were among those I read in class. When he heard a false note, he would shout, “Elliott! Stop!” then ask others in the class where I had gone wrong. It was nothing personal. He did the same thing to everyone in the room, even his pets. All we wanted to do was please him. And with good reason—many of his students have gone on to write great works.

Anyway, the Lish approach meant I wrote this story sentence by sentence, reading aloud, constantly aware of pattern in the language and its sounds. Each sentence needed to issue forth from the sentence preceding it. It made for a very slow writing process. It also showed me that the piece was meant to be a short story, not a novel. I wrote several stories this way while I studied with him, and they have all made it into print. My novels have not. The sentence-by-sentence approach has not taught me what I need to know about structure to accomplish a successful long work.

I had big plans for this story as a novel, involving a long plot with Occupy Wall Street and a hobo. Glad I abandoned that direction. That is not what “Strays” is about. And, had I not composed very slowly—had I managed to “win” NaNoWriMo, as they say—I would not have figured that out.

A: Lou is called a “crazy cat lady” by her neighbors. Why do you think people react to Lou’s compassion with disparagement?

A: Cat ladies are easy targets. I like to write about easy targets in a way that does not make fun of them. Perhaps that is my form of compassion for humans. I did feel I had to acknowledge that easy targetness of cat ladies. Did you know there is a crazy cat lady action figure? I have received them as gifts on multiple occasions.

So yes, I guess the bigger question is why do the majority of people find crazy cat ladies funny? Why does taking care of cats make you “crazy”? I’m not totally sure. There are all the stereotypes about social awkwardness and questionable fashion choices. They must be based on some kind of truth. And Lou, my protagonist, must seem “abnormal” to others, much like Dwayne Junior, the mentally disabled kid she hangs out with. People who are “abnormal” have to make their peace with how others react to them. That is why I included the tenant reactions to their activity in the basement. I believe that is an interesting moment in the life of the “abnormal” person, that moment when you accept the disparagement of others and continue to do what you feel is right for you.

But that does not quite answer your bigger question. I’ll ask another one. Why are these cat people not lauded as heroes? I think people who work in animal rescue are heroic. I aspire to be this heroic. You have to deal with blood and guts and mange and poop. You have to encounter the results of human cruelty and neglect. It is difficult to help animals who are in pain and may not ever trust humans. And there is the hard reality of euthanasia when a population is too large to feed and protect. Rescue is a complex thing. I know my limits. I can’t deal with the blood and death in person, but I suppose I can write about it.

Q: Which writers inspire you the most?

A: It may be obvious I love the stories of Amy Hempel. Her story “A Full Service Shelter” is an amazing piece about the emotional complexity of rescue. A must-read, especially if you love pit bulls. Her sentences are so full of turns and surprises, and her wit is never for wit’s sake. Hers is the kind of wit that makes the heart swell with recognition and humor and sadness. Her sense of economy is also amazing. And she is compassionate.

I may have been under the influence of Tobias Wolff when I wrote the last sentence. The repetition wasn’t necessary from an information standpoint, but I did want to create a literal echo or heartbeat at the end. So of course I think of his “Bullet in the Brain.”

Q: What do you hope readers will take away from your story?

A: Interestingly, the term “feral cats” has fallen out of use with the humane organizations. They are now called “community cats,” since they fall on a spectrum of friendliness. Similarly, the term “autistic” has fallen out of common use, and now people are “on the spectrum.” This is more than just linguistic evolution, I think. Individuals are hard to categorize. And there are so many different ways to relate to the world. “Normal” gets re-defined every day.

This is a feeling I hope to convey in the story. Whether a person or animal is “friendly” or “feral” is a matter of situation, the individual’s temperament, and whether those around them accept them as they are. Everyone has value.

Like Dwayne Junior, I’m sad about the loss of the kittens and his opportunity to raise them. I hope that sadness comes through. You have to turn off your childlike sympathetic side sometimes as you take care of others and make hard decisions on their behalf. I hope the sadness of that reality comes through too.

Q: Dwayne Senior is absent in this story. Where is he?

