RD: Thank you for speaking with me, Ian. Let’s start with your short story ‘Ray’s House’ which was recently published on TSS. What was the inspiration behind the piece? Did it start with an idea, character, phrase or something else?
IM: Hi, Rupert. It was an idea based on a situation I faced some years ago. I took a different path to Ray, so Ray’s House is an exploration of a path not taken. I had a close relationship with my grandparents, and when they passed away their house and possessions were left to me and my brother. My wife and I had just started a family, and we were looking to climb up the housing ladder. For a fleeting moment I entertained the idea of simply keeping the house, it being a readymade family home with a garden, furniture and a lot of memories. While it wasn’t the right move for us at the time, I’ve always wondered what the implications of adopting someone else’s home in that way would be.
The lure of nostalgia weighs heavy on Ray’s House and nostalgia, I’ve come to realise, is a motivator for much of my writing. It’s an indulgent way to revisit that which is gone, though I’m not sure how healthy that is. What may be interesting for the writer to lose themselves in may not necessarily translate to the reader, so there needs to be some universal truth, some common element the reader can relate to for a story to resonate. There’s comfort to be found in looking back to the known past, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of our unknown future, and Ray’s House is a look at that.
RD: There’s a quite a bit of talk about male friendship, masculinity, purpose and loneliness in today’s media. Would you be happy to offer some comments on this, both in light of your short story, as well as more generally? And what do you think literature and writing offers to these large, contemporary topics?
IM: That’s a great question! Well, with regards to my story, no matter how real or fantastical a story itself may be, my characters are based on those I’ve met along the way. The two male characters of Ray’s House obviously have a friendship, but we only see one side of it, where what is thought goes unspoken. There’s a distance there and the fate of that friendship, not to mention its true nature, is left hanging by a thread. The typical male friendship eschews sentimentality and vulnerability, perhaps in fear of being seen as weak.
Friendship can also depend on proximity, so Ray relocating, morphing into somebody new, leads to an emotional distancing as well as a geographical one. Ray, having lost his mum, has also abandoned a romantic relationship with Kate, which may have been the key relationships where he exposed his vulnerable side.
Generally, I’d say from firsthand experience that the notion of masculinity is called into question when purpose is lacking, be it through lack of a job, structure, a sense of identity or community. But what is masculinity? There are many ways to be a man. Strength can be found in vulnerability and kindness, not just in toxic masculinity which, to me, is just weakness masquerading as strength. Literature can explore all these facets, and writers, creators and artists of every kind have a responsibility to do so. After all, we read and write to share in the common experience of being, to connect and find common ground to help make sense of who we are.
RD: I’d love to ask you about the voice and tone of your work as there’s something understated and honest in the telling of ‘Ray’s House’. Did tone and voice arise from story, or did these emerge as the story developed?
IM: It’s interesting how an idea can set the tone. I’ve tried my hand at a range of styles and genres in both long and short fiction. I’m a firm believer in throwing things at the wall to see what sticks. Over time you kind of get a more immediate sense of what is appropriate for any given story. Ray’s House, with its portrayal of the mundanity of domestication and a found happiness, instinctively felt suited to minimalist realism. It’s an account, an observation from the perspective of a friend who becomes the voice, but I also wanted as neutral a tone as possible and leave any judgement to the reader. That matter-of-fact observational tone hopefully lends credibility and weight to a grounded narrative.
RD: Relatedly, do you think writers have a distinctive ‘voice’? And, if so, how does one develop this, do you think? Are there any writers whose voices or styles you particularly admire?
IM: Absolutely. We all have a voice, but I think voice is refined over time. Keep reading, keep writing and that voice will make itself heard. Voice can be influenced by the writers we read, but the important thing is not to imitate other voices. Don’t try and be a Hemingway, because Hemingway is Hemingway, but you can learn from a Hemingway to shape your own distinct voice. I’m guilty of being easily influenced, so I’m careful what I choose to read while working on something that may be similar in style, tone or genre. That said, it pays to experiment with voice, to see what feels right for the story you wish to tell. We’re all influenced to some degree.
