AUTHOR PROFILE
Brian Hawkins lives and works in southern Indiana. He and his wife, Lacy, both teach at the high school from which they graduated. They also own (and rarely operate themselves) a used bookstore, Inklings. (Find us on Facebook and Instagram!) They have three cats and two dogs, along with a number of koi and goldfish in their small ornamental ponds. Brian has a B.S. from Indiana University, an M.Ed. From Indiana Wesleyan University, an M.A in English from Morehead State University, and a graduate certificate from IU in political science. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in The Barcelona Review, and Muleskinner Journal, Strangest Fiction Anthology – vol. 2, and Jelly Bucket. He bowled in his first league at age five in 1982 and has not missed a season since. He can be found on Instagram @hawk.it.is and Twitter/X @hawk_it_is.
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Brian's work appeared in Pond 81
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Why do you write?
The old saying tells us most people want to have written more than they want to write. That fit me better than I’d like to admit. I wrote a couple of short stories and some poems in college and in the decade after, but it wasn’t until my MA at Morehead I thought I could actually do it. Crystal Wilkinson encouraged me during my work in her class and as I completed a creative thesis under her direction. I should add the short story “Psst!” which Spank the Carp so graciously published, grew out of a short assignment from her course.
Over the next few years, I would write periodically, submit occasionally, and wish I did it all more frequently. In 2018, I met Hoosier author Frank Bill, and I give him a lot of the blame for my eventual commitment to trying this writing thing out for real. Almost every time I talked to him, and sometimes in a text out of the blue, he would ask how my writing was going. It got embarrassing never to have an answer.
Over the next few years, I would write periodically, submit occasionally, and wish I did it all more frequently. In 2018, I met Hoosier author Frank Bill, and I give him a lot of the blame for my eventual commitment to trying this writing thing out for real. Almost every time I talked to him, and sometimes in a text out of the blue, he would ask how my writing was going. It got embarrassing never to have an answer.
What other creative activities are you involved in?
Few things have dominated my life like bowling has. I started at age five and continue to bowl (somewhat) competitively. In all honesty, I’m not so good anymore, but I still enjoy it, even if league night has as much to do with seeing my friends as it does the actual bowling. I do have twenty-one sanctioned 300 games and ten 800 series.
Because I own a bookstore, I buy a lot of books. Too many of them stay at my house. (I didn’t say I owned a profitable bookstore.) My wife and I both read a lot, so the books pile up. We collect as well. About ten years ago, we built onto our house so we could have a dedicated library. When it was finished, it was already too small. Every day is an exercise in controlling the overflow.
Because I own a bookstore, I buy a lot of books. Too many of them stay at my house. (I didn’t say I owned a profitable bookstore.) My wife and I both read a lot, so the books pile up. We collect as well. About ten years ago, we built onto our house so we could have a dedicated library. When it was finished, it was already too small. Every day is an exercise in controlling the overflow.
Who is your favorite author and why?
Author’s note: I am cheating here like everyone else seems to do on this question.
Stephen King was my first foray into the world of adult reading. The Hardy Boys were fine, but King laid down the path to greater things. He writes young boys of a certain age better than anyone.
With that said, my favorite writer has to be Richard Russo. Some have argued his limitations lie in writing exclusively about middle age white guys having a crisis. And that he may not understand women as well as he does men. Hard to imagine why he appeals to me, I guess.
Frank Bill and Crystal Wilkinson produce unique work and I adore them as writers and as people. Crystal introduced me to the works of Lee Smith, and I can’t say enough about her use of voice and extraordinary characterization. She is another successful writer who has been so kind to me when she did not have to be. Her work led me to Silas House, another fantastic Southern writer, as well as Ron Rash. Frank pointed me to Larry Brown and Harry Crews. I guess I like people who write about Maine and those who write about Appalachia and the South. Daniel Woodrell counts as well.
Ohio’s Donald Ray Pollock writes prose as well as it can be written. And he’s darn nice, a very unassuming guy. His three books truly are as good as they come.
I don’t know if I can count Morgan Talty yet, because I haven’t read Fire Exit, but Night of the Living Rez was the best thing I’ve read in years. Period.
I’m a big fan of Connie Willis as well, though I don’t do a lot of sci-fi or fantasy. Do yourself a favor and read The Doomsday Book.
I have to mention my fellow Hoosier Kurt Vonnegut. I don’t think I need to explain that.
Finally, William Goldman is one of the best to have done the work, and he’s being forgotten as we speak. We need to fix this.
Stephen King was my first foray into the world of adult reading. The Hardy Boys were fine, but King laid down the path to greater things. He writes young boys of a certain age better than anyone.
With that said, my favorite writer has to be Richard Russo. Some have argued his limitations lie in writing exclusively about middle age white guys having a crisis. And that he may not understand women as well as he does men. Hard to imagine why he appeals to me, I guess.
Frank Bill and Crystal Wilkinson produce unique work and I adore them as writers and as people. Crystal introduced me to the works of Lee Smith, and I can’t say enough about her use of voice and extraordinary characterization. She is another successful writer who has been so kind to me when she did not have to be. Her work led me to Silas House, another fantastic Southern writer, as well as Ron Rash. Frank pointed me to Larry Brown and Harry Crews. I guess I like people who write about Maine and those who write about Appalachia and the South. Daniel Woodrell counts as well.
Ohio’s Donald Ray Pollock writes prose as well as it can be written. And he’s darn nice, a very unassuming guy. His three books truly are as good as they come.
I don’t know if I can count Morgan Talty yet, because I haven’t read Fire Exit, but Night of the Living Rez was the best thing I’ve read in years. Period.
I’m a big fan of Connie Willis as well, though I don’t do a lot of sci-fi or fantasy. Do yourself a favor and read The Doomsday Book.
I have to mention my fellow Hoosier Kurt Vonnegut. I don’t think I need to explain that.
Finally, William Goldman is one of the best to have done the work, and he’s being forgotten as we speak. We need to fix this.
Tell us about the mechanics of how you write.
Much like Stephen King, only with a less voluminous output, I write as much as I can then edit it down as much as I can. Sometimes not enough.
Also, I really appreciate having a zero draft. Whatever I have, I keep it close and generally don’t pass it around. The first draft doesn’t really happen until I’ve edited “zero” into something like an actual story. I’ve also decided I need to write scenes as they come to me, even if they are out of order.
I do everything on my MacBook Pro. Including this.
Also, I really appreciate having a zero draft. Whatever I have, I keep it close and generally don’t pass it around. The first draft doesn’t really happen until I’ve edited “zero” into something like an actual story. I’ve also decided I need to write scenes as they come to me, even if they are out of order.
I do everything on my MacBook Pro. Including this.
Finally, what do you think about Carp, the fish, not our website?
When I was a kid, my dad used to take us fishing in Williams, Indiana. Only remnants of the hydroelectric plant remained, including a catwalk adjacent to the dam where we often failed to catch anything. One night, some guys at the edge of the parking lot hoisted a humongous, pale fish in the air, a show for the small crowd. My dad explained it was a carp, told us about the mud vein, and said most people couldn’t clean them without ruining the flesh. The men launched it towards White River thirty or forty feet below. The fish ping-ponged against the limestone embankment, coming to rest far short of the water. Then, as now, I wondered why they couldn’t have at least tried.