Washington Square on air is the audio town square for the Washington Square Review, Lansing Community College's literary journal. Writers, readers, scholars, publishing professionals, citizens of the world, gather here and chat about all things writing. Hey there. This is Melissa Ford Lucken, editor of the Washington Square Review. I'm here today with Renee Labou, whose piece Mountainside Pool is in our Summer 25 issue. Hey there, Renee.

Hey. Thanks for having me.

Yeah, for sure. I was hoping you'd read a little bit of your piece and then maybe give us a summary and tell us how you came to write it.

Great. This is from my short story titled Mountainside Pool. Federico is on his knees, pinning the hem of my yellow satin skirt. The shop smells of espresso, steamed wool, faint cologne, and old wood. His hands skim my calf, intentional. His head tilts up. This is a beautiful skirt, he murmurs, smoothing the fabric. I nod. I do not move away. His hands slide from my hips to my waist. Then his mouth finds mine. I do not push him away. The kiss is neither good nor bad. It simply is something happening to me, like rain falling like the ticking of a clock, a newspaper thrown onto a step, like a picture frame snapping into place around me, a frame that for a moment outlines me. And then, just as quickly, it is over. I still want my skirt hemmed. It isn't a date. At least I don't think it is. Not until his voice shifts, slows, becomes deliberate in a way that makes me realize he's curating this moment. He is younger, 30 something, and talks about his music with the careful self assurance of someone who wants you to believe in his vision. Electric indie country. He tells me I should market myself better, leverage my strengths. I sip my coffee. Perhaps he suggests the grocery store, as if it's the most natural next step, as if we're something that needs to continue. I follow him down the aisles, listening as he waxes poetic about obscure whiskey, the best canned tomatoes for pasta sauce. I buy 10 packs of dental floss. At checkout. I nod goodbye and walk home in the rain. Afternoon. The sprinklers hiss over perfect lawns. The landscapers move like soldiers wielding trimmers, waging war against nature. My sister calls. Her divorce is one week old, the ink barely dry. She exhales long, aching. I didn't know it would be like this. I stop walking. My frizzy hair spreads like an electric aura in the heat. Like what? I ask, though I already know. Like this. A cautionary tale, a warning, a defeat. I tell her I have another call coming in, my body slick with sweat boiling in my own skin, carries me three more miles to my favorite local alone, because I can. I sit at the counter, let the window AC unit dry me off, sip a whiskey neat and glance up at golf on tv. There is a sweetness in dried sweaty pants at a bar counter at 2pm on a Tuesday. Forever. Possibility.

Beautiful. Thanks for reading that for us. Give us a little summary of the piece. How does that part fit in?

The most important part of the piece I read is about her sister calling her after her sister is so freshly divorced and the irony of her sister saying to her as she's walking in the heat, I never knew it could be like this. And when she says to her sister, like what? She knows the answer. And the answer is saying without saying, how do you live this way? I never knew what single life could be. But bearing in mind she's single for a week and it's really the ultimate unsaid insult, which is the larger part of the story is that Mountainside Pool is a story about the quiet ache of invisibility. It's about a woman moving through life, not young, yet not a senior citizen. And she's got this being there, yet not being their existence. So essentially she lives in quiet nods and she lives on the periphery suddenly. And this is her day in, day out existence, which is why that moment with that phone call is it's not a climactic moment, but it's a silent ache, much like the silent daily ache of invisibility that she experiences. But really the most important thing of the story is as she becomes more and more invisible to the outside world, she actually twists and becomes more visible and more beautiful and more powerful uninterrupted herself. And she realizes that she does live in a world. She does live in a world that accepts her and celebrates her and sees her. But the ultimate highlight of that is that that is a world that she must create. It is up to her. And that's where the story goes. And in the end she realizes she's been waiting and waiting and waiting for the right moment. She's been passed off and passed off and semi ignored or paid a little bit of attention to. But she's at a point in her life where she's walking through the world essentially invisible. She's waiting for the right moment when that's going to change. And the true theme of the story is that she's waiting for the right moment. She is waiting for someone to give her that moment. And she is the moment. And she is the moment when she Says she is the moment, and she has whatever freedom she wants to say she is the moment. But she, until the very end of the story, has no idea that she has the power to do that, to be the moment.

