TBR [to be read] is a semi-regular, invitation-only
interview series with authors of newly released/forthcoming, interesting books
who will tell us about their new work as well as offer tips on writing, stories
about the publishing biz, and from time to time, a recipe!
Give us your elevator
pitch: what’s your book about in 2-3 sentences?
The World Doesn't
Require You is a fairly
fractured pass through the fictional town of Cross River, MD, which was founded
in in 1807 after the nation's sole successful slave revolt. It's eleven stories
and novella that features the musical son of a God, “doorbell ditchers,”, mobsters
in love, human sacrifices, warring academics, a cow who chews human faces, underground
railroad reenactors, and a few other things.
Which story did you
most enjoy writing? Why? And, which story gave you the most trouble, and why?
The answer to this
question is the same story: “Rolling in my Six-Fo’—Daa Daa Daa—With all my
Niggas Saying: Swing Down Sweet Chariot Stop And Let Me Ride. Hell Yeah.” I
couldn’t stop laughing when I wrote that story. I had a lot of fun with
absurdity and taboo imagery. It gave me trouble precisely because I was playing
with taboo racial imagery. I had to keep making sure that, though the imagery
was often shocking, that I didn’t tip into writing a story that was nothing
more than shock value. I kept cutting until that was the case, but I had to
keep asking myself if I was reinforcing bad ideas. If I had enough depth to
redeem the story. I think I pulled it off, but in a thousand different
ways—ethically, morally, craft-wise—it wasn’t easy.
Tell us a bit about
the highs and lows of your book’s road to publication.
Some of these
stories were difficult to get right and many were dead in the water many times
over. I had to grow in my skills, but also emotionally and in maturity to bring
many of these stories to life.
What’s your favorite
piece of writing advice?
It’s worth it to try
to live by Zadie Smith’s wonderful advice: “Protect the time and
space in which you write. Keep everybody away from it, even the people who
are most important to you.” I use the word “try” because it is a damn hard
thing to do.
My favorite writing
advice is “write until something surprises you.” What surprised you in the
writing of this book?
I always thought
that one of my characters, Kin Samson, would be the focal point of my writing,
but every time he takes the stage, he minimizes himself. He is in this book and
he was in my debut, Insurrections, but
his role in both books is much smaller than imagined. I finally figured out
that my focal point, my recurring character, is Cross River itself. What
returns most often is the locations and the culture of the town. This
understanding has changed how I approach my fictional homeland in everything I
am writing now.
How do you approach
revision?
Many of these
stories are very old and were sitting just because I couldn’t get them over the
hump. Even if I wasn’t actively working on them, they were turning in my mind.
For some pieces it might be a matter of letting them go for five, ten years,
checking in on them every so often until it’s time for them to come alive.
Inquiring foodies and
hungry book clubs want to know: Any food/s associated with your book? (Any
recipes I might share?)
Just wolf. It’s a
delicacy in Cross River, MD.
MAN’S BEST FRIEND
4 whole onions,
husks and all.
7 ½ cloves garlic,
again, husks and all.
3 green peppers,
please do not substitute.
½ lb. shrimp with
their shells intact.
1 cup lemon juice.
3 tablespoons sea
salt.
3 tablespoons
freshly ground cracked pepper.
2 tablespoons
nutmeg.
A dollop, just a
dollop, of ketchup.
3 ½ tablespoons
cinnamon.
½ tablespoon Italian
seasoning.
8 ½ dashes bitters,
Mad Chef Jimmy Capstone brand. (This is important. A fool, a family member of
some closeness, once attempted to substitute Angostura or another brand and it
was obvious to me. I never ate from or spoke with this person again. Perhaps I
may bring her this dish, prepared correctly, to her deathbed when the time
comes. But without Capstone brand, you have not really prepared, Man’s Best
Friend, properly.)
18 pineapple rings.
Cherries, makes no
difference how many.
1 bottle low-end
fortified wine, preferably Ripple, Cisco or Crazy Neegs (please do not confuse
this with Crazy Ninja, which is a malt liquor and not a wine. While other wolf
dishes call for Crazy Ninja, this one would be ruined by the thick, bitter drag
of malt liquor.)
1 wild dog—go ahead
and call it a wolf if you must do so
to assuage your guilty heart—hair and eyes properly removed. (Some prefer to
remove the head altogether. The West Indians often save the face as well as the
paws and use them to prepare a tasty Wolf
Souse—see recipe on page ____.)
The essence of
seasoning is found in touch. It is not enough to spread spices onto meat—that
is the way of the amateur. One must massage the dead animal as if it is being
loved. As if it is being soothed. Think about this poor beast’s last moments:
grazing perhaps. Perhaps sipping from the Cross River. Perhaps running about. Maybe
hunting. Whatever it was doing, it did not expect to be killed by gunshot. Or
perhaps by a knife slitting the throat. If it caught wind of you, wolfer, then
fear, anxiety and adrenaline shot through that animal in beams like lightning.
It probably tried to desperately avoid its final moments. You’ve felt that
fear, right? Passing through you in a sort of wave. We often induce it in
ourselves because our civilized lives are so tame and staid. We go to scary
movies, ride roller coasters. Some of us seek adventure on the streets or go
off to wars and revolutions. Some live in warzones and have no need to
re-create that feeling, as it is ever present. They seek to escape it, but
can’t. Ask an Iraqi who lived in Baghdad in 2002. Or go to the Southside of Cross
River on a night when minor kingpins feel the need to defend the fiefdom of
their tiny half blocks. Every living thing has felt the tingle of that pang
shooting from the pit of the gut to every point in the body. It turns out that
feeling has a taste and that taste in the dog you are about to consume is so,
so delicious.
But to properly taste it in the dead
beast, one needs to take the seasonings: the spices, the powders, the
vegetables, the liquids—everything—and knead it into the dead wolf’s flesh. It
matters not what order you do things or if you do it at high altitude or low
altitude or while standing on your head, just do it. Pretend as if you are
easing this beast’s suffering. Do whatever you need to do to get through this
task. There is nothing more important. Leave it. Let it marinate. I don’t care.
Sing to it. Pray over it. Hold it up on an altar next to the Buddha. Shit,
smoke buddha, blow marijuana smoke rings into the dead wolf’s unmoving face if
you like. I do not care what you do. I only care that you give this deceased
animal the proper love. That it’s thoroughly cleaned and skinned and massaged.
Or don’t skin it. The fatty wolf skin can be quite tasty when properly
prepared.
Bake at 375 for several hours or
until, when pierced with a fork, the juices run clear as the Cross River at
noon on a summer day. Or eat this dog cold and raw in the manner of our
ex-slave ancestors, faces painted with skulls, sitting on tree branches in the
Wildlands holding guns, waiting for enemies to attempt to re-enslave them long
after the danger had passed.
Why didn’t anyone tell them to
relax? To live their lives. To go fall in love. Have sex. Produce children.
Raise them with the proper love and care. Instead they shot dogs and ate them
bloody and raw, sharing their favorite pieces with each other—the livers for
sober thought, the hearts for courage, the brains for wisdom. And this is fine
as long as one never forgets the purpose and essence of touch.
****
LEARN MORE ABOUT
THIS AUTHOR: www.rionamilcarscott.com
ORDER THIS BOOK FOR
YOUR OWN TBR STACK: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781631495380