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Did you plagiarize any of Numb?
Next question.
Fair enough. Did you set out to write something disturbing? I have it on good authority that someone called Numb “nauseating.”
That would be my wife, and no, I didn’t aim for anything nauseating. The main character, Numb, is putting nails and other whatnots into his body, and there is blood, but it’s not a horror film. I wrote what I thought had to be there, but didn’t go nearly as graphic as I could have. My goal was not to disturb with graphic detail, to create the literary equivalent of the Saw films. I was aiming for a balance between physical and emotional and spiritual impact that was moved forward by the physical inability to feel pain. The purpose is not gore, it is depiction of extreme emotional disconnect.
Did you have a goal?
I don’t start with goals or themes in mind because I don’t want become a slave to them, and I also think that at the beginning of the writing process I have no idea what the book is about. By the time I finish writing a book I have learned what the themes and focus of the book are or should be. I write to figure out what I think, not illustrate what I think. Writing with a specific goal in mind would keep me from unearthing what I believe, I would be too focused on conveying a point. Books written with a goal, a sales pitch of a philosophy, reek of propaganda.
Was there anything that surprised you in the book?
I was surprised by Mal’s actions and emotional responses to Numb. I’ve said elsewhere that he was all id, but more than that he enjoyed being id. There are two scenes that take place on the Manhattan Bridge, both focused on Mal, and the conclusions of both scenes shocked me. I found myself staring into space a bit after writing them. I was also pleasantly surprised when I met Bernie. Bernie appeared on his own, fully formed and weird and beautiful, and I’m so glad he did because he’s one of my favorite characters in the book.
What about the book’s reception–any surprises there?
I am thrilled that it appears to be finding a diverse audience, people different from me. When I write I sometimes ask, “Who but me is going to read this?” It doesn’t change what I write, I can’t write to any specific audience because I tried that before and that’s the death of fiction. It’s not writing, it’s begging. But still, I do sometimes wonder, “Am I just lecturing in a closet? Am I the lord of a laundry room?” That people from very different backgrounds, men and women, older and younger, have found something to connect to means a great deal to me.
I am also interested in how many people think it might be a young adult book. I never intended for YA readers to be interested, but if they are I love it. Ironically I was surprised by my mother telling me I needed to make the sex scenes more explicit. That was a shocker. I started therapy about five minutes after she said that.
What are you reading right now?
I just finished Marcy Dermansky’s brilliant Bad Marie. I can’t say enough about it. She is a powerhouse, a beautiful writer. She does the difficult with an effortless quality. And I just started The Financial Lives of Poets, by Jess Walter, and holy hell can he write. I did a reading with him in New Hampshire and realized that I want to be him when I grow up.
This is a self-interview. Did anything about the self-interview process surprise you?
When you pulled that gun. That was kind of shocking.
Well, you have shifty eyes.
True. And I also wish one of us was wearing pants.
HA! Your mom sounds like she’s a lot of fun. But you left out the next part: did you listen to her?
As a matter of fact, I did.
Therapy. Yeah, that would be good in that circumstance. I really try not to think about what my parents think about what I write. Even though I know they read it.
But probably I’d be shocked by how hip they are. They do that. They’re from Iowa.
As someone born in Iowa, I can attest to the state’s hipness. Did I type “hipness” or “hippyness?”
I was born in Kansas, but raised in Iowa. I’m really glad.
For the longest time I didn’t really want to be associated with Iowa, but now it’s becoming one of the coolest states in the union, what with them appreciating civil rights and all. I’m kind of proud.
“I’m kind of proud.”
And with good reason.
“Ironically I was surprised by my mother telling me I needed to make the sex scenes more explicit. That was a shocker. I started therapy about five minutes after she said that.”
I honestly have no idea how I would handle that happening to me.
Step one: lie down.
Step two: breathe in slowly through your nose, out through your mouth.
Step three: think of a beach.
Did anyone eventually put on pants?
I just looked down at my lap and couldn’t see skin, so I think that yes, one of us eventually did. I’d like to think it was me but can’t say it was with any certainty.
Um… if neither of you are wearing pants, I don’t want to know where the gun was hidden before you pulled it on yourself during the interview. Not that you’d tell me, of course. I’m sure that’s the sort of thing you keep between you and yourself, maybe you, yourself, and your-own-self, but that last one can be a tricky.
This made a lot more sense in my head, and I told myself it would look stupid once posted, but I told myself to shut up and didn’t listen. Now I’m angry at myself and we can’t even bring ourselves to speak to each other, which is fine because people tend to stare when I talk to myself in public.
Both my interviewer and I discussed your comment, and we thought it made perfect sense.
This was an awesome interview. I’m a little shocked about the gun and the no pants thing.
You think you were shocked, imagine how I felt!
I think the comments were more entertaining than the self-interview, which is really saying something!
write to figure out what I think, not illustrate what I think.
wow. just wow.
[…] are, currently, wearing pants. (See Sean Ferrell and Jeffrey Somers — or Janet Reid’s post on the […]