An Interview with Andrew Humphrey

Andrew Humphrey’s first short story collection, Open The Box, received critical acclaim. His second collection, Other Voices, was released by Elastic Press this month, and his first novel, Alison, is about to be released by TTA Press. He was kind enough to answer a few questions for me.

Tell us about your writing career to date.

Although I’ve always been interested in creative writing—I’ve certainly written my share of dodgy poetry—I didn’t start writing seriously until I was almost forty (I’m now forty-seven). I’d briefly tried writing 1,000 words twist-in-the-tale stories for women’s magazines, with a spectacular lack of success. Then I decided to find my own voice and write what I liked and what came naturally. I’ve been published in some fine magazines and alongside writers I’ve respected for years, but being published in the Third Alternative and Crimewave and, more recently, Black Static, have been the highlight. Having two collections picked up by Andrew Hook’s Elastic Press is also quite a compliment.

Who would you compare yourself to in terms of writing style?

I’m not sure it’s my place to make comparisons. I’ve been heavily influenced by Christopher Kenworthy, Nicholas Royle, and Joel Lane. I hope they take that as a compliment. I mean that their writing stirs me and their standards are something to which I aspire. I doubt I’ll get there but there’s no harm in aiming high.

I also admire the economy of some American crime writers; Raymond Chandler, James Elroy, and Lawrence Block, for example. Their prose is generally terse, pared-down and I like that a lot. I try hard to avoid over-explanation. I don’t always succeed. I’d rather leave the reader mystified than force-feed them information. At least they can make their own minds up then.

Your novel Alison is about to be released by TTA Press. How would you compare the experience of writing a novel to writing short stories?

Writing stories is a bit like having teeth pulled. Writing novels is similar, but minus the anaesthetic. It’s horrible. They’re too bloody long. People who do it for a living have my respect and admiration.

Having said that, Alison was remarkably easy. But then it’s very short for a novel and I was naïve and stupid. Having written a handful of short stories I thought I should probably have a go at a novel. Armed with a couple of characters and the vaguest of ideas I decided I would write a thousand words a day until the story was told. I’ve never been that disciplined, before or since. Planning didn’t extend beyond the chapter I was writing—which I sincerely hope doesn’t show! Receiving Andy Cox’s acceptance email was probably the happiest single moment of my writing life. It’s been a while coming, but, knowing Andy, it should be worth the wait.

Many writers see short stories as a proving ground, practice if you will, for the “real” challenge of writing a novel. What are your thoughts on the subject?

I think they’re wrong. I thought the exact same thing and I know I was wrong. They are very different disciplines requiring an entirely different outlook, temperament, set of skills. Some writer’s can do both equally well. Most can’t. I’ve got some names in my head now, but I think that’s where they’ll stay. I’ve learnt that if I’m a writer at all, I’m a short story writer. Perversely, this makes me want to write novels—long, meandering things that you can get lost in for days. Not going to happen, though.

Not that I think writing a novel is an excuse for padding or waffle. A novel should be as lean as a short story. Not many are.

One of the things a fledgling writer is often taught is to find the genre they are most comfortable with and stick to it. You straddle a number of genres from fantasy to science fiction to slipstream. Is there one that you would say you enjoy writing more than the others?

I don’t like genres much, to be honest. I just write stories. Sometimes they can be shoehorned into one genre or another, I suppose. This helps editors and publishers and, maybe, some readers. But it’s pretty arbitrary and meaningless. I did once set out to write a crime novel and it ended up as a vaguely supernatural short story. Characters matter, the story matters; labels don’t. Which, I suspect, means that commercially, I’m a bit buggered.

Do you think writing short stories allows for more leeway in switching between genres than longer forms?

I think it allows more freedom, generally. It’s quite liberating, relatively speaking. It’s easier to avoid weighty exposition in shorter work, easier to go to unexpected places, without the ties and constrictions that novels can bring. Of course, excellent writers transcend these restrictions whatever form they are exploring. Not many of them about, though.

There is no denying that the market for short stories has declined over the past couple of decades. Do you have a theory as to why that is?

Not really. I think it’s a shame, but I’m a bit of a hypocrite because I generally prefer reading novels to stories. Perhaps the market was never that massive in the first place—many smaller magazines were probably kept afloat by fledgling writers hoping to place their work. I suppose many have fallen by the wayside now that it’s easier to self-publish and there are so many outlets, however dubious the quality, for writers on the Internet.

How responsible do you think publishers are for this decline? Do you think it is possible that general tastes are influenced by what is available on the shelves rather that being dictated by demand?

I think publishers have made it worse. I’m not sure that the general reading public have ever had a massive appetite for story collections but they are certainly being steered in certain directions to suit the bigger publishers. Perhaps it’s all a matter of perception, though. As consumers (horrible word!) we get what we deserve ultimately, I suppose.

What would you say is the unifying theme of Other Voices?

Bewilderment, probably. I nearly said despair, but I hope it isn’t. It’s about what happens when cracks appear—in people, relationships, time, even. It’s a bit grim but there are glimmers of hope, I think. That’s all we need, isn’t it? Just a glimpse, something to keep us going.

So what comes next for you?

That’s a really good question, Sarah. I haven’t written anything for over two years. When Alison is published I have only a novella called Debris to place (it’s with a publisher awaiting a decision at the moment) and pretty much everything I’ve written will have found a home somewhere. It’s seems a worryingly natural place to stop. I don’t really enjoy the process of writing. I know I’m not alone in this. I think I need an element of obsession to keep me going and that seems to be lacking at the moment. It’s not a big deal. It’s all about the story and if I haven’t got a story to tell then there isn’t much left to say!