A: Somewhere as I wrote I decided that this would be a story about females and the creatures they take care of, reluctantly or not. So I decided to have the landlady blame her daughter for being a bad parent, almost as if the boy has no father at all. It is possible the father is alive, and should be stepping up to become a role model. It is also possible he is dead, or incarcerated. I just thought the story would work better if he were a notable absence, if the two women did not spend their hours talking about him. Yet the father’s absence is tacitly, constantly acknowledged, or the kid would just be Dwayne, not Dwayne Junior.

I am not a mother, so I am in no position to critique anyone’s mothering. I don’t necessarily agree with the landlady about her daughter’s inability to raise a child. I don’t necessarily agree with Lou about her mother’s cruel preference of a pedigreed cat over her own daughter. But I think these character perceptions are important to explore. Women often blame other women for the ills of the world. We are not wrong to do that, necessarily. It means that we have power that we may be misusing. It is a way of acknowledging our power.

I don’t think it’s a feminist story per se, but I am a feminist writer. And these are the things I ponder as I write.

Does feminism extend to the animal kingdom? I wonder. I do have extra sympathy for the female feral cats. Like Ceres in the story, the one who they have to keep letting go because she is lactating. All of her resources go to her offspring. There are parallels in the human world. Women in general have to figure out how to do more with less, and often carry the burden of rearing the young. But perhaps my sympathy for these female cats is a form of anthropomorphism. I often pay attention to the lives of female animals, whether as metaphor or not, I do not know.

An interview with Among Animals contributor Hunter Liguore

By Midge Raymond,

An interview with Among Animals contributor Hunter Liguore (“The Truth of Ten Thousand Things”)

Q: What inspired you to write this story?
A: I was interested in confronting extinction of a species. Historically, there are quite a few eyewitness accounts of those who experienced the extinction of the passenger pigeon. What would it look like to witness the death of the last polar bear? How would it change us, as a people, if at all, and how especially might the media “spin” the story?

Q: What was your writing/research process?
A: I looked into the idea that what we consider loss—in this case, the loss of a species—that it is part of the evolution of thought and action, collectively. That on a large scale, all our thoughts, as the human race, creates the future we see and experience. (E.g., “To know the past, observe the present consequence. To know the future, observe one’s present conduct” —Master Sheng Yen.) With regards to the story, I tried to consider that the passing of the last polar bear (like the passenger pigeon) was simply part of where, at this time, human thought evolved to and created. That it was neither good or bad, but simply, another experience, that we incorporate into our day.

Q: The “send-off” for Betty is mix of celebration and mourning. What do you think people today should be feeling as we face a future of endangered species like the polar bear?
A: I would never want to tell someone how to feel, but my own feeling is that we collectively can create a world with hope and nurturing, and more so, reciprocity with the natural world—plenty of people, communities, have stepped forward to make alliances with animals, trees, birds, endangered species, rocks, rivers. When we’re accountable for our own actions, and how it relates to the natural world, then we can shift perspective from placing blame on others and paying for our own debt, while creating solutions and a happy world. It’s amazing to me when I hear people complain about the world—if they are upset about litter, for instance, many don’t realize they can pick it up. When you suggest, “Pick it up if you see it,” it’s like a shift happens in them, and they’re given permission to do something about it rather than waiting for someone else to do it. So you didn’t drop the trash in your neighborhood, but walking by it is the same as neglecting responsibility. We have more power in one shift of thinking than we know. So start small. Find a small area in your community to nurture back, love it, give back in whatever way you can—be it praying/mediation over it, picking up trash, planting flowers (which will bring bugs, which will support birds, and continue to nurture all life); feed the earth in whatever way you can; be attentive to what you buy and use and how it effects the world at large; over time, small efforts create big results—you’ll discover how forgiving the natural world is, and how important we all are to the process.

Q: In what ways does Betty’s story allow for healing within Yunnan’s family?
A: The death of the last polar bear, in a way, parallels a shift within Yunnan’s family. We can say one is good and one is bad, but they are both different moments of experience, neither good or bad. The healing comes, I think, when we can experience from another person’s (or being’s) perspective. Yunnan can live from her father’s perspective, and child’s, and know forgiveness, just as her father can live from hers; equally, Cave Bear lives from the point-of-view of the polar bear; she remains awake to the bear’s death, with compassion, as opposed to turning from it. The pattern for each character is remaining awake to their experiences; thus, bringing forth healing to themselves and really, the world-at-large, since we’re all interconnected.

