AiW Guests: Ucheoma Onwutuebe and Lydia Mathis.
AiW note: what follows is an email conversation between Nigerian writer Ucheoma Onwutuebe and 2023 Editorial Fellow at New York based literary magazine A Public Space, Lydia Mathis, held in October 2023.
With an introduction by Mathis, the interview delves into Onwutuebe’s short story, “Where Are You and Where Is My Money” — recently published in the latest issue of the magazine, no.32. It also offers insights in to the writer-editor relationship that developed around Onwutuebe’s story, the routes to and because of decisions taken as a result of their conversations, and reveals a mutual love for form and techniques of telling…
With our thanks to Mathis and A Public Space, we are delighted to also share an excerpt from the opening of “Where Are You and Where Is My Money” as published in issue no.32 of the magazine, see below…
Ucheoma Onwutuebe is a Nigerian writer. Her works have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Bellevue Literary Review and Catapult. She received the 2022 Waasnode Fiction Prize from Passages North and is an MFA student at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.
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Lydia Mathis is a black woman with an MFA in fiction from New York University. She is the recipient of A Public Space’s 2023 Editorial Fellowship. Her works have appeared in Southeast Review, Stanchion, Five on the Fifth, and oranges journal.
Lydia Mathis...
Ucheoma Onwutuebe submitted her story, “Where Are You and Where Is My Money?,” to an Open Call I created as the 2023 Editorial Fellow at A Public Space, a literary magazine in New York City. A Public Space was established in 2006 with a mission to publish overlooked and unclassifiable work, and among the writers they have published are Jesmyn Ward, Arinze Ifeakandu, and Ada Zhang.
In the course of the fellowship, I had the opportunity to read submissions from writers and agents, participate in marketing and publicity meetings, and develop my editorial skills through the mentorship of our Founding Editor and copyeditor, but central to all of the Fellow’s activities is the editor-writer relationship, the focus of A Public Space’s editorial fellowship program. I was able to experience this by designing the theme for an open call and eventually selecting a piece for which I would serve as lead editor. To me, Onwutuebe’s piece embodied the kind of work A Public Space publishes, works that feel like a once-in-a-lifetime find.
As soon as I saw the title of Onwutuebe’s piece, I knew immediately that the story would be special. I saved the piece to be the last one I read; I wanted to end my reading on something I was sure I’d savor. Then I read the very first lines, told in email exchanges, and I got a feeling in my chest that told me, first, I was right in my prediction, and second, I wanted to edit this piece for the magazine. It was that engaging.
Since I was young, I have had a deep interest in the epistolary form. It started in elementary school; my school had a pen pal letter exchange with another elementary school that was a few hours away. Receiving those letters are some of the brightest memories I have of my childhood, and I still have the letters stored safely in my mother’s house. In high school, I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky and it renewed my interest to such an extent that I would force my little cousin to write me letters.
Reading Onwutuebe’s story was finding that same brightness I experienced in childhood in new and exciting ways. The email exchanges unfold a story about a young woman, Njideka, whose boyfriend has disappeared without a word and with the savings Njideka gave him to help them start their lives together. The language, emotion, and sincerity in this piece were incredibly gripping, and Onwutuebe’s exploration of Njideka’s loss pulled at my heart.
On Zoom one afternoon and then over email, Onwutuebe and I talked about how best to bring out the details that captured my editorial attention: the importance of loss to the narrative, and the completeness of the narrative arc. Through our editorial conversations, we discovered that this looked like delving more into Njideka as a character—her goals and values—to understand how a sensible woman might fall for a man whose bad reputation precedes him.
Over the course of the editorial fellowship, I’ve read hundreds of pieces, but none have stuck with me quite like Onwutuebe’s piece. Each re-read while editing has been enlightening and just as powerful as the first read. It’s the type of story that makes you seek out all the author’s other work, which I did, and I can wholeheartedly recommend you to the same.
Lydia Mathis: Ucheoma, what inspired you to write this piece? How did you come to the decision to have this piece be in the epistolary form?
Ucheoma Onwutuebe: I wrote the first draft sometime in 2019 after reading Where’d You Go, Bernadette? by Maria Semple, but the story didn’t take form so I shelved it. Where’d You Go, Bernadette? was such an important book to me and I always returned to it. The entire book is in epistolary form and I absolutely enjoyed it. Letter writing has been a huge part of my life growing up, and I remember in boarding school when I used to anticipate letters from my father. I have always been drawn to stories told in this format and I look for the slightest chance to infuse a letter into a story. Last year when The Tinder Swindler show came out, I remembered the draft and worked on it again for a fiction workshop class.
