by Cavenaugh Kelly
Your short story collection The Body Farm can be described as eclectic and genre defying, ranging stories about sharks, porcupines, and the neurodivergent, to the title story, The Body Farm, about a murder mystery involving a scientific research project on decaying corpses. How as a writer, do you go about researching and writing about such varied topics?
In truth, my research tends to find me rather than the other way around. I’ll be watching a documentary or browsing through interesting books at the library, and suddenly I’ll stumble across a fascinating fact about porcupines or the history of witches or the science of body farms, and down the rabbit hole I go.
I find my characters through their passions. What is the mindset of a scientist who happily studies corpses? How does someone find healing in learning about porcupines? Is it possible to work a magic spell in modern-day society? I learn what my characters know. I write about them doing what they love. That is how I discover who they are.
Can you tell us about your unique writing process, especially how you formulate everything in your head for quite a lengthy period before starting to write?
My approach to writing is almost entirely structural. I see sentences, scenes, chapters, and entire novels in terms of how they are constructed. There is a perfect architecture for each of these things, and my work as a writer is to find it. So I hold stories in my head for months or even years as I mentally put things into place. It’s like making a castle in the air. What is the staircase of the plot? What characters make up different wings of the house? What are the rooms of different chapters? Which windows look out on various scenes from the past? Just as a builder would not begin work on a house without a detailed plan, I don’t write a single word until I have a blueprint for the story in my mind.
What do you feel about the “writing rule” to only write what you know?
I love this rule, though I think it’s often misunderstood. Many people interpret it to mean Only write what you are. They feel uncomfortable writing outside their own identity; they feel it’s not okay for them to imagine the interior world of someone from a different background or race or gender.
And that’s a great instinct! We all need to be aware of our own limitations. I am a white woman who was born into a family of hippies, in the Midwest, as a part of a middle class that no longer exists. Given my own identity, I would not, for example, attempt to write from the point of view of a young Black man growing up during the early years of the Apartheid in South Africa in the 1950’s. I could research, I could interview, I could imagine, but I could never know enough to write that person’s story.
This does not, however, mean that I can only write from the point of view of people exactly like me. Sometimes I do stay very close to what I am. But other times I have traveled outside my own race, gender, background, historical context, species, and home planet. Only write what you know. The important word is know. Part of our work as writers is finding the balance between imagination and experience. If someone asks “Why are you the right person to tell this character’s story?” you must have an answer.
I knew a nurse anesthetist and pilot who said the use of anesthesia and flying were the same, it was all about the takeoff and landing. I think the same could be argued about short stories, so much is about the start and the ending. This is something that you are very skilled at doing in your short stories and I was wondering if you could walk us through your mindset when writing the start and ending to your stories, especially your skilled ability to almost dance around a great chasm of emotion but never fully give in to it.
First of all, thanks! Second of all, I totally agree. When I was a student at Oberlin College, I worked with Dan Chaon, who once told me that too many published novels could have been short stories, and that if you can write the piece as a short story, you have to.
A short story usually captures the beginning and end of a particular event: a love story, a job, a childhood, a life. That event is encapsulated in a series of scenes and flashbacks, and the reader is given enough to understand its meaning. If the story were fleshed out—if there were more scenes, more flashbacks, more characterization—the piece would become flabby and dull. It would lose its momentum and meaning.
Novels, on the other hand, are almost entirely middle. They can’t be contained in a couple of scenes and flashbacks. I teach several classes on the novel, and one of the things I have my students do is write a synopsis of their novel. It’s almost impossible to do well, because every novel sounds insane if you summarize it. There’s just too much plot. There’s a reason novels are 90,000 words long. They can’t be shorter.
While your writing is very smooth and consistent in The Body Farm, the style, or format maybe, of the stories varies a lot. To me, as I read this, at times I felt like I was reading a more literary version of Stephen King, Roald Dahl, or even something like a Dateline episode. Where most story collections are preoccupied with relationships, I found this is to be very refreshing as a reader. What do you attribute all the different approaches to stories in this collection? Do you read widely? I know you’re a big fan of Dr. Who. Does it again go back to your wide-ranging curiosity and research?
I’ll start by saying that I was that kid who always felt annoyed that every single song on the radio seemed to be a love song. I wondered why nobody wrote songs about dinosaurs or space travel. There are a lot of brilliant short story collections out there that focus on relationships, but I would much rather focus on shark divers or serial killers.
It was my intention in this collection to play with format and style more than I ever have before. I’m fascinated by all the different ways a story can capture the reader’s attention. I love mysteries, speculative fiction, thrillers, romance, nonfiction, and graphic novels. There is so much we literary fiction authors can learn from other genres! The best mystery novels have perfect architecture. Sci-fi offers incomparable world-building. Fairy tales create childlike wonder.
All these genres filter into my work. You’re not the first person to mention Stephen King or Roald Dahl (though Dateline is new. Love it!). The title story of The Body Farm was chosen for The Best American Mystery and Suspense of 2024. I’ve been told my work is hard to classify; it often has elements of horror or mythology or thriller or mystery.
And yes, I do indeed love Dr. Who. Every story is bigger on the inside, isn’t it?
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About Abby Geni:
Abby Geni is the author of the novels The Wildlands and The Lightkeepers and the short story collections The Last Animal and The Body Farm. Her newest novel, Children of the Wolf, will be published in the summer of 2026. Her books have been translated into seven languages and have won the Barnes & Noble Discover Award and the Chicago Review of Books Awards, among other honors. Her short stories and essays have appeared in dozens of literary publications, including Best American Mystery and Suspense, The Missouri Review, Epoch, Ninth Letter, and New Stories from the Midwest. Geni is a faculty member at StoryStudio Chicago and frequent Visiting Associate Professor of Fiction at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop.
About Cavenaugh Kelly:
Cavenaugh Kelly, PhD, is a writer, occupational therapist, and teacher. His short stories have been published in Slice, Harmony Magazine, Pulse, Birmingham Arts Journal, Red Wheel Barrel, Braided Way, and other publications. At Husson University, as an associate professor, Kelly teaches in the School of Occupational Therapy, winning the Theresa W. Steele award for teaching excellence in 2022, and the Global Scholar award in 2025. He has presented, taught, and published his research on the influence of literature on the empathy levels of healthcare students internationally and nationally, winning the Global Empathy Award at the 2022 International Global Empathy Conference in London, England, where he was a keynote speaker. He is a student in the MFA program at Converse University.