Q: What do you hope readers will take away from your story?
A: Whatever they feel and interpret. What I take away is that human existence is a struggle. We often hold so strongly to our own opinion, and it doesn’t help anyone to stay in conflict; for me, this is the essence of war but also the beginning of ending it. When we let go (of being right), we can foster love and understanding, bringing it into our relationships. It wasn’t too late for Yunnan and her father, though many years have been lost. While it is too late for the polar bear in the story, perhaps, recognizing our own contribution to pollution and degradation of the environment, we can alter the course of extinction. And if not, life continues.

Q: How can we save the last polar bear from extinction?
A: My thought: each person taking accountability for their debt in what they use and consume and generate that affects the rest of the living world. Small efforts create big changes.

Learn more about Hunter Liguore and her work at www.HunterLiguore.org. 

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An interview with Among Animals contributor J. Bowers

By Midge Raymond,

An interview with Among Animals 2 contributor J. Bowers (“Shooting a Mule”) 

Q: What inspired you to write this story?

A: An old college friend knows I like both horses and strange 19th-century ephemera, so she sent me an article about the exploding mule through social media. I think it may have been Scientific American‘s own blog. Everything about the idea haunted me, especially the 19th-century version of the magazine’s cold, clinical tone when discussing the event, like the photography experiment was the part that mattered, not the animal’s life. I needed to write that mule a friend.

Q: What was your writing/research process?

A: This is the rare story that was drafted in one sitting. As soon as I read the original articles about the incident (using C19: The Nineteenth Century Index, a historical fiction writer’s best friend), I was off to the races. The narrator’s voice came really easily because I’d been reading a lot of period novels for my grad school exams. I liked the idea of a bystander feeling this tension between military authority and empathy for a fellow creature.

Q: Which writers inspire you the most?

A: I love women who write weird short fiction about animals: Lydia Millet, Karen Russell, and Hannah Tinti are all heroes in constant rotation. John Haskell and Steven Millhauser are also fascinating to me in terms of form and spectacle, and how to write about the past without losing sight of plot. I also read a lot of cultural histories about the 19th century — the more obscure and bizarre, the better.

Q: Your story is set in the late nineteenth century. How has our treatment of animals evolved since then?

A: Readers of Scientific American in the late 19th century viewed this event as a curiosity, the product of industrial ingenuity. The mule’s life meant nothing, because a mule was by definition a tool, a thing to be used, not a sentient being, as we might view it now. By contrast, in the 21st-century blog about the photograph that I initially read, the tragic nature of the event was front and center. With the public megaphone of the Internet, I find it hard to imagine that the kind of “animal testing” that occurs in “Shooting A Mule” would go unprotested if it happened today. Now when an animal is hurt in a high-profile way, as this mule was, the story goes viral. Still, despite greater awareness of abuse, real legal protections for animals (especially domestic ones) in the United States have a long, long way to go.

Q: How does photography affect our view of animals? When you think of graphic photos like the one in your story, do you think it leads to greater empathy, or desensitization?

A: Human ideas about other animals are wholly informed by representation. Photos, films, and cartoons do so much to influence our thoughts about what animals are or should be. When it comes to graphic portrayals of violence against animals, seeing a barrage of images of animal abuse can be desensitizing. I think about how my composition students always laugh uncomfortably at the ASPCA’s Sarah McLachlan-soundtracked PSAs when I show them as an example of pathos in advertising. They do feel empathy watching the commercials. They care that animals are suffering. But there’s something about seeing those images so many times that has dulled the commercials’ impact, and turned it into this nervous joke. Save The Children ads have the same problem. I hemmed and hawed about whether or not to include such a shocking image in “Shooting A Mule,” but felt readers needed to see what these men were aiming for in the name of science: what the mule’s life amounted to in the end. Its power is in its singularity. It’s not something you see every day.

Q: What do you hope readers will take away from your story?

