Colin Winnette, "Ghost Mountain Island Murder Mystery"

It’s December 18. Colin Winnette, author of Users, isn’t sure that the snake is part of the experience.

How would you describe your story?

COLIN WINNETTE: A romantic vacation gone horribly wrong.

When did you write it, and how did the writing process compare to your other work?

CW: I wrote it several years ago on a flight to Iowa City. It came quickly and all at once, and the editing process was minimal. It was one of those “bolt of lightning” stories, where the story seems to pass through you. That’s how I knew I loved it. And how I knew to trust it.

What kind of research went into this story?

CW: I try to vacation as much as I can, and there is always a little more to it than you’d hope.

What, to you, makes the short story a special form? What can it do that other kinds of writing can’t?

CW: The thought didn’t originate with me, and perhaps it’s a bit obvious, but I think the power of the short story lies in its nature—its brevity. It’s a place where things are left unsaid, and if the few things said are well calibrated, the infinite steps in to fill the void.

Where should people go to learn more about you and your work?

CW: You can visit www.colinwinnette.com to see other things I’ve written, and to get a copy of my latest novel, Users. If you like reading about couples arguing in ominous situations, that book will definitely scratch the itch.

What’s the best gift you’ve ever been given?

CW: I grew up in a small town in Texas, where everything was far away. We had to drive an hour to see a good movie, growing up. When I was a senior in high school, my parents bought me a knocked around Jetta from a police auction—because it was cheap. That car was freedom. It unlocked the world. It had also probably been used to smuggle something, because there was a large, hollowed-out compartment underneath the back seat. I didn’t drink at the time, so I would drive my band (or some friends) out to a field way out of town where we could hang out and party without getting caught. When the time came, we would load up that compartment under the back seat with all the empties so we could drive them into town without risk of getting caught and dispose of them properly. It was a great time, and a good plan, and one that lasted us several months, until the day I chose to empty the compartment the next morning but forgot instead. When I woke up, my dad needed a ride somewhere, so I drove him, and every turn we took, the evidence of my misdeeds came rattling through the silence between us.

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