Sunday, April 5, 2015

Douglas Robbins, Author of Leaves Piled High

leaves piled high, douglas robbins
Today we are interviewing Douglas Robbins, author of the short-story collection Leaves Piled High.

Tell us a bit about yourself.
With words we can illuminate anything we want, like the zoom on a camera lens. Writing to me is about the content under the surface which is where life happens.  I write because it’s one way I can make sense of life.  And on that note, I recently got married. Another thing that made sense.
 

Describe your short story collection, Leaves Piled High.
One reader wrote in a review for Leaves:  “Robbins reminds you of where you’ve been, to be grateful for where you are, and to be considering if where you’re headed is where you actually want to go.”
 
Who do you think would most appreciate this collection?
Anyone looking for something little a different.  I don’t write about car chases with grandiose plot but about who we are as people. Our pitfalls and beauty.
 
What drew you to the short story format?
It’s a direct way of dealing with a subject or event. The short story allows the reader and writer a quick jump into any world.
 
Which story, if any, was your favorite to write?
They are all part of me, but I’m partial to Nature Study Woods. This story revisits a father and son bond, and the neighborhood when they were a young family. My father passed away a few years ago and it reminds me of growing up and playing baseball in the street with him.
 

What do you have in mind for your next project?
I’m halfway through my second novel. It’s about youthful idealism running into small-minded and dangerous men.  It’s a rock and roll story about who we are when faced with a life altering challenge. Do we rise up or shrivel? Our future is what comes out of these decisions.

An excerpt from the opening story Leaves Piled High:
Scott fires up the bike, both of them now straining to hear. 
“Bullshit, you are leaving me. He haunts me too.” Diana implores loudly. “But you’re alive!” She shouts at him. The words don’t inspire as she intended. 
He revs the engine as tears run down her cheeks. 
She grabs his arm. “Don’t go,” she pleads. “I need you.” 
Scott stares at her hand. “I have to, baby. I’m sorry.” He flips down the helmet visor as if in protest of his brother’s death, as if in protest of all the bullshit life lays on you.
More Information
Buy the book on Amazon 

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