This piece is structured in five sections, each separated with a question asked, whether directly or imagined, to our narrator, Walter. What drew you to this particular structure for this story?
There are people in the world who rarely or never have a question posed to them, and Walter is one. His blindness and isolation put him beyond the interest, beyond the attention, of most people in his world. I don’t know who his interlocutor is—it was important to me that the identity of this person is left open—but their questions are a rare opportunity for Walter to share his rich inner life with someone else. I wanted to give the impression of someone who’s waited a long time to be asked about themselves.
The rate of reveal about Walter’s blindness is smartly executed. Can you walk us through your process of crafting this reveal?
I’ve always loved aquarium touch tanks and tide pools because they invite you to experience the natural world in a way that’s usually forbidden, that is, with your hands. For Walter, this is his primary way of understanding things, but it makes him quite insightful; he “sees” as much or more as other people. So, I wanted to start with perception, not by suggesting its absence. I wanted the telling details—the cane, the glasses, the Braille—to arrive late, as if afterthoughts. Which, to Walter, they are.
I love the second section, where Walter describes what each sea creature feels like. Did these metaphors come to you instinctually, or was there some push and pull with finding the right comparison?
This was the first section I wrote; it was my way into the story. In the first draft, there were many more of these descriptions, so I was able to go back later and cut the ones that didn’t work. The toughest part was having the comparisons do something more than simply communicate touch or texture: I hope the “doorknob that won’t open” and the “half-remembered dream” resonate with Walter’s isolation and inwardness. And I actually spent a long time trying to decide whether Walter would speak in similes or metaphors. Ultimately, he does both, and I hope the movement from the former to the latter draws the reader inward, into Walter’s consciousness, in a small and subtle way.
Similarly, I love how the notion of physical touch in the second section echoes in the final section: Walter’s dream. How did this ending come together?
I’m a big believer that a story, no matter how short or long, needs a turn, a second movement. With this story, it only seemed natural to move from touching to being touched, from understanding to being understood. Walter’s dream is my dream, too. I think it’s everybody’s dream: to hear somebody say, “I’d know you anywhere.”
What has been inspiring to your writing process lately?
The work of Janet Frame, Joy Williams, and Rikki Ducornet. Scottish gin and Blackwing Palomino pencils. My workshop group, who deserve to be mentioned by name: Danny, John, Kip, and Nicole.