The parallel with her sister, I think, works really well to emphasize that.

Yeah. And the greatest thing about that is that it's a true moment I had in my life. And I just. I didn't have to think about writing that in because it's a moment that really happened to me that way, and I probably shouldn't give that away. I'm not that transparent about anything about my personal life in any form of art I do. But it was very easy for me to write Mountainside Pool because moments like that were of no exaggeration. Most of the story is fictitious. But that moment with the sister was a moment that happened to me a number of years back, and I had forgotten about it. And in writing Mountainside Pool and this character, suddenly that moment was back to me again. And I live in a town called Montclair, New Jersey, which is. It's 13 miles outside of Manhattan, and it's really a microcosm of Manhattan, and it's a very cosmopolitan suburb, and it's become more gentrified and more mainstream. But years ago, it was this extremely dreamy, dreamy town. And it was very literary. I mean, it still is. The town is filled with artists and, you know, musicians and actors, and a ton of films are made here. But in that moment, I was out on a crazy walk in the middle of the summer, in the middle of the afternoon, and. And I was dripping with sweat, and I was walking through the suburbs of Montclair with beautiful foliage and weeping willow trees and mansions. And I did get that call from my sister, and it was the most. Are you kidding me? Moment, because someone is saying, like, wow, how do you do it? And you're thinking, it's actually quite nice. But ultimately, I just want to say I did not expect to reveal that anyway. But all of the short stories I've written have been very easy for me to write, and I only started writing short stories in August of last summer. And what prompted that? I do all kinds of art and music, and whenever I have strong emotions, I need to turn to art or music to create something. And I suddenly felt like what I was doing wasn't enough, even though I'm constantly making art and constantly making music. And I just had this deep desire in me to sit down at my laptop and start writing. So I have since last summer, which was I started writing short stories in August of 24. I wrote eight short stories, and so far, six of them have been published, which is crazy.

That's wonderful.

And another one's gonna. Yeah. And one has been published in two publications. And a lot of times when I create anything in any medium, it's usually sort of this fire bursts where a lot happens at once. Then there's chill. There's a lot of chill time in between. So I think I wrote. The last short story I wrote was probably in March of this year. And I did start writing short stories because I'm a big fan of all literature. I have been forever. And I needed another outlet. And I didn't even realize it at the time. It just felt like the right thing to be in my laptop because it's very congruent with the way I write songs. It's very easy for me to just sit at a laptop or be with my band in an impromptu writing session and just drive.

That makes sense to me because as a reader, the way that the story sounds is. I don't know if lyrical is the right word for it, but rhythmic. And the pacing really increases the characterization and the thematic meaning. The way that the sentences are constructed and the way that it sounds inside my. My mind when I read it made it.

Yeah. I think it's funny because I'm very, very close to one of my cousins. We're more like brother and sister, and he's a filmmaker, and he read some of my short stories, and the first thing he said was the same thing you said. Okay, they're very lyrical. But I think it all stems from my love of improvisation, because that's the main way I like writing music, and I started doing that when I was 19 years old, is that I can be put in a room with musicians and I can hear the melody and hear the lyrics, and it all just comes out at once. And I don't have to write anything beforehand. So it's this improvisational thing that I've always enjoyed doing. And that's the main way that my band writes music, is that we go into a room, we jam for hours and hours. I do the vocals and the lyrics, and then we sift through what we have and edit it down and keep some of it and decide what's going to be a song and what's not. Not. So the idea of sitting at a laptop for me and just being like, okay, it's just time to riff, so to speak, seemed absolutely like a different branch on the same tree.

Yep. I do Have a question about that. But I want to back up a little bit and just wonder, does your sister know about this moment being in the story?

