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Author Q&A with Ayoung Kim

Although this essay came from a memory, the danger is transcribing it instead of allowing space for other images and narratives to come through. I first wrote this three years ago, and have periodically returned to it with fresh eyes. Each time, a bit more would reveal itself. Also, there is the part of me that retains visceral emotions as the child, but as the adult, benefits from distance, and I worked to include both perspectives. I’ve learned to not rush the revision process…


Embracing hypocrisy and absurdity in the creative process: Author Q&A with Ayoung Kim

June 18, 2026

A close-up, monochrome portrait of a woman with long, dark hair partially covering her face, looking down. She is wearing a white, lace-collared top, with a textured background.

Ayoung Kim is a writer and artist. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The ManifestStation, Khora, Defenestration Humor Magazine, and Best Travelers’ Tales, among others. She is originally from San Francisco, and her teeth are still crooked.

Her flash CNF, Speaking in Tongues, appears in Issue #23.

Tell us a bit about yourself.

When I was nine and ten years old, I used to sneak out of my house in the middle of the night. The sight of the black night, the willow tree’s branch scraping my window saying, Come out and play! —the urge was irresistible. I’d pull on my elastic waist skirt, tear a piece of notebook paper and roll it up. I roamed the sidewalks pretending to speak Spanish, gesticulating with my notebook-paper-cigarette between my fingers, pointing emphatically at my man who needed a strong talking to, as I’d watched on Mexican telenovas. I sashayed, causing my skirt to swirl around my knees. Although a child of Korean immigrants, I was smitten with Mexican culture. I turned onto the main road, walking straight into the beam of headlights. It was my moment. I stuck my cigarette in my mouth and took a long drag.

What unique or surprising detail can you tell us about the revision process, and/or the final version of it?

As I worked several versions, I wondered about how to end the story, if there was a way to reference the beginning with the Dentist’s quasi-sexual probings. I saw how the narrator and the Dentist were alike in expressing their lust.

What did you learn (about yourself, craft, or life in general) through writing and revising it?

Although this essay came from a memory, the danger is transcribing it instead of allowing space for other images and narratives to come through. I first wrote this three years ago, and have periodically returned to it with fresh eyes. Each time, a bit more would reveal itself. Also, there is the part of me that retains visceral emotions as the child, but as the adult, benefits from distance, and I worked to include both perspectives. I’ve learned to not rush the revision process.

What do you hope readers take from it?

Insist your dentist wear gloves!

Do you write in other genres, and if so, what?

I started out by writing travel essays, but have branched to writing lyric and flash essays and prose poems. Also, recently, a couple of my humor stories have been published.

What fuels your desire to write (or engage in other creative outlets)?

Louise Glück, poet, said: Anyone who writes is a seeker. You look at a blank page and you’re seeking. The role is assigned to us and never removed. I think this is an unbelievable blessing. The blank page represents my struggle to connect dots and land in a place of clarity. I find it exposing, terrifying, exhilarating, and humbling. Writing is the only activity that brings this out of me, and as such, ceased to be an option a long time ago. I must write. This is my blessing.

What have been the biggest influences in your writing?

I’ll point to hypocrisy and absurdity, and how as a child I was able to spot these and see the tragedy and comedy. These two themes regularly feature in my work.

How do you make expression a part of your daily life, or how do you find a balance between your writing and other responsibilities?

If I don’t get in any writing, I’ll draw something, my thumb, fingers. So many disembodied fingers.

What do you think when you hear, “the good life”?

La Dolce Vita: me in Rome in 1959, splashing in the Trevi Fountain in a cleavage-bearing gown eating a giant espresso gelato in a waffle cone.



Thank you, Ayoung, for sharing a slice of your life with us and for being a part of our growing community. We appreciate you and the time you spent on this Q&A. Cheers to giant waffle cones and swirling skirts! We wish a peaceful and prosperous summer, and also the best with your writing endeavors!

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