Barrelhousing with Assistant Fiction Editor Sam Ashworth

In this new interview series, we’ll be getting to know some of the very essential folks who work behind the scenes here at Barrelhouse, our Assistant Editors. These are the people on the front lines, generously donating their time to read submissions and help put great new writing out into the world. Today we’re sitting down with Assistant Fiction Editor Sam Ashworth.

1) First tell us about the things you do that aren't Barrelhouse-adjacent.

I'm a full-time writer and part-time teacher. In addition to writing fiction, I ghostwrite books and do feature journalism, preferably stories involving stunts like working in a restaurant kitchen or spending a few weeks learning to do human autopsy. I sort of see writing as a way to learn how to do a whole lot of different weird things and theoretically get paid for it, like an actor who gets to learn to ride a horse or play the zither for a role. 

2) What made you want to work with us?

It's mortifying to admit this but I met you at AWP DC and immediately I just nakedly wanted you to like me. You'd published a story of mine, and you all seemed to be having more fun than anyone else in that convention center. I tried to be cool but I think I mostly haunted the Barrelhouse table that whole weekend and then stalked you to a party somewhere on U street. And when Becky Barnard explained that the basic Barrelhouse aesthetic was "literature that doesn't taste like medicine" I was hooked for good.

3) What are you looking for in fiction submissions? What makes a story stand out from the rest of the pile?

There are basically two easy ways to light me up with a short story: A) make it about something that fascinates you, like egyptology or how microwaves work or competitive baton-twirling, and then B) escalate the hell out of it. As soon as I get the sense that the writer is taking me into a new place, a place they know and have cool thoughts about, I'm hooked. Also I want jokes. Conversely, when I see stories that feel like they are trying to sound "short-storyish"--and by this, honestly, I mean stories set in bars where everyone is up to their teeth in despair, or grim depictions of broken marriages--that's a high bar to clear for me. 

4) Who are some of your favorite fiction writers?

I am a James Joyce freak, so no one should pay attention to me on this question. But Lauren Groff did once made me cry so hard I couldn't see. I adored Weike Wang's Chemistry. I will read anything Patricia Lockwood writes and then stare into the middle distance while I think about my life decisions. I'm pretty sure Karen Russell's "Orange World" is my favorite short story of all time, because it's about joy.

5) If you could change one thing about the current lit mag world, what would it be?

 Honestly, I would have journals be ten times more transparent and consistent in what they publish. Every mag has the words "not the right fit" in their rejection letters, but don't you dare ask what that fit actually is. Comparatively few journals have as clear a character as Barrelhouse--let's use the word we're phobic of in the literary world and call it branding. That's what it is. The magic of the Taco Bell Quarterly, for instance, is that it does exactly what it says on the label, and as a person submitting you know exactly whether your stuff is a fit for them. But the vast majority of journals have no consistent aesthetic and no defined mission beyond "publish great work." That's why nearly every description of "what we're looking for" reads like "we love stories that feel like someone is licking the backs of our knees tenderly while a ghostly clarinet plays in the distance." It's meaningless. Journals say you should familiarize yourself with the kind of thing they publish, but usually, there is no "kind of thing" they publish--and university presses are especially guilty of this, because their mastheads change year to year. Journals should understand what their brand is, the same way the sci-fi or mystery magazines do, train their readers in it, and stick to it.

6) We're legally obligated to ask you this: what's your favorite Patrick Swayze movie? 

 Stop asking me to choose which of my children is my favorite. I won't do it. It's Road House.