No, she doesn't. We're very different people. We're very close in age. We're literally, we were almost four born in the same year. My sister's a year older than me almost to the day. And I would never be like, you should read my story. And she's not very interested in the art. So when I say we're very different people, we're very different people. So I would talk to her. If she does read the story and want to discuss. Of course, I would have a very gentle conversation about it. But no, to date, no.

I think it's really something that, that when you're a creative person, that you can have people and, you know, friends and family in your life who aren't necessarily, like you said, interested in the arts or a creative person. And so as a creative person myself, I end up feeling like there's this whole other world that I live in where some of the people in my life don't know I'm in that world. And does that resonate with you at all?

Well, it not only resonates with me because that has been. Been the story of my life forever. It not only I love to say, like, oh, I feel that so hard. I really do. Not only does it resonate with me, but what I love about talking about specifically this is that the more and more you talk to artists about this, the more you realize every artist pretty much has the same experience, which is don't talk about it.

Right, so. Well, there. We've talked about it now.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. So. And I, you know, I've had, for example, like, had lunch with a woman. We were working on a project together, and she's an actress and she teaches acting. And she just totally went into that. She said, I feel like I'm the only person that feels this way. And. And I said, actually, you're not. And I do think that that's one of the. I don't want to call it quirks, but that's one of the strange things about being an artist is some of the closest people to you in your life cannot relate at all to that part of you. They can see the part of you that they can see. And a lot of people can see the other part of you. And some people see both. Some people only see the artistic side, But a lot of people do have that experience with close family members where you're one dimensional like, you are the sister, you are the cousin, you are the mother, and we are all complex human beings.

I'm wondering when you were describing working with the band. Right. Who are people who are part of your creative life, which is, I would think, cool and magical to be in a space with other creatives who see that part of you and you're working together. By contrast, when you're working on a short story, it really is just you there with your keyboard. How does that compare in the way that you handle it?

Well, there's also another part in that I'm a visual artist, so I make visual art. I'm a photographer. I do all kinds of mixed media work. I do installations. I've been exhibited in the US and other parts of the world. And that, for me, is just a solo endeavor, so to speak. But I've talked about this before, and I actually said this in another podcast interview a few months ago. And that is, I dove into being in bands the year after I got into high school, out of high school, and I never stopped. And it was such, you know, I was voracious for music. I still am. And I immediately got into a band, started playing shows in New York City, played shows at cbgb, all this stuff had never even been to clubs in New York City, but I was playing them and started making records. And what is so connected for me is that being in bands for as long as I've been playing shows, having those experiences has absolutely. I don't want to say helped me, but has really propelled me into different areas of art in my life. I don't know if I would have really started doing as much visual art as I've done or writing stories without having the foundation of being in bands since I was kind of a baby. And all of that experience I carried with me, and I do believe it's so connected.

Oh, for sure. Do you think you could piece out what it was about the experience that propelled you forward with the other areas of art?

Yeah, one word. Confidence. I've had so many experiences of playing so many shows, playing shows on the Lower east side in Manhattan when parts of Manhattan were really scary, and playing shows where people weren't like, oh, my gosh, you're amazing, and clapping for you, and it was just like heckling you and being with really hardcore people in downtown clubs in Manhattan. And it wasn't like a rah rah club where you were like, I'm gonna get this applause and it's gonna feel so good. It was quite the opposite, but it was just like, you go home, and then you. You have that experience. I've had millions and millions of experiences where I've played clubs, especially in New York at that time. And you finish a show and you go home, and the next day you're like, should I do this again? Because you're putting yourself in a position where you're not going to be liked by people or some people will like you, and it's going to be a mixed bag. And doing that again and again and again and again and again and again and not stopping. And just never once in a while, the idea would be like, should I keep doing this? That thought would float through like the lightest little transparent cotton ball, and then it would never come back in your mind again because you wanted to keep doing it because you had this hunger. So all of that experience of performing and writing and being in bands and recording and working so collaboratively on everything, I do believe consciously and subconsciously gave me confidence in, you know, when you're playing, like, Kenny's Castaways or CBGB or like, the Spiral on the Lower east side in Manhattan, that. And. And no one's nice to you, and, you know, one person will come up to you later and be like, that was really good. In comparison to that, writing a short story, getting. Getting. Getting rejected, you know, sending your art to an open call, getting rejected. For me, I'm like, oh, my gosh, who cares?