A: When people think about animals suffering for human inventions, they think of medical applications, mostly, wonder drugs and the like. I hope this story reminds them just how capricious humans can be about animal lives when science (any science) is used as an excuse. The victim being a mule just adds to that; it’s a creature that wouldn’t exist without human intervention.

Q: Is the mule based on anyone?

A: Yes, Wylie, a mare mule who was a beloved herd fixture at Cedar Creek Therapeutic Riding Center in Columbia, MO, where I worked as barn manager for eight years. I borrowed a lot of her mannerisms and behavior, trying to do the animal justice through observation instead of relying on stereotypes. Miss Wylie taught me that mules get a bum rap.

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An interview with Among Animals contributor C.S. Malerich

By Midge Raymond,

Charlotte Malerich, whose story “Meat” appeared in the first edition of AMONG ANIMALS, is back with another amazing story, “Phoenix Cross,” in AMONG ANIMALS 2And join Charlotte in person at The Potter’s House in Washington, D.C., on Friday, October 14, at 7 p.m., for a reading and a discussion about the relationships among humans and animals.   

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Q: What inspired you to write this story?

A: The life of food animals is a constant source of inspiration and horror. I went vegetarian and finally vegan in my teens, after I became aware that literally billions of animals are living out short, miserable, crowded lives in the meat and dairy industry every moment. It’s an awareness that sits in the back of my mind constantly, and writing about that, fictionalizing it, is like an exorcism. It’s a way to handle the despair I’d feel otherwise, and I suppose it’s also a way to force my readers to take on that awareness. Perhaps that’s a nasty thing to do, from the readers’ perspective. But from the animals’ perspective, the more awareness the better.

This story in particular came about because chickens get so little empathy and respect. In the culture I live in, people seem to have an easier time feeling for mammals than for birds. Birds are even exempt from the federal U.S. regulations for humane slaughter — so legally you can kill a duck without desensitizing them, but not a pig. And I think most vegans can relate to the experience I’ve had, of people telling you that they don’t eat “red meat,” only chicken(s), as if this is somehow progressive. In reality, Americans kill more animals than ever because of this trend, so where’s the progress? I grew up in the suburbs, but my neighbors kept chickens; as an adult, I’ve visited sanctuaries and met rescued chickens. They aren’t any less interesting or alive or individual than a rabbit or a horse. They aren’t less deserving of full lives. So with this story, I really wanted to push that button and give birds their due.

Q: What was your writing/research process?

A: I had this idea that an immortal creature would make the perfect object of exploitation, because it keeps regenerating itself, no matter what you do to it. I love taking elements of mythology and folklore and putting them in a mundane context–like how would a phoenix fit into a modern capitalist society? So I started writing from the perspective of a phoenix in a factory farm, more as an exercise for myself than anything else. Trying to capture that very non-human perspective forced me to figure out what it is that I, as a human, share with a bird, i.e., what really makes this creature relatable to me? It came down to very basic, physical experiences: hunger, thirst, heat and cold, desire for space and freedom of movement. Then the cycle of this mythological creature’s life — birth, life, death — became a natural metaphor for the fact that in the real world, it isn’t just a single animal who is confined, maimed, and killed; it’s billions, over and over again. The suffering doesn’t end with the individual animal’s death, because it’s repeated and multiplied, so long as the industry continues and grows.

But that wasn’t a story; it was just a cycle of experiences. So I put it aside for a long time, and it wasn’t until years later that I picked it up again, after I’d read a short story by Nalo Hopkinson which also involved an egg and the magical bird (which was very, very different from mine). This time, I tried writing the experience of the creatures on the other side: the human farmers who were maintaining the system that’s oppressing the birds — humans who are also being oppressed by the same system. Then I had a story! There was conflict, but more importantly there was also hope for intervention and change. I went through a lot of revisions, partly because I had very specific ideas about including the human and avian perspectives, and a lot of it just didn’t work for my readers — who are all human, after all. I had to trim the story down and find ways to lead human readers into the bird’s experience.

