Interview with Jeremy C. Shipp

Some writers just get ‘it.’ I’m sure you know what I mean. You’ve read works, thumbed through stories that make you, the aspiring writer, cringe in jealous envy and bask in amazement. Some writers simply have the ability to fashion a story so compelling, so real, that the only logical reaction is outright adoration. Gaiman did it for me with “Sandman.” King had me with “Salem’s Lot” and now, Jeremy C. Shipp has hooked me with “Those Below” and the forthcoming “Fungus of the Heart.”

Recently, I had the privilege of interviewing Shipp and what I discovered was that the dark wit and brilliant imagery comes from a man intrinsically aware of his own voice. Shipp is the Bram Stoker nominated author of books such as “Cursed” and” Vacation” and has been published (previously and forthcoming) in Cemetery Dance, ChiZine, Apex Magazine, Pseudopod, and Withersin.

In his own words, Shipp enjoys living in Southern California in a moderately haunted Victorian farmhouse called Rose Cottage. He lives there with his wife, a couple of mighty cats, and a legion of yard gnomes. The gnomes like him. The clowns living in his attic--not so much.

You've been quoted as saying of your novels, "Vacation, is a map to my brain. Sheep and Wolves, is a map to my fears. And Cursed is a map to my heart." Does that mean that Fungus of the Heart is a map of your soul? What can you tell us about this book and the genesis of writing it?

You might say that Fungus of the Heart is a map to my values. And what I value most is relationships. And so, Fungus of the Heart is full of stories about families, friendships, lovers. I believe that treating others with respect is the most important thing in the world, and therefore, many of my characters are disrespectful. My characters have emotional, physical, spiritual needs, but my characters are often screwed up in one way or another, and so they don’t know how to get their needs met in a healthy way. Therein lies the horror.

What is your writing process? Are you an organic writer or does there have to be some organization in your process?

I usually start out with a shard of an idea. Maybe an aspect of a character, or a fragment of a plot. Then I brainstorm for a while, and after that, I get writing. I never outline, although I do carry around a notebook with me almost everywhere I go, so I can write down any ideas I have about the story I’m working on. Usually, I know where my tales are going to end up, but I never know exactly how I’m going to get there. I like not knowing everything. I like putting my characters in impossible situations and letting them find their own ways out.

Was there one person that influenced you early on to write?

There wasn’t one person in particular. My fourth grade teacher asked her students write fiction stories from time to time, and I really enjoyed that experience. Also, in elementary school, I loved to read, and I loved when my father read to me. Some of my favorite authors were HG Wells, Alexandre Dumas, Jules Verne. I also fell in love with storytelling thanks to filmmakers like George Lucas, Terry Gilliam, Jim Henson. And so, because of all these books and films and people, I decided to write my first novel when I was thirteen, and I’ve been writing almost constantly ever since.

How different do you think your life would be if you didn't write? Do you think you would use some other medium to create? What would it be?

If I wasn’t a writer, I’d probably snap and become one of the clowns in my attic. Truthfully though, I’d most likely become a singer or a filmmaker. I love singing, playing the guitar, playing the piano. The only reason I don’t sing and play more is because writing is my greatest passion and it takes up so much of my time.

How long into the submitting process did you get your first publication?

When I was 18, my creative writing teacher, Phillip Brugalette, encouraged me to send out my work. And so I did. About two months later, I received my first acceptance letter for a story called “Love Thy Demon.”

How did you/do you handle rejection?

For the first couple years of my writing career, I didn’t handle rejection very well. I was a pimply, shy teenager, and I spent much of my free time feeling sorry for myself, and the rejection letters gave me yet another excuse to be hard on myself. Thankfully, though, by learning to deal with rejection, I became a stronger, more confident person. These days, when I hit a pothole on my journey as a writer, I just thank my lucky stars that I’m alive, and I’m moving forward.

Why don't Rose Cottage's clowns like you? Did you key their tiny car?

The leader of the attic clowns once threw a maggot and broken glass pie at my face. I didn’t laugh at his joke, and so they’ve held a grudge against me ever since.

For those readers who don't know, can you give us the distinction between Horror and Bizarro fiction? Which do you prefer to write?

Bizarro is the genre of the weird. Bizarro fiction tends to be not only strange, but thought-provoking and fun to read. Bizarro isn’t necessarily horrifying, and Horror isn’t necessarily bizarre, but most of my work tends to be a combination of Bizarro and Horror.