And the rejections are probably fairly polite as well. Thank you very much for sending us your work.

Or we really like your work, but we don't have room for it on our issue at this time. I'm like, oh, my gosh, how nice of them. You know, Like, I know. I know people who are like, you know, I'll be like, why don't you come to this open mic? And they're like, I can. I'm really upset. I submitted my art to the show and it got rejected. And the reason I do what I do is because I make so much art and write so much, and I get rejected from. For things every day, and it doesn't. I don't feel anything. It's like I'm literally numb in the greatest way because I'm like, oh, I look at something and it's like, we will not go with your whatever at this time. And I'm always working on the next thing.

Right.

You know what I mean? So confidence. Confidence. But I don't think any of that confidence would have come without those formative years of just being in bands and Being in bands, playing out and immersing yourself in a sense situation where no one knows you, people don't necessarily like you. You don't know what's going to come, you don't know how the night's going to go and oh well, you're just going to do it. And doing that again and again and again, it's just like, hey, now it's party time. Yeah. So it really gave me confidence and also what's so interesting about that is like the concept of artist development. Right. So artist development doesn't really happen a lot these days. I'm talking about music for example. I gave myself my own artist development because I had years and years and years of trial and error and learning and evolving and doing it and, and slowly developing this confidence that didn't happen right away at all. It was like the slowest moving train, but it was cumulative, right. So it was like this very, very long timeline and just journey of tiny bits of confidence along the way. But when you talk about artist development, especially like music now, they'll sign an artist or sign a band and if their album does great, great, but if not, maybe they won't be on the label anymore. But you know, years back when they signed someone like Kate bush, she was 16 years old and they gave her years to work on her first record and really find her groove and find her voice. And then years between that and they really worked on the artist sitting with themselves. So that confidence only came out of the invaluable education I had in my own artist development by doing it myself.

What kind of music was your band producing or singing making now?

No, back then, I mean back then I was in a band called Melting Hopefuls and we were like this left of center pop band and guitar heavy and I guess we were compared at the time to maybe bands like Velocity Girl or a little bit like sometimes like Stereo Lab or any band that was a band of the 90s that had a female singer, the Breeders a little bit. And we very quickly we ended up signing a deal with Mercury Records and for example, I don't know if you remember that band Ivy, but okay, my band and a band called Ivy opened up and we were on a three band bill for the first American show for a little known band called Oasis and in New York, you know, and we, you know, we had a major label deal which quickly fell through because we made the record and then the A and R guy who signed us and who pushed us just so the label ended up leaving, you know like one of those very quintessential early 90s indie rock. Indie band gets signed to major label stories. Because major labels were. Were eating up indie rock bands at the time. And now I'm in a band called Elk City, which we've been together for a long time. And we also make sort of psychedelic pop, left of center music. At the end of the day, we're always a pop band, but it's a bit more subtle and in disguise, let's say.

Okay, the reason I asked that question is I was wondering if there was something particular about the culture around the type of music that you guys were playing back then. Or like, was it the clubs themselves? Like, where, where did that come from?

It was the time it was the clubs themselves we were playing. Especially melting hopefuls on bills with bands that weren't like, the scene is now, which is now when you play a show, we're always paired with bands that are like us, that make a good cohesive bill.

Okay.

What was so funny about playing shows in New York City at that time, right when I got out of high school? What's like the funniest thing about that was that really wasn't a thing at that time. It was just like a mixed bag. They would put you on a bill with a band that had like roots sounds and then another band would be a hardcore band.

Okay.

