I’m typing this at dusk on a nuclear-powered laptop, swaddled in useless mosquito netting and scratching in uncomfortable places. I have braved the untamed wilds of the Wood, the unforgiving peaks at the Top of the World, and the swamps of Neverland all to sip margaritas in space with Carlos and the Wise Guru that is Jay Lake.

He’s a Hawaiian shirt-wearing style monkey. He’s Samson with a longish do. He’s Harlan Ellison disguised as a volcano god. He has a typewriter named “Lucille.” He dreams in landslides. He can hotwire a toaster like nobody’s business. He’s into power naps and CPR; quick hits and long hauls. He sometimes dresses his main characters in women’s clothing. He’s a Gemini (which explains many things).

And Jay Lake writes.

A lot.

Alethea Kontis: You are known and revered by many indigenous peoples as the God of Short Stories. How did you start? And what sort of offerings do you accept?

Jay Lake: I was born behind a book warehouse with a keyboard in my hand. My first words were “cover letter”, which I then dictated to my bewildered mother. By the time I was in second grade, I’d organized the other kids into a writing collective and begun a career under the name of Harlan Ellison. You may have heard of me? Later on I adopted that model to develop a shadowy Pacific Northwest writing collective which publishes as “Jay Lake”. I have a fire in my belly where manuscripts may be burnt as offerings. I’m also a sucker for having my hair brushed, which is always a pretty good offering.

AK: When did you first know you wanted to be a writer? When did you decide to do it for real?

JL: For serious, I had some notion about it even in grade school. That didn’t amount to much, though I began working on short stories for serious in high school. I joined a crit group in my mid-20s, and worked from 1990 to 2001 on writing, workshopping and submitting, before finally selling in 2001. There are a number of “for real” moments along the way in my career, but the kicker was in December, 2000, when I put myself on the “story a week” rubric which I followed for years thereafter.

AK: What sort of goals do you/have you set for yourself?

JL: For a very long time (2000 to 2006 or so) I measured my productivity by finished drafts. I committed to writing either a story or a novel chapter every week, and did so across that entire span of time. These days my goals are a bit softer, the change being mostly driven my transition from being primarily a short story writer to being primarily a novelist. There’s a lot of time embedded in the process of a novel career which isn’t amenable to that sort of measurement baseline.

Now, in 2008, I have a production schedule which projects my effort across the year. It factors in things like revision time, galley proofing, etc. My incremental goals these days are also more subjective, for example, improving my characterization techniques, or the way I write female protagonists.

AK: Do you ever have time to actually read anything else? What/Whom do you recommend?

JL: The great, tragical irony of me having a successful writing career is the amount of reading time which has been traded away. That being said, I do read a fair amount, but it’s a struggle to find time for true pleasure reading. Lately I’ve really enjoyed work by Brian Slattery, Ekaterina Sedia, Daniel Abraham, and Jeff VanderMeer.

AK: Do you have any favorite short stories?

JL: “Creation” by Jeffrey Ford, “Lobsters” by Charlie Stross, “The Story of Your Life” by Ted Chiang, “The Swan of Prudence Street” by Scott Thomas, “An Idiot Rode to Majra” by J. Simon. You’ll note none of these are extremely recent — it’s my short fiction reading which has suffered the most over the past few years.

AK: Having done both now, what sort of challenges do you find in writing long fiction vs. short?

JL: They are different arts, and only modestly overlapping crafts. Writing book-length fiction has messed up my short story skills, and lately I find myself writing more novelettes and novellas when I turn my hand to that area. Novels breathe, they have digressions and expansive prose, they’re expected to roam about their subject. Think about a good night’s sleep, filled with layered dreams and gentle turnings in your warm bed. Short stories are power naps — sharp and focused, delivering a quick hit for a quick investment. Writing both is like training for sprints and marathons at the very same time.

AK: Where do you shop? Have you ever been to Hawaii?

JL: What is this shopping you speak of? I use amazon.com, visit Powell’s Books regularly, and buy my groceries at an Albertson’s. Sport shopping never was a thing for me. Now, give me some real money and let me loose in an automotive junkyard or a second-hand electronics store…

Hawaii, indeed. I was even aboard the USS Missouri for the Navy’s 1991 reception honoring the 50th anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack. My favorite thing I ever did there was go for a glider ride above the north shore of Oahu.

AK: What’s your favorite poolside fruity beverage? (Ken Scholes just ordered me a psychic Maitai. *sigh*)

JL: I shall order you a margarita, frozen, extra salt, served on a lithe and supple poolboy named Carlos who specializes in guilt-free friendliness to order. For myself, I shall have a fuzzy navel, because I’m the kind of man who isn’t afraid to be seen a girly drink. Though I do draw the line at grasshoppers.

AK: Pimp what work you’ve got coming up in 100 words or less…

JL: I don’t have any work coming up in 100 words or less. However, I do have Escapement coming from Tor in June, a sequel to my rather well-received clockpunk novel Mainspring. I’ve also got two independent press titles later in the year, Madness of Flowers from Night Shade, which is a sequel to my gonzo urban fantasy Trial of Flowers, and Death of a Starship from MonkeyBrain, which is pure dee space opera with a Jay Lake flavor.

AK: Do you own a watch?

JL: I think so. I usually have an excellent sense of time, and like most

Americans my house is full of devices which show me the time. I do,

however, have a lovely 19th century German grandfather clock which chimes

the hours and ticks with a mellow brass heart.

AK: Is every strange world that pops into your head unique, or are any of them connected in some way?

JL: Well, I have certain continuities I return to, but there are many worlds. I don’t foresee uniting them someday in a Grand Unified Theory of Jay Lake or anything. They all do have one thing in common — me.

AK: Of all the stories you’ve written, which are you most proud?

JL: All of them? Ask me who my favorite child is. Still, there are some which broke ground in my head, so to speak. “The Goat Cutter.” “Jack’s House.” “America, Such As She Is.” I suppose I’d have to point to them.

AK: Which comes first — the fascination with a subject (like Victorian clockwork) or the story?

JL: Oh, they emerge in synchronicity, much like the rocks and mud and snapped tree trunks of a land slide.

AK: What would be the shape of the Jay Lake Galaxy?

JL: Aloha shirt shaped. With supernovae instead of hibiscus.