
By Harris Quinn
This interview was conducted over a series of phone calls between Yance in California and me in South Carolina. We talked for several hours, mostly about trying to find time to write while raising kids and reading books. It’s funny how much we find we have in common with people we’ve never really met.
Why did you write this novel?
I’d say I’m most at peace when I’m in, on, or around water. I started wondering why that is. What finally occurred to me is that water seems so mundane on one hand, but on the other hand there’s something sacred about it. Something that draws all religions to it. All origin stories are centered around it. Most things tend to be either finite and temporary (our food, our bodies, fossil fuels) or infinite and eternal (space and time, the universe, love). Water is one of the few things that splits the difference. It’s finite yet eternal. There’s only so much of it, and yet it’s been around since the beginning of time. And if our bodies are mostly water, then it’s the same water that ran through our ancestors. It’s the throughline, the thing that animates and sustains us. I suppose I was trying to say that all of us, past and present, are connected through water. With this family’s story I was trying to get at that connectedness, that sameness in all of us.
How long did it take you to write?
It took a total of a decade. I started drafting in 2015 and it went under contract with Regal House in 2025. But it was incredibly bottom heavy. By that I mean I wrote the first draft in a manic caffeine binge way back then. I went to my aunt and uncle’s cabin in Tennessee, which very much resembles the cabin that serves as the setting of the book, to just get away, to focus, to put both feet down. And I was able to write it, start to finish, in about nine weeks. Then I spent the next nine years revising it.
Are you a Southern author, and is this a Southern novel?
It’s a Southern novel if you define it by setting or dialogue. But not if you define a novel by intangibles like theme and conflict. I would say that forgiveness, or the inability to forgive, regret, redemption, grief, all these are part of the human condition. So, I don’t necessarily think it’s a Southern novel outside the setting and speech. Those are important veneers, but I think what’s underneath them—the heartwood—is more universal.
I did grow up reading Faulkner and Welty and Flannery O’Connor. And I still read that stuff, but now I’m into more contemporary Southern authors like Padgett Powell and Silas House.
You play with point of view in this novel. In particular, at the beginning and at the end. Was that planned out beforehand, or was it a spur of the moment decision?
I always planned on JJ (one of the main characters) returning to The Reservoir, let’s say, and doing so in a way where he and his voice gradually ebb like the tide going out. That was planned. What I didn’t know was that the novel would start from his perspective too, which creates a set of bookends. It opens with him telling his father’s story, a prologue that I call the Inlet (noun: a narrow strip of water extending from a larger body of water). Then at the end, we return to his perspective in an epilogue that I call the Outlet. I wanted all the sections in between—Fog, Water, Vapor, Ice—to reflect JJ’s literal state as he changes material form throughout the book. In other words, he actually is a water molecule at one point. And he is an ice cube at one point. And he is melting. We’re all melting. Ultimately, we will all shrivel up and spill our water back into the earth. I’d been pondering these themes for years but never had a vehicle for them until JJ came along. Paralleling the life cycle with the water cycle gave shape to the book so I could write it.
Which novelists do you go back to for inspiration?
The southern lit folks that I’ve already named, and I would add William Gay. He does some stuff I really love on the sentence level. And tonally, he has a very bleak sensibility, but also a deep sense of humanity. Plus, he’s from Hohenwald, Tennessee, a stone’s throw from where I grew up.
I was reading Charles Frazier while writing this. I’m a big Cold Mountain fan, but I was on Thirteen Moons at the time. I have to be careful with what I read while I’m writing. It rubs off. Though if a little Frazier rubbed off on my book, it’s all the better for it.
Waffle House features fairly prominently in this novel, doesn’t it?
I was getting sick of microwaving burritos and pounding bitter coffee at the cabin. I started dreaming of Waffle House, but the nearest one was ten or twenty miles away.
How do you take your hashbrowns?
Scattered and smothered!
I figured, because that’s what the character always orders in the novel. Yeah, you’re definitely a Southern author.
Ha! That’s probably true. Our true colors shine through in our appetites.
~~~~~
Yance Wyatt is from the outskirts of Nashville, Tennessee. He studied fiction at the University of Southern California, where he now teaches writing. His stories have appeared in dozens of nationally circulated literary journals and received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. He lives with his wife and son in the Pasadena foothills. The Watersmith is his first novel. To learn more or preorder, visit www.yancewyatt.com.
Harris Quinn lives and writes in South Carolina. He is a US Navy veteran and a graduate of the Converse University MFA program. He is working on a novel.







