Interview with Keith Pilapil Lesmeister by Jadyn Collins

Why did you start writing?  

I think ultimately I started writing because I wanted to record family stories. As a kid, I was told so many outlandish stories about my family—stories I won’t bore you with now—but they’d made an impression, and I wanted to be sure they weren’t forgotten. Or, rather, I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t forget them. I think more relevant now is the question: why do I continue to write? This is something I often wonder because writing is so labor intensive, so time consuming. But then, somewhere in the middle of writing a short story, I find myself so thoroughly involved, so thoroughly transported, that I forget the day and the time. I forget appointments, mealtimes, prior obligations. That’s such a wonderful space to exist, and I try to find that—whatever that is— whenever I’m writing, and it’s the thing, I think, that keeps me writing to this very day, sixteen years after I’d started.

What advice would you give to an aspiring writer?                                                                 

I like to borrow advice from others who’ve said it far better than I ever could. From Anne Lamott: “Pay attention.” And from Cheryl Strayed: “Write like a motherfucker.”

What was the selection process like for We Could’ve Been Happy Here? How did you pick what stories to include in the collection?

It’s an interesting question because I’d submitted the manuscript with ten stories, but it was published with twelve. Most of the stories had been previously published, and were what I considered a cohesive clutch representing down-and-out characters from the upper Midwest who were estranged from family and dealing with bouts of depression and addiction. But I wrote and finished two additional stories prior to the book publication, and they were added at the last minute. I thought, maybe, the new stories added a complimentary tone to the overall collection, much like the tonal quality of how a musical album is put together. In that way, I spent more time thinking about the order and arrangement of the stories more so than which stories were going into the collection. At that point, I hadn’t published very many, so there weren’t a whole lot from which to choose.

Who are some of your biggest inspirations for your work?  

My former grad school teachers and mentors: Amy Hempel, David Gates, Wesley Brown, Bret Anthony Johnston, Lynne Sharon Schwartz, Paul Yoon. Other teachers and writers: Andrew Porter, Dantiel Moniz, Mary Miller, Charles D’Ambrosio, Lorrie Moore.

For you, what does it mean to be a Midwestern writer? 

This is such a tough question for me because I’ve never lived anywhere else. In other words, I’m not sure what it means to be anything other than a writer who lives in and writes about the Midwest. Don’t get me wrong: I love the moniker. And, for me, I think it means that, in my work, I’ve not shied away from the grimmest aspects of living in and being from the Midwest: the stark rural landscapes, the passive-aggressive people, the poverty, the drugs, and the difficulties of growing up in a working class family. But also, the pleasantries: the potlucks, the pick-up basketball games, the close-knit communities, parts of the landscape.

Can you tell us anything about the future projects you’re working on? 

Yes, I’ve finished one novel, I’m working on another (a historical fiction), and I’m also at the moment drafting several short stories.

You said during your reading that you’ve been working on novels. Do you see any difference in your writing process when approaching a short story collection vs. a novel? 

I don’t see any difference, really, between my writing process when approaching stories versus a novel. It’s still writing. It’s still very difficult. The major difference, I think, is that a novel takes longer to complete, sometimes, and a draft of a story can be completed, sometimes, in one sitting. Though I have to admit I recently finished a first draft of a story (as of October 2024) that I started in May of 2023. So I think the real takeaway, for me—and I whisper this to myself all the time—is that the writing will be done when it’s done. There’s no rush. There’s no reason to rush. Each project will announce to you its own timeline. Some faster than others. Some too stubborn to finish. Some take years. There’s no right or wrong here. Just listen to the natural rhythms of the story and follow your instincts. And, when you’re not sure what to do, refer back to the answer in question number two.