I was also doing a lot of research to make sure I got the details right. I looked at the investigations of groups like Mercy for Animals, Animal Welfare Institute, and United Poultry Concerns; but most importantly for my human protagonist Joe and his family’s predicament, I read The Meat Racket by Christopher Leonard. Leonard’s a free-market, anti-regulation guy, yet his observations about life for these farmers who contract with the big agriculture companies like Tyson match what you’d find in more liberal sources like Food Inc. or Michael Pollan. I’m not a farmer myself. I don’t claim to speak for farmers. But, without minimizing the suffering that non-human animals’ experience, I tried to tell a story that was honest about the stresses and the changes in the industry that human farmers are coping with.

Q: Many farms are family businesses, and in this story Joe begins to empathize with the animals, while the rest of his family continues to see them as a commodity. Do you feel it’s possible for empathy to grow even when one’s livelihood depends on raising animals for food?

A: It’s definitely possible. There’s Howard Lyman, for example, who was a fourth-generation rancher and ultimately became a vigorous animal rights and environmental activist. He may be the most prominent, but he’s not unique. I’ve heard other vegans’ stories that began when they encountered animals with whom they connected on a farm — sometimes their family’s. It’s very natural to feel empathy for another sentient creature, and horror when they are treated as nothing more than a commodity. Farm workers absolutely experience it.

In most cases, though, I do think this empathy gets stifled by the immediate demands of the job, and the consequences for the workers and their families if they don’t do it. The threat of bankruptcy, of losing homes, of not being able to pay medical bills — these are very real. I don’t want to ignore them. There’s also a social and cultural cost to changing a way of life that might have been in your family for generations, and tied up in ideas about heritage and independence (even though you may be completely beholden to a vast corporation now). Under that kind of stress, I don’t expect human beings to be compassionate and far-sighted. I’m not. Often the most we can do is slack off and surreptitiously look for a way out — but that just removes us personally from the process, it doesn’t put an end to the exploitation as a whole. If one farmer decides they don’t want to kill chickens anymore, the industry can hire another. And that’s a recipe to feeling powerless.

So ultimately, I think we need an analysis that doesn’t pit human interests against the interests of other species, but sees us all (chicken, human, fish, whatever) as victims of the same oppressive system. What makes Joe the protagonist of the story and not another member of the family is his consistent animosity toward the company: in other words, his enemy is the same as the birds’, even if the nature of the relationship differs. He’s also unique in his family in that he never made a choice about his profession, but has this role laid out for him from childhood. Even if we’re vegan today, most of us grew up eating meat (and sometimes killing animals for other people to eat) simply because it’s what our parents did and what they expected us to do. As Joe is growing more aware of the birds’ situation, he’s also growing more aware — and more angry — about his own.

Analogies like this are always a little crass, but I’m going to go ahead, and I’ll take the criticism if it comes: Let’s compare this to the national movement against mass incarceration. More and more people understand that the American justice system is biased against black, brown, and working-class people. We incarcerate far too many people, for too long. Yet attempts to end this always meet opposition, and not just from private prison corporations or the industries that use prison labor. It comes from prison guard unions, too, and it’s pretty clear why. It isn’t as if the average corrections officer is making six figures, living high, but they are able to provide for their family, get health insurance, and save for retirement. They have stability, and they’re going to fight to keep it. So if we really care about humans or any other animals locked up in cages, we have to fight for the kind of economy that’s going to give workers — en masse — an option to walk away from the slaughterhouse or the detention center. I’m encouraged by the transitional approach that’s happening in parts of the renewable energy movement, like the agreement made around the closing of Diablo Canyon, the last nuclear power plant in California. Friends of the Earth was able to organize with the utility workers, so that the ultimate agreement with the company includes retraining and retention for those workers, so they can move on to other jobs and aren’t going to just get laid off.

Q: In your story, technology helps corporations make more money from animals. What role do you think technology can play in favor of the rights of animals?

A: I view science and the expansion of human knowledge generally as a force for good — or at least not a force for bad. And technology is just the application of knowledge to solve a practical problem. Once something new is invented, or new areas of knowledge are open, there are a whole range of possible applications. Drones can be used for dropping bombs or expanding a corporate delivery empire, or drones can be used to investigate factory farms and show people what is really going on there, as Will Potter is doing. Lots of other people are using their ingenuity to answer questions other than how to increase profits. The fact that we can grow human tissues and actually simulate whole body systems now makes the animal testing industry look pretty backward. I’d also include green technologies as a net gain for animals: if we are serious about the rights of other species, we have to preserve the planet that we are all living on, and a major overhaul of our energy sources has to be part of that. (So does changing our diet.)