Mathis: One of the things that draws me to the epistolary form is the element of withholding. There is so much that has to be left off the page or omitted for the sake of the form. How did you decide what to keep in and what to leave out, whose perspective to include and whose perspective to exclude, which threads to follow and which to ignore?
Onwutuebe: Because I was writing from Njideka’s perspective, at first, I decided to work with just the letters she wrote and received. Then for flavor, I incorporated more voices outside her view, like the HR gossiping. As much as I like the element of withholding, I realized if I wanted to do this story proper service, I had to lift the veil off my protagonist’s limited view and invite other voices. I loved adding her sibling’s voice and even the police officer’s voice because of the humor it brought to the story. So eventually, it depends on what the story needs. The story does the dictation.
Mathis: I’m glad you mentioned the different voices because something that stood out to me while reading was the distinct voices of the characters, which I feel is an important aspect of getting an epistolary story to work. What did your process look like for getting into the minds and voices of each character who wrote an email?
Onwutuebe: I simply imagined what, for instance, your best friend would tell you if you gave all your savings to a wayward boyfriend or what your pastor would say to you if you had just revealed you were swindled by a secret boyfriend. I borrowed from the voices of people I grew up with and it was easy to replicate them in the story. Much of it was borrowed from the reality of how my people, everyday Nigerians, speak, and I’m glad it worked here.
Mathis: When reading stories, I find that I’m often fascinated by uses of repetition. One phrase that I noticed in your piece was Njideka’s refrain that she’s a “supportive girlfriend.” Was this repetition intentional? Why do you think it returned throughout the story and do you see this phrase as having a specific meaning for Njideka as a character?
Onwutuebe: It was intentional. I used that particular phrase to show Njideka’s naivety and hurt. It was my way of highlighting that she believed her goodness, her ticking-the-right-boxes and “support” to her boyfriend should have saved her from this tragedy, which is rarely the case in real life. Good girls get bad boyfriends. I am drawn to repetitions in stories because of the lyricism they offer and the pointers they provide the reader. It is a risky technique that can come off redundant, but when an editor doesn’t strike it out, you know it worked.
Mathis: During our editorial conversations, I mentioned that, to me, “Where Are You and Where Is My Money?” seemed to be a story about loss. I think where this particularly comes across is in the scene where Njideka writes about getting spankings and sitting out on the balcony after. She says, “I wish I still had that innocence.” I also see it at the end of the story where she writes, “I fell for him hoping this would be the last and I’d finally hang my boots and ease into home.” Do you see this piece as being about loss, and if so, was the idea of loss something you considered when you first started writing this piece or did it come later? Do you think the epistolary form lent itself to being able to capture that loss?
Onwutuebe: Absolutely. The loss is twofold: loss of property and loss of innocence. It wasn’t something I considered in the first draft—I set off writing a story about a girl who is searching for her boyfriend who made away with her money. Because the epistolary form is a bit like journaling, it gives plenty room for introspection and I was able to incorporate the other intangible loss as she went about seeking ways to retrieve her money.
Mathis: One thing that came up in the editing of this piece was the name of the story. You considered “Ghosting” as a potential title. What made “Where Are You and Where Is My Money?” right for the piece? What do you think is the importance of getting the right title?
Onwutuebe: Titles have always been a struggle, but “Ghosting” would not bear the weight that “Where are You and Where Is My Money?” is lifting. The current title sparks your curiosity and invites the reader to sit awhile with the text. And the more enthusiastic the invitation, the more a reader is lured into staying until the end.
You can read Onwutuebe’s story “Where Are You and Where Is My Money” in A Public Space no. 32 – taster below, thanks to Mathis, in the shape of the first 2 letters as they appear in the magazine – and find out more about Onwutuebe’s work at her website.
You can find more information about A Public Space here.
NB from AiW – We love this story, perhaps almost as much as its editor (is that even possible..? Ed.). It’s so funny, so tight, so moving, so… good. If you do check it out, or any other Onwutuebe’s work, as ever, let us know what you think. And with our gratitude, once again, to Mathis, Onwutuebe, and A Public Space.