It was more of, you know, band compatibility on a bill was not as perhaps important in a great way, because it was like I said, it was like a wild card. You would show up and maybe there would be a band like you. And then there would be on a band on a bill that would be like a nine Inch Nail sound alike band or whatever. And. And it was very interesting because I made a lot of friends in bands whose music was nothing like mine. But that's the reason why the crowds were tough crowds that. But it was also. When I say the time, I also mean New Yorkers were different. There was an awareness about so many things that we have awareness about now. It was a different world.

Okay. I can hear the lessons learned, especially in interacting with an audience face to face, who dislikes what you're doing and is willing to tell you that they dislike it is. You know, once you're a writer, you know, the audience is out there and they may not care for what you're doing, but you probably won't have to hear about it.

Well, yeah, because again, like back then in New York City, artist compatibility on a bill just wasn't a thing. So you'd have people There wanting to see the hardcore band, and they had to wait, wait and listen through your band.

Yep.

And they were just like, oh, my gosh. Like, you know, and they made no bones about being like, hurry up, you know, so. So I would say that is a confidence builder.

Yeah, for sure. Yep. You made it through that. You can certainly make it through a bad review at some point.

Yeah, for sure.

I was thinking when you were talking about the lack of artist development, I think that carries over into the book world because there's a lot of conversation now about the best way to break in is to be a debut author. And if you're, you know, not a debut author, you won't get as much publicity and interest. And it's all about the debut. And once the book is out, it's a, you know, floater sink. We're gonna see what happens. And if you sink, then you have to go and create a whole new pen name and be a debut under a whole different pen name. So that kind of resonates with me. What you were saying about the music industry, I think that carries over into book world.

Yeah. It's just a different medium. It's like you need to make a big shot, you know, you need to hit the ground running and be a big splash. Or are you going to get that contract to sign again? Are they going to renew it? So, Curtis, development in every medium is so important, but is there the time and is there the money for record labels and publishers to do that now? And the world moves so quickly now. I do wish that there was that artist development for people in all genres and all mediums.

Well, and it's a lifelong pursuit, the development. I guess what I'm thinking about from what you've been saying is ultimately, the individual artist has to be responsible for their own development.

Yeah. And for me, it was almost like, oh, you're going to this indie rock band artist development school that you created.

Right.

And years down the line, it's going to give you the confidence to do a ton of other things by giving you this foundation.

What kind of writing stuff are you currently working on? Are you still doing some short stories?

The last short story I wrote was probably in March, and it's called In Heaven. I haven't written any yet. It's funny because I was just thinking the other day, like, I want to sit down and write. I don't know what I'll write next. I do have just a voracious love for the short story. I don't know if I'll ever write anything longer than a short story. For me, it's always when I sit down to write, I have to be compelled by a feeling. I know that a lot of people say the inspiration comes first and you have to write every day. And with writing, I'm different. With art, visual art and music, I don't need the inspiration. I'll just sit down with art and create a lot of stuff and then I'm doing it for days on end and then a week down the line or something, then I'm like, I think I'm in a groove and I just love doing it so much. And music, I'm the same way. I don't need the end inspiration. Writing is different. Writing is. I need that visceral feeling that literally like my hands ache to be a keyboard because I just have to get it all out.

It's interesting the difference between the different expressions of creativity.

Yeah.

If listeners would like to follow you online and see see what you're up to in all of the different areas, where can they find you online?

They can find me on Instagram. I also have a link tree. My Instagram lists everything. My link tree also lists everything from art exhibitions I'm doing to band shows to short stories that are being published synonymous with Instagram. But if they want to get more of a streamline, you can click here. For everything, they can go to link tree. It's all at Renee Labu, which is R E N E E L O B is in Boy ue.

Awesome. We'll be sure to include those links in the show notes so people can find you and see what you're up to.

Oh, thanks. Yeah.

Thanks a lot for coming on today and for taking the time to talk with me.

Oh, thank you. And thank you so much for really thought provoking questions. I really enjoyed this.

Awesome.

Thanks for. Thanks for stopping by the audio town square of the Washington Square Review. Until next time, this has been Washington Square on air from Lansing Community College. To find out more about our writers, community and literary journal, visit lcc. Edu WSL Writing is messy, but do it anyway.