Looking back over my writing to date, it’s interesting to see a voice come through. There’s often a dark edge, and though I write some heavy material at times, my natural voice, the one that comes easiest, is actually one of humour. I wrote a children’s novel called The Time-Consuming Adventures of Harper Smedley (which I hope to get out there one day), and it’s a joyfully absurd novel unlike anything else I’ve written. Voice is a multi-faceted thing.
There are writers, of course, who have a distinctive voice. You’ll know instantly if something is written by Kurt Vonnegut, Agatha Christie, Hunter Thompson, H.P. Lovecraft, Jane Austen… I could go on. I particularly admire the unmistakeable humour and genius of Douglas Adams, P.G. Wodehouse and any self-deprecating voice highlighting the absurdity of life, the universe and, well, everything.
RD: You’ve written both long form and short form fiction and have clearly been ‘in the game’ for some time. What would you say are the major things you’ve learnt over the years, that you didn’t perhaps know when you started out?
IM: You’re making me feel old but, yes, it does feel like I’ve been at this a while, so hopefully my writing has improved in that time. I’ve realised that writing keeps me tuned to the world around me whenever I’m working on something, looking out for inspiration. Creativity makes you pay more attention.
From a practical perspective, one of the major lessons that springs to mind is the need to give the reader room to contribute to the story with their imagination, not simply impose mine. I found this difficult when starting out, concerned I wasn’t communicating what I wanted to, particularly when it came to setting a scene, say. You don’t always need to describe the weather or a particular colour of wallpaper to effectively evoke. Less is often more.
Also, letting a story gestate is something I now practice (Ideally, I’d let these answers gestate). Ray’s House, for example, I first took a crack at three years ago. It wasn’t working, so I put it to one side for a while and moved on to other projects. Even if a story feels ready, I’ll put it aside, perhaps for a few months. Bad writing makes itself known to fresh eyes. Another thing I’ve learned is to read aloud everything I write, even if the person in the next room thinks I’m mad. Any mistakes, any poor rhythm, issues with structure and tone usually become apparent. Way back when I decided to make a concerted ‘go’ of being a writer, there were some who, with the best of intentions, tried to dissuade me from what is often a cavalcade of rejection and self-doubt. There’s a lot of noise out there which is best ignored. Yes, you’re going to face rejection, but so does everyone. The trick is to keep going.
RD: What do you think the relationship between writing and ambition is, if any? You might touch upon the crafting of the story itself to the life of the work after it’s published, as well as a writer’s ambitions more widely.
IM: Your ambition must be about the work, not just your career as a writer. The ultimate ambition, I suppose, is communication. There’s comfort in reading a story that entertains, resonates, makes you think differently about life in some way, or even lifts you out of your normal life for a while. As a writer, I’d love to achieve that.
It’s always exciting to find a home for a story, but for the most part there’s no real sense of who’s reading it or what impact it may have. I like that uncertainty, because the story then has a life of its own once released into the wild and belongs to the reader. Of course, I’d love to one day walk into a brick & mortar bookstore and see my work on the shelf, or in someone’s hands, which is a validation I’m sure many writers seek. Making up stories in my free time has led to readings at festivals, connections and even friendships, which reminds me that ambition isn’t only about any one specific goal, but about experience as part of life.
RD: Finally, if you were to meet your younger self, what would you say to him?
IM: As my kids like to tell me from time to time: Chill, it’s not that deep.
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Read Ian Murphy’s short story ‘Ray’s House’ here.
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Ian Murphy always dreamed of becoming a writer. More specifically, he dreamed of becoming a novelist. Even more specifically, he dreamed of becoming a knovelist with a silent ‘K’. Nevertheless, Ian continues to pursue his dream, writing for adults and children. He performed at the Edinburgh International Book Festival on two occasions and is published alongside Salman Rushdie, Margaret Atwood and Shashi Tharoor in Tales On Tweet. His short fiction features in a variety of publications and he published his debut novel, The Life Lived. Edinburgh is home, though he can also be found at ianmurphywrites.com
Rupert Dastur is founding editor of TSS Publishing. His debut novel Cloudless was published by Penguin in 2025.