Overall though, I’m not too optimistic that technology itself is the answer to animal exploitation because in many areas, it isn’t as if animal industries are just waiting around to be shown a better way. In movies, of course, I’m pleased when a director uses CGI animals on screen instead of live animals, but the ability to tell stories about animals without animals has been around for generations — in clay or hand-drawn animation, in puppets, in costumes, in other media like music or text. Bambi came out in 1942, and the book was published in 1923. I haven’t seen it, but I find it hard to believe that Darren Aronofsky’s Noah is a better piece of environmental fiction — though, yes, good for him for using only CGI animals. I’m also leery of turning animal rights into a marketing tool, the way Wayne Pacelle of HSUS suggests. His appeal is really to corporate capitalists: “Hey! Be animal friendly and you’ll make more money!” I’m skeptical that that approach is going to pay off in the larger scheme of things.

What I’d really like to challenge people who care about animals to do is to be part of a larger movement for social justice, so that we all can focus our time, energy, and skills on solving problems where the bottom line isn’t what kind of profit we’re going to get, but how we are going to insure a basic, decent standard of living for all human beings that also puts us in an ecological balance with other species and with the planet. The major deficit in that struggle isn’t cool new technologies; I think it’s political and economic freedom.

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Q: What are you writing now?

A: Thank you for asking! My main project is an urban fantasy novel, that is currently morphing into something closer to New Weird. I also have shorter pieces that I am polishing: a novelette about witchcraft and a group of striking textile workers in the 1830s and several different short stories. One of my co-workers and I have an ongoing zine project about life in a public library. I have more ideas for stories than I have time to write, which I suppose is a better problem to have than the opposite.

Q: What do you hope readers will take away from your story?

A: Lots of love for chickens, a little compassion for farmers, and burning hatred for capitalism.

Less flippantly: I’m very curious where readers’ sympathies will lie at the end of this story. First, the story draws us into Joe and his family’s situation, and then, along with Joe, we’re drawn even further out of our own experience, into the birds’ situation. It’s like a nesting box. And I hope we identify with and ultimately respect how these creatures — the birds as well the human beings — endure and struggle to control their own bodies and live decent lives. If readers come away with multiple levels of awareness and solidarity, then I’ve accomplished my goal.

An interview with Among Animals 2 contributor Rachel King

By Midge Raymond,

Thanks to Among Animals 2 contributor Rachel King for answering our questions about her story, “A Normal Rabbit.” And save the date: Rachel will be appearing with Catherine Evleshin at Annie Bloom’s in Portland, Oregon, on Thursday, October 13, at 7 p.m. for a reading from Among Animals 2. 

Q: What inspired you to write this story?
A: My friend works with special needs kids, and I showed rabbits in 4-H when I was a kid. Both areas of knowledge inspired this story.

Q: What was your writing/research process?
A: I challenged myself to write a story that happened in one day, and this story flowed from there.

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Q:  How does using animals in 4-H clubs (putting them in shows, raising them as food) affect the children in your story? How do you think such clubs affect children in general?
A: When her pet rabbit kills its offspring, Allie becomes scared of rabbits, their violence and foreignness. She opens back up to them while showing her rabbit at the fair. Drew has a connection with the rabbit Camper that he doesn’t yet have with human beings. Children in general can have similar reactions to animals in 4-H: They can think them strange before they accept them and/or their interactions with animals can bring out aspects of their personalities–gentleness, maybe, or caring–that they don’t show as much among their human friends.

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Q: Which writers inspire you the most?
A: Carson McCullers, Jim Shepard, Mary Gaitskill, Robert Hass

Q: What do you hope readers will take away from your story?
A: I want readers to enjoy following Allie around for the day; seeing the fair, her brother, and the 4-H event through her eyes.

Q: Why did you pick a child narrator?
A: Allie’s point of view allows the reader to work through the story’s situations slowly, without the immediate assumptions adults often bring. She perceives facts before she makes judgments, something younger children do more often than adults.