Carter Vance writes the magazine's deepest narrative profiles. His pieces typically run between four and six thousand words, and he tends to sit with his subjects across multiple sittings rather than try to extract a profile from a single afternoon. He is unhurried in voice and unsentimental in posture; he treats the reporting process less like an interview and more like a slow patient watch.
Before joining Frontier Bylines he wrote for a string of small independent literary quarterlies and a regional weekly that no longer exists. He keeps a list, taped to the wall above his desk, of the writers whose sentences he steals from on bad days: Joan Didion, John McPhee, Janet Malcolm, Ta-Nehisi Coates. He thinks of the list as an obligation rather than a compliment to himself. He has never owned a press badge with a lanyard on it.
Vance works from a small apartment in a quiet college town in the Pacific Northwest. He prefers the kind of subject who has been doing the work for a long time without much noise around it. He is uninterested in covering people who appear regularly on conference stages, and he says, without irony, that the best profiles are the ones the subject is mildly embarrassed by.