Lily Hoang
Unfinished: stories finished by Lily Hoang
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This novel is available in four editions:
• full color paperback with 31 original images by •
Anne Austin Pearce
black & white paperback •
ebook •
fine art limited edition of stories as puzzles •
contained in a silkscreened aluminum box
For more information visit our website
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about the author
Lily Hoang is the author of The Evolutionary Revolution, Changing, a recipient of the PEN Beyond Margins Award, and Parabola, winner of the 2006 Chiasmus Press Un-Doing the Novel Contest. She serves as Prose Editor for Puerto del Sol and Associate Editor for Starcherone Books. She teaches in the MFA program at New Mexico State University.
acknowledgements
The author graciously thanks the twenty brilliant writers who dared to let me finish their stories. Kate Bernheimer, Blake Butler, Beth Couture, Debra Di Blasi, Justin Dobbs, Trevor Dodge, Zach Dodson, Brian Evenson, Scott Garson, Carol Guess, Elizabeth Hildreth, John Madera, Ryan Manning, Michael Martone, Kelcey Parker, Ted Pelton, Kathleen Rooney, Davis Schneiderman, Michael Stewart, J. A. Tyler
(Bios for the contributing writers may be found at the end of the book:)
Unfinished: stories finished by Lily Hoang
At the beginning of a story, attack a subject, no matter where, and open with some very beautiful phrases which will arouse the desire to complete it.
forward
In May 2009, as the summer barreled its way toward me, I began thinking about a book project. I had quite a few short stories started and abandoned, and I entertained the idea of starting a collection, but when I re-examined my forgotten fragments, I couldn’t stand them. They were trash.
Then, the idea struck me: If I had abandoned so many stories, other writers must have as well. So I sent out a request to my favorite writers, asking for their scraps, stories or poems they couldn’t finish, wouldn’t finish, things they’d simply discarded. I offered to finish their stories for them.
Given the nature of this project, I was surprised by the generous and enthusiastic response. In my request, I asked for unfinished stories, which I would then finish. There were no parameters on what they could give me. Some writers gave me pages and pages. These were the most difficult stories for me to finish, as a voice and plot had been established. Most writers, however, gave me anywhere from one sentence to a few paragraphs. Some writers gave me fabulist fiction. This is my comfort zone. With those stories, I played. Other writers gave me realist fiction. With those stories, I struggled more than played.
This has been a collaborative process. After completing each story, I offered the original authors the opportunity to edit, revise, etc. Many of them did. Others didn’t. In this collection, I have tried my best to retain the original writers’ voice and style to the best of my ability, but of course, they are stories I have co-opted and taken as my own. Common themes and styles do emerge, but more than anything else, this is a collection of other people’s carrion, which I have — like Frankenstein — resurrected. I hope, unlike Frankenstein, that I have more empathy for my created monster than the good doctor did. And, of course, I have emerged alive and relatively unscathed!
Here, you have twenty-one finished stories, started and abandoned by someone else, that I have ended.
— Lily Hoang
September 2009
your ballad of milt & stanley (from Brian Evenson)
So let’s just avoid conflict, why don’t we? What made you think, even for an instant, that Stanley had a chance with the cool kids? I mean, poor bastard transfers to a new school and what does he wear the first day? Seriously, he comes to school wearing a clip-on tie and a cardigan. A fucking clip-on tie. And now you think he’s got a chance with the cool kids just because one day later he’s taken off the tie and the cardigan?
That shit sticks with you.
By the time he hits fifth grade, he’ll still be seen as a stiff. Maybe when he gets to junior high, the kids might forget about it, but now, right now, it doesn’t matter how much gel he puts in his hair or how tall his spikes can get, Stanley’s the class square. There’s no way around it.
But you, you just can’t stop yourself, can you? It’s like you’re caught in some bizarre musical theatre world where Stanley can transform himself into the greased-lightning cool kid overnight, like he’ll come into school the next day, smoking a cigarette and shagging the hottest girl in the class, well, bud, that’s just not the way it works. But you can’t carry it through, can you? You got so far as to style his hair and dress him in normal kid clothes — hell, let’s be generous here. He’s even wearing semi-cool clothes — and you march him into the classroom after the bell rings (dangerous!), and where do you have him sit down? You have him sit in Milt’s seat. Fuck.
And this is the make it or break it moment, the one that stands in the storybooks as the decisive moment of Stanley’s pathetic life. You could have sat him in any empty seat of the whole room, but instead, you put him in the only seat that says, “Milt’s motherfucking chair: Don’t sit down.” Because last year Milt was in this class. And the year before that, Milt was in this class. Milt’s been sitting in that one chair for two and a half years — and you put your little homeboy in that seat!
Poor Stanley doesn’t even know any better. For all he knows, he’s sitting in any seat. He doesn’t know Milt. He can barely differentiate the cool kids from the nerds. But you. You know better. You could have sat him anywhere, and now, here it is. Stanley’s fucked because Milt didn’t skip class today. Milt’s just walked into the room, and the whole room’s quiet. Even the teacher. Even the teacher who’s supposed to be teaching arithmetic knows shit’s about to go down, and Stanley is just sitting there like a dope.
So here we are. Either Stanley is going to get up and move and live in constant terror for the rest of his fucking life, or he’s going to get his ass kicked. But you don’t have the stomach for it, do you? No, you want to turn away. You want to close the book. You’re such a fucking loser. I mean, just let Stanley get his ass kicked. Make him stand up to Milt for just one second — make him say some dumb shit like, “It’s a free country. I can sit where I want!” — and sure, it’ll hurt like hell, and sure, he won’t be in with the cool kids, but if he stands up to Milt, even for a second, he’ll at least get a little respect from the kids at the back of the class, and he’ll for sure be in with the kids who sit in the middle of the classroom because, you know, despite what you think, it’s not just the kids in the front (nerds) and the kids in the back (cool). There’s kids in the middle too. But no, for you, it’s either got to be the front row or the back row. You probably didn’t even notice those empty chairs in the middle of the room. You were all caught up remembering Stanley sitting in the very front row yesterday, all by himself, and little bastard couldn’t even see the chalkboard. He had to scoot the desk up closer like a real kiss-ass. But no, for you, it’s either total success or total failure. That’s probably why you never could make it even in regional theatre — the highlight of your life before going into sales was a gig or two at the dinner theatre playing Colonel Mustard who didn’t do it in the pantry with a candlestick. Yeah, you couldn’t even be the star in dinner theatre. But now you get to be the star. Now, you have Stanley.