We Had No Rules
whose debut story collection, We Had No Rules, was published in May by Arsenal Pulp Press.
EVERY time I sit down with a Corinne Manning story, I am struck by its freshness and spark. It doesn’t take me down one corridor of feeling; it’s too alert and intelligent for that. Instead, there’s wit, vulnerability, sexiness, strength, rage, and yearning on every page. This is writing that acknowledges we’re in a different world than the one some think we’re in. The old rules are going down; they look more laughable at every turn. And in story after story Manning enacts our doomed and touching efforts to retune not just ourselves, but also the communities in which we live. How to be queer? What does it mean to be free? Does the desire for freedom compromise our ability to be generous? How to be alive as much as it’s possible to be alive in our ruined world? That doesn’t mean the characters in We Had No Rules don’t screw up sometimes, sliding back into old patterns that promise comfort only to give them grief. But occasionally someone decides on joy, and Manning writes that as the truly radical act it is. Again and again their work reminds us that hope is never lazy-minded or naive—an imperative if we expect to carry on.
Which was the first story you wrote for the collection, and which was the last, and how do they differ?
The very first story I wrote was “Gay Tale,” which came out in one sitting from start to finish after a dry spell during which I felt like I didn’t know how to write authentically. That first line—“Oh, fuck it. I’m writing lesbian fiction”—was the permission I needed to explore all my curiosities and questions about myself, my homophobia, and community. The last story I wrote was “The Wallaby,” and by that point I had a clearer idea of what I was doing with the collection. “Gay Tale” talks directly to the reader and about the reader, and while the narrator of “The Wallaby” is also aware of the reader’s gaze, the narrator trusts that we are all in this together.
Is there an organizing principle that holds this set of stories together?
All the stories are firstperson narration in which the characters are questioning what their relationships mean and all the ways they failed, have been hurt, or been complicit.
Publication stories can be complicated, but I’m glad yours has had a happy ending. Could you talk a little about what led you to Arsenal Pulp?
This was a very long road. I think at one point I wrote to you just to share one of my stories because I needed to have someone I knew who would read it and understand it. Writers like you and Rebecca Brown, who told me to “be pissy, stick to your guns, and be honest,” really kept me going, especially whenever agents and editors replied with homophobic comments. The most honest agent said to me, “It’s hard enough to publish short stories, but gay short stories? Gah, sometimes life is so hard.” I queried at least a hundred agents and got rejected from a dozen small presses. As I matured with this book, I was able to keep editing it, uncovering more about the characters and issues of abuse and love as I learned more about my own relationship with those issues, as I learned to be more honest. At some point Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore read my book, and after her book Sketchtasy came out in 2018, she introduced my work to her publisher, Brian Lam at Arsenal Pulp Press. When he requested to publish We Had No Rules, the e-mail he sent me was so tender toward the book and the characters.
Do you have any suggestions for writers of short stories who are ready to publish a first collection?
Rebecca Brown’s advice to “be pissy, stick to your guns, and be honest” is a good one for queer story writers and novelists. I also would say that it’s okay for time to pass; it’s okay to find someone who will love your book. It’s good to mature with your work. I started these when I was in my twenties, and I’m thirtyseven now. And I’m glad this older, smarter Corinne was involved with the book. But I hope you don’t have to wait as long. Stay ready, stay pissy, stay curious.