With a writing career spanning three decades, author Bill Gaythwaite was recognized this year with the Drue Heinz Literature Prize for his collection A Place in the World: Stories (Univ. of Pittsburgh). He discusses what the award means to him, the “exhilarating roller coaster ride” of the short story, and the vital importance of keeping stories by and for marginalized individuals on the shelves.
Congratulations on winning the Drue Heinz Literature Prize! As a writer of both short stories and novels, why do you feel this award recognizing short fiction is so important?
Thank you! Drue Heinz herself, with her love of literature and writers, was devoted to the literary arts, providing extremely generous support throughout her life. She recognized the need to spotlight short fiction by creating this prize, which is endowed in perpetuity. The importance of her efforts to raise the profile of a sometimes neglected art form can’t be overstated. And as a huge fan of the short story and the latest recipient of the prize that bears her name, I feel incredibly proud to be part of her remarkable legacy. I’m so grateful to the supremely gifted Manuel Muñoz, who chose the collection, and to everyone at the University of Pittsburgh Press who administers the Drue Heinz Literature Prize.
A previous winner of the award, Caroline Kim, said your collection made her “fall in love with reading again.” What do you think short stories can do that novels can’t?
What a lovely thing to hear from a writer I greatly admire.
For me, as a young reader, I think I gravitated to short stories because they simply provided a speedier, more urgent experience than the novel. Immediate gratification—or almost! When you read a short story, you are dropped into a life or a situation, transported, challenged, amused, devastated. You get the payoff all in one sitting! That remains a basic truth, and for me there's still something inherently satisfying about the wholeness of that experience. Also, I keep coming back to something Joy Williams said about how short stories have more power than novels because they go “directly to the heart.”
This isn’t an exclusively LGBTQ+-centered collection, but several stories are populated by LGBTQ+ characters. What role do your short stories play in expanding the range of lived experiences available to readers?
I think we all need to have a role in making sure that voices are not being silenced. If my collection, with its range of characters, assists in expanding the voices of LGBTQ+ people, then it will be one of the more gratifying aspects of having this book published. That’s one of the things that publishing stories can do—provide empathy and understanding, while also reaching those people who see themselves in the work. Stories with LGBTQ+ characters are simply human stories. It’s sad that we need to remind people of that—now more than ever.
What challenges have you faced in getting LGBTQ+-centered stories published, and how can booksellers and librarians help ensure such stories reach the audiences who need them the most?
Some years ago, I reached out to a literary magazine because it stated in its submission guidelines: no gay-themed work. I wanted to understand what they meant by that, considering most stories are simply human stories told from different perspectives. My memory is that we had a spirited correspondence, but I didn’t change any minds. I remember thinking that with their carefully worded, tone-deaf responses, they wanted to silence the voices of LGBTQ+ people or pretend they didn’t exist at all. I think booksellers and librarians can continue doing the hard work of recognizing the need for various perspectives in literature, while also acknowledging that for a significant readership (especially among young readers), seeing themselves represented in print is invaluable.
What would you say to booksellers or librarians facing political or institutional pressure to exclude LGBTQ+ content? Why is it crucial, now more than ever, to keep these stories available to all?
The first thing I would say is, “Thank you for your service.” That’s not a glib answer. I mean it. I think it’s incredibly brave to be a librarian or bookseller right now. In a wider sense, I’d hope that we’d all want to be on the right side of history. But in the meantime, it’s vitally important to keep stories by and for marginalized individuals on the shelves. It’s not just a matter of resistance. It’s good for business, and it serves all members of the community.
I’m also worried about the continuing cultural attacks and the impact they will have on literary magazines, many of which are tied to university funding. So many short story writers depend on the guidance and encouragement of these magazine editors to keep us doing what we do. What would we do without them?
Many readers discover short fiction through classroom anthologies or literary magazines. How can educators and booksellers elevate and make modern short stories more accessible, especially those representing marginalized voices?
I think they can try to focus on diversifying their reading options, leaning into the effort of partnering with the community. On a larger scale, they can find and nurture relationships with literary magazines and independent or small-press publishers who support marginalized voices and collectively amplify a narrative of equality for everyone. Being on the front lines with the public provides an opportunity for communicating shared values and fostering empathy in more than words, but also with displays and inclusive events. Create safe, welcoming spaces. Prioritize and normalize the belief that marginalized voices are simply human voices that need to be heard.
Your collection has been compared to Chekhov, with stories centered on ordinary people with extraordinary inner lives. Characters in this collection grapple with mistakes and fears and face up to their pasts. Why did you choose to write about such harrowing and heartbreaking experiences?
I do hope my stories, which are largely character-driven, represent a range of human experiences, and not just the harrowing and heartbreaking ones! I think readers will find some humor along the way, too. However, there is that famous quote by John Greenleaf Whittier: “For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!'” Some of the characters in my stories would certainly understand that sentiment. They wonder about choices they made in the past that sent them off in unexpected (and not always the best) directions. But regret is a factor in everybody’s life. I never quite trust someone who says, “I have no regrets.” “Really?” I want to respond. “I’ll have what she’s having!” This collection, with its flawed and unpredictable characters, is also about reinvention and resilience, which brings us to another famous quote, by George Eliot: “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”
What do you find so compelling about writing—and reading—short stories?
When I'm reading a great short story, I’m always blown away by how a writer is able to encapsulate the arc of an entire life in a few pages (Joan Silber is masterful at this) or simply knock me out with their prose. As a writer, I’m drawn to those "how did they do that?" moments, the artistry, or really the mechanics. I’ll often reread short stories by my favorite writers (Silber, Lorrie Moore), trying to crack the code! The short story experience can feel like an exhilarating roller coaster ride or a relaxing stroll with a good friend. Given the shorter format, I think perhaps there is a sharper attention to descriptions and dialogue. Some say that short stories should focus on a single idea or one or two specific characters. But I don’t think those “rules” are necessarily true, and I don’t believe a writer should feel boxed in by those expectations. I personally get inspired by the challenges of attempting to create something impactful with an economy of words. While I don’t know all the reasons why short stories are so compelling, I do know I love them, and they have enriched my life!
As a writer with three decades of experience, what does winning this award now mean to you?
I’m still reflecting on that. I’ve kind of had a long, circuitous writer’s journey. I don’t possess the most conventional literary background. I don’t have an MFA, for instance. My BA in English is from a college that went out of business. I don’t teach. I’ve had a number of non-literary jobs. But I did try to prioritize getting the work done, which for me often meant writing in the middle of the night or on the subway. I’m lucky that I’m a stubborn person, which might not be an enviable quality in other areas of my life but was quite helpful in dealing with the inevitability of literary rejection. I never let rejections affect me. When one comes in, I just take some time to revise (especially if a kind editor has given me suggestions), and then I send the piece out again. I’m the same writer I was before the award, but I can’t tell you that it hasn’t been validating, for all those years of late nights, not to mention my knee-jerk stubbornness!
