By Anna Butler
Marc Nieson is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and NYU Film School. His background includes children’s theatre, cattle chores, and a season with a one-ring circus. His memoir Schoolhouse: Lessons on Love & Landscape is available from Ice Cube Press (2016). Recent fiction is in Double Kiss Anthology (Mammoth Press), Tahoma Literary Review, Grist, and Museum of Americana. His prose has earned two Pushcart Prize nominations, the Literal Latte Fiction Award, and Raymond Carver Short Story Award. His award-winning feature-length screenplays include Speed of Life, The Dream Catcher, and Bottomland. He’s at work on a new novel Houdini’s Heirs, and lives in the Friendship neighborhood of Pittsburgh.
The Fourth River: Were you involved with The Fourth River from the beginning – 2005?
Marc Nieson: From the second or third issue. I had the opportunity to work with Jeff Thomson, who started the journal. I served as Editor-in-Chief for two years. I’ve led the practicum course as well. I’ve alternated between Nonfiction and Fiction Editor, but I’ve been Fiction Editor solidly for the last six years.
TFR: Since you’ve been with the journal for so many years, what is your take on the changes, especially on the transition from solely print publication to additional online publication?
MN: When we first went to online, it was a debate. There’s no question now. Then, some people clung to the position that ‘You have to hold the thing in your hands.’ But I’m loving the changes. ‘Tributaries’ is a great feature. I think The Fourth River has grown with the technology, just as we have grown culturally at large. As a writer, I also had to make that transition to online. But I realized, ‘People will actually read this!’ For accessibility it’s the way to go now.
TFR: Yes, it’s so easy to share. And how has The Fourth River influenced your time at Chatham University? Your own writing?
MN: The Fourth River is deep in my involvement with the MFA program. As a practicum for young writers, as an educational tool – it’s huge. It spurs submissions. It makes students more public with their work.
For my own writing, I measure my work against it. My first influences were from the 1980’s, but the culture keeps changing. You can get stuck in your taste in music, with a certain decade—that can happen in writing too. I think what’s best about working with the journal is that it’s helped keep me current in terms of what’s out there. It’s got me thinking about form and design, how people are playing with those more. It’s made me think about length of work. Pieces are consistently getting shorter. There’s a different rhythm in that scope.
TFR: Do you have any submissions that you have felt strongly about? That were particularly striking or significant?
MN: I remember the people for whom it was their first publication. Being able to be a part of that—those tend to stick out in my mind. In 2016 we published American Sweetgum by Ken Mohnkern. It was an early publication of his.
In the Juvenescence Issue [2017], we published Dialing for Jesus by Jan Haag. Its about kids trying to call heaven—I liked that whole premise.
And Tayla Boerner’s Ties That Bind in the Displacement Issue [2018]. She’s from Arkansas and that voice shows throughout the piece.
TFR: Last fall I recently attended an editor panel at the Conversation and Connections Conference. They shared bests and worsts. We just discussed some bests. Have you had any negative experiences with writers?
MN: No. Of course, there’s a certain amount of vetting. But the authors I’ve been fortunate enough to work with as an editor have been very pleased to have someone to work with. I probably tend to be a little more hands-on, if a piece is really close. I’ve never had anyone flatly turn me down. There’s always discussion. If I’ve missed something, if my own biases have gotten in the way. But I like being able to work with a writer rather than just stamp approval. It’s part of why I’m an educator.
TFR: You studied at University of Iowa. Did you have any of these opportunities—to be a part of a journal—when you were starting?
MN: The Iowa Review was connected to the program. I myself didn’t take advantage of it. It was very good at that time; David Hamilton edited there for more than thirty years, and the students were deeply involved in journal discussions.
I did a research assistantship in my first semester that allowed me to look at stories for the Iowa Short Fiction Award. I narrowed down four hundred submissions to twenty-five.
TFR: Not by yourself?!
MN: There were two of us. It was a huge lesson. We took the stack of four hundred, and read two or three stories from each entrant. Generally, the first, last, middle. You’d expect those to be the strongest. In that way we were able to separate into ‘No,’ ‘Maybe,’ and ‘This is great!’ piles. From there we eliminated to seventy-five, and then went more deeply. That’s the reality of submissions.
TFR: Do you think literary publication is a precursor to book-length publication?
MN: It’s a natural stepping stone. Universities have become part of the system for writers, and journals are also part of that system.
On another level, I think literary journals as a rule have more of a sense of what is being written more widely than, say, publishing houses. Literary journals’ distance from the commercial aspect allows an avenue that’s invaluable for the literary scene. The fact that literary journals thrive, that they’re ongoing—that speaks to supply and demand. It speaks to a pulse, a need.
TFR: That’s a nice image. That there’s an ongoing current of writing. That literary journals represent that more widely.
Where do you think The Fourth River is headed in the future? Or should head?
MN: I’m remembering an Association of Writer’s and Writing Programs (AWP) Conference. We had the second FR issue. We had made up a larger poster, featuring the cover. AWP didn’t have a place for journals to hang up posters then. I borrowed two cardboard tubes—from when you unroll a carpet—for supports, and set up the poster. That ended up being a landmark, and we got a lot of visibility. The Fourth River had never been to AWP before, so a lot of people were looking at the journal in 2006. Many of them noted the amount of nonfiction in the journal. Even thirteen years ago, journals were mostly fiction and poetry. They were asking, “How did you get nonfiction?” We guessed the place and nature theme drew a pool of nonfiction.
Seeing how journals are now, pushing into areas that are hybrid, crossing “genres,” hopefully that’s reflecting future changes. We’ll get more fluid places as well as cultures.
Also, I would bemoan an end of print issues, but it makes sense, to be less bound by bindings. It probably allows for further accessibility. Whether that’s temporal, I don’t know. It could be. Or it could be online forever. It’s not any better than ending up in used bookstores. Or landfills.
TFR: What inspires you—at Chatham University, at The Fourth River, in general?
MN: The youth factor. Who you tend to interact with when teaching helps keep me connected. It’s good to learn what’s going on, what’s new, to question your own habits and indoctrinations.
TFR: Do you have any closing thoughts?
MN: It’s been a real honor, frankly. I know many people who work on journals, and for several of them, it’s just one more thing.
I like it. For me reading is not just a chore, it’s a real opportunity. Let alone being in a position to publish someone’s work. To be part of that—it’s amazing!