TALK SHOW 13: Caught in a Lie

Kiara Brinkman's debut novel, Up High in the Trees was a New York Times Editor's Choice and a Best Book of the Year in the Chicago Tribune. Her fiction has appeared in McSweeney's and One Story, among other journals. She lives in San Francisco. Visit Kiara at www.kiarabrinkman.com

Bret Anthony Johnston is the author of Corpus Christi: Stories and the editor of Naming the World: And Other Exercises for the Creative Writer. In 2006, he received a National Book Award honor for writers under 35. He is currently the Director of Creative Writing at Harvard University. For more information, please visit: www.bretanthonyjohnston.com.

Fiona Maazel’s first novel, Last Last Chance, was published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux in March. More at www.lastlastchance.com.

Margo Rabb’s novel, Cures for Heartbreak, was published by Random House in 2007 and named one of the best books of the year by Kirkus and Booklist. Her short stories have been published in The Atlantic Monthly, Zoetrope, One Story, and have been broadcast on NPR’s “The Sound of Writing.” Visit her online at www.margorabb.com.


––Name a lie you got caught telling.

Brinkman: I was six or seven, traveling with my grandparents, and either our plane was delayed, or we were just super early for our flight—regardless, there was a lot of time. So, I befriended a pretty little girl, who was not much more than a toddler. We tossed her white teddy bear back and forth, and because she wasn’t very good at catching, she found this game endlessly funny. I admired her blonde hair and grew somewhat jealous of her pink, ruffly dress. (Throughout my early childhood, my mother took pride in dressing me in gender-neutral clothing. That day at the airport, I was probably wearing jeans and a yellow t-shirt.) Soon, this girl and I were part of a larger group of antsy children. A parent had stopped us from tossing stuffed animals and running wild. We were now playing cards, with a deck made especially for Old Maid, and I remember the image on the dreaded card—a cobwebby lady rotting away in a rocking chair. Anyway, the little girl, whose name I can’t remember, but it could’ve been Katie (a favorite of mine at the time), had attached herself to me, and I enjoyed being in charge of someone. Without much thought, I told the group that Katie was my sister, and that we were from California.