Stacy Muszynski was born 3 months early when her family was camping. This involved state troopers, some illegal things on the highway, and a bunch of brothers and sisters who still insist Stacy ruined their vacation. Stacy was called the miracle baby, which was too much and probably led to her sense of perfectionism and responsibility. Stacy’s childhood was a mixed bag. One brother fed her with an eye dropper. Another brother once gave her a running start as he packed a rock inside an icy snowball. When she thinks about the whole family together, though, it’s the living room’s flickering TV light, bodies sprawled every which way, everybody laughing. When she was 8, Stacy started playing soccer, the beautiful game, because her friend Chrissy was going to play (they’re still friends), and she learned to play each position. When Stacy was 9, her mother died unexpectedly. Stacy listened to her father cry himself to sleep at night (that was maybe the hardest thing ever, but good too, the way it demonstrated the power of love, the depth of sorrow). After that, Stacy found other mothers to take care of her, to learn from, to hug. She tried to be a good kid. Her mother's death keeps her close to tears and compassionate, a fragile gift. Years passed. Stacy went to college, kept playing soccer, had a bunch of different majors, graduated. After college, Stacy kept playing soccer—loving the beauty in the work among players: weave, give-and-go, overlap, everything in motion and open space, everything angles. Stacy has always loved chip shots, bananas, diving headers. She has always loved the smell of the grass in every season, the crunch of it after a freeze. There was the way Coach yelled at her from the sideline. There was how, when she struck the ball with the sweet spot of her instep, everything aligned and she realized a choir had started singing. Over the years, Stacy also tore some ligaments, acquired bad knees, and injured her back in a way that doctors could not quite explain. Soccer, it’s tough, and now it’s been 8 years and 4 months since she last played (as of 01/09). Another thing to know about Stacy is that she is incredibly inquisitive, which is one of the ways that she shows her intense desire for intellectual discovery and emotional connection. That is, if Stacy meets you, she will consider you her friend, and you will be. Further, she will keep writing one good sentence and then another good sentence until she has something important to publish. Also, now, Stacy has a permanent boyfriend, her husband, Vincent Cavasin, whose name she loves, along with his undying patience, his capacity for fun, his lack of sports knowledge, and his baby-butt-smooth skin. They met online @ Lavalife, and he was persistent, which was a good thing. Their as-yet-unborn kids will learn logic and high-level math from Vince and eye-foot-hand coordination and ball control from Stacy.
[Update: Stacy is now the web editor of
American Short Fiction and its
blog, so submit.]
Stacy introducing Denis JohnsonStacy introducing Tim O'Brien
Peter Wolfgang was born and raised in the small town of Coshocton, Ohio, which is good for learning how to play football, taking piano lessons, and exploring the woods. When Peter was a kid, things were confusing and he didn’t know what to rely on. His parents split up when he was 2 and then got back together when he was 5—and then his little brother Daniel was born right after that. It was difficult to understand his parents liking each other again after all the yelling and fighting. Mostly though, Peter remembers the woods behind his house where he often played alone. When Peter was 9, his brother Andrew was born and the family moved into a house with no woods behind it, so he started playing sports with the neighborhood kids, which was sort of embarrassing because he never had the cool tennis shoes. Peter loves his two brothers so much, especially how comfortable they are with themselves; the way they look up to him makes him want to be a better person. In high school, Peter discovered pot when he smoked it with Tommy, and that was sort of a revelation in self-awareness. Peter also achieved a lot in high school–won awards for good grades and playing the piano, lettered in soccer, won a scholarship to college. Unfortunately, Peter took no pride in these things. It was easy to be the smart guy in a small town where many people ended up working for a local factory that made rubber floor mats for cars. Eventually, Peter got bored with Coshocton and tired of feeling un-cool, like he didn't fit in. Peter wanted to move to a big city and left for NYC when NYU offered him a scholarship. This change opened up lots of possibilities, both good and bad, but the bad possibilities were more prominent and Peter made a serious effort to do himself in. He never thought more than a few days ahead, and he decided to study philosophy, mostly because thinking that way was easy for him and he could get by with cramming. Then Peter met Heather, who is beautiful and super-smart; she is really put together and confident and she helped Peter realize that a person can be interesting and creative and not self-destructive. After Peter met Heather, he actually started trying for the first time. He got serious about his career. He went to Columbia for his MBA and that opened up so many new possibilities for him. And he only ever thought to try for it because he wanted to make a future for Heather and with Heather. They have been married for over a year now and now Peter feels like he is finally able to take advantage of all the possibilities in New York City. It’s as if Peter is just now arriving for the first time.
