Ask the Author: Thomas Kearnes

Thomas Kearnes has two stories in the June issue. He talks with us about being saved by a big dick, the trickiness of a meth high and getting down on a web cam.

1. If my big dick can’t save me now, what can?

Telling your story to strangers without shame or hesitation. Over my seven years writing fiction, I’ve revealed some of the most sordid, dehumanizing moments of my romantic/sexual life. Every time such a story met with my peers or, later, an audience, I felt utterly free. Your dick is just a toy. Your voice is what will save you.

2. How did you earn your Eagle Scout badge?

At the age of 13, I organized my friends to paint the city park. One of the rules is I wasn’t allowed to do any of the work. My role was strictly that of supervisor. As you can imagine, my friends thought that was bullshit. And that was all it took. I have no respect for the Boy Scouts. I believe they’re an antiquated organization with nothing relevant to offer society. I only mention my Eagle rank because I love cheap irony.

3. How are meth highs tricky?

True story: I sometimes write first drafts and/or edit fiction while tweaked. Sometimes I write great shit, sometimes just plain shit. But two stories I wrote under the influence haunt me. I rarely write about my family…I’m not ready to open that wound yet. But while I was high on two separate occasions, I wrote “A Failed Story about My Father” and “Full.” My peers praised both efforts and each found a reputable home quickly. But to this day, I have no idea what I wanted to express with either story. It’s quite possible I’ve exposed something about myself and my parents I’d rather the public not know. So yeah, meth highs are tricky.

4. What is the most daring thing you’ve done on a webcam?

I’ve fucked for a webcam about a half-dozen times. This is the most memorable story: I’d driven up to Dallas to meet a guy. Handsome, hospitable, I foresaw a thorough ass-pounding in my future. Anyway, his webcam was live and about a dozen losers from around the country were watching. He and I decided to start fucking to give them a cheap thrill. To spice things up, he claimed I was a 16-year-old twink he picked up at a club. We all know how irresistible live rape can be!

It’s a damn good thing writers of literary short fiction never become famous. I’ve no doubt footage of my skinny ass getting plowed lurks somewhere in cyberspace.

5. How much of you do you put into your fiction?

I believe in the old writer’s adage that every word a writer writes, every comma is about himself. Even when a story is wholly invented, like “Cheap Tricks,” I’m still sharing with readers my vision of the world. It’s a thrillingly intimate experience. Most aspiring writers hedge their bets and withhold the truth of their projects. This is why courage is far more necessary than talent in determining a writer’s chance for success.

6. What trophies do you hide?

Growing up, my parents were only proud of me when I won something. So I became an achievement machine, ruthlessly competitive. (This is funny since I’m only five-foot-eight and 130 pounds.) I still operated by this credo when I started fiction and I likely irritated quite a few peers as a result. Finally, however, I’ve learned that the journey is what matters, not the (often intangible) reward that await you at the end. I write fiction because I love it. I submit it because I want to share that love. And I don’t give a fuck if my parents are proud of me or not. 🙂