If you knew tomorrow was your last day on earth, how would you spend your time?

I would play with my cats, hang out with my family, cuddle with my wife. I would eat a peanut butter and watermelon sandwich. I would tell everyone I love that I love them, and I would thank them for the joy they’ve brought me. Then I would say goodbye.

If any writers inspire or influence you, who are they?

Some authors who inspire me are Arundhati Roy, Lois Lowry, Haruki Murakami, George Orwell, Kurt Vonnegut, Francesca Lia Block, Anthony Burgess, Gregory Maguire, Amy Hempel.

What kind of fiction can you not bring yourself to read and why?

I will not read fiction written by attic clowns. Not because the clowns don’t write good stories. They do. But they print their books using Smurf blood, and that just isn’t right.

I read "Those Below" from Love and Sacrifice and I absolutely loved it. Can you tell us what inspired you to write this story?

I’m glad you enjoyed the tale. I wrote “Those Below” because of the systemic and personal racism that saturates our world. In most stories, the zombies eat the people, but in “Those Below,” the people consume the zombies, in a metaphorical sense.

What can we expect from you next?

I’m working on a new novel, a middle grade book, a comic book series, a horror screenplay. There may also be a stage musical in the works, as well as a film based on one of my books. In addition to all this, I’m planning on forming a yard gnome choir and an attic clown Vaudeville act.

Teaser Tuesday

More of the "post apocalyptic-love story.” Please read and comment.


Those days were absolute, as vivid now to her as they had been the moment they began. She could still feel the ache of her muscles, the raw strain in her limbs from pulling her father away from the chaos and into the belly of their bunker.

She still saw his weak body dying as she held him in her lap, felt the rattle of gunfire and aggression above ringing into her senses. She still smelled the tang of blood on her hands as they wiped over her father’s wounded temple, still heard his voice harsh and stubborn as he made her promise to leave him, to leave for the mountains were she would be safe. She waited a week, long past the moment her father’s body had grown cold, before she managed to obey him.

Anissa walked away from the darkness of the night, pushing back the memories of the past. Ignoring the chill on her skin, she went into what had once been her kitchen, grabbing what remained of the dried meat she’d brought back with her, thankful for the meager comfort of her father’s home. She heard Harding stirring, and checked him for a fever, relieved to find his skin cool and dry. She pulled the thin blanket over his chest then sat down again, her feet dangling from the large, glassless window.

“It is still night?” he asked, his voice surprising Anissa. The silence had been so profound for so long, that his voice sounded abnormal to her, out of place. She nodded, answering him and attempted to help Harding as he struggled to sit next to her. His color was better and he smelled clean, like the calendula. They watched the moon dip and the fires in the horizon smoldering into thin plumes.

“Can you eat?” she asked, offering him the cold jerky in her hand. He smiled and Anissa tore it in half, turning away from him when their fingers touched.

The silence was something she’d never grown accustomed to. There were no birds, no crickets chirping their songs. All was still, soundless and black. Their new world seemed old and broken. She counted each breath she took and was reminded of her father, of the times they would watch the stars fading.

“My father is buried over there, beneath the ridge,” she said, giving flippant notice to the burn in her eyes.

Harding sat closer, his shoulder touching hers. “Was it the Guard?” he asked and she nodded, not able to find her voice. “I should have been here.”

“Yes,” she said, wiping her fingers against her jeans. “You should have.”

Was it good for you? Satisfying Endings

Tonight's scribechat focused on endings--those good and bad finales to books that you've invested your time, and for many of us, your emotional energy into reading.

Not everyone loves a cliff hanger. In fact, I'd say that many readers, yours truly included, feel cheated by an evil cliffie. But should satisfying the reader be the primary focus for a writer? I'd guess that answer is subjective, but for me it's two fold. Yes, you need to satisfy your reader. Yes, you want them to feel as though the time they've invested in your characters and their stories has not been an empty waste. However, you also want to tell the story you intended. You want to the plot to unfold, the characters to develop in the manner you envisioned. It is a slippery slope, this threading the line of happy reader/happy writer, but it is not an impossible one.

There have been books I've read that have left me unsatisfied. These occur mainly in series, so one can be forgiving if we know there is more to come. However, intentionally withholding information, deliberately starting a new conflict at the end of a book is just, to me, a pathetic little plot device.

In our chat tonight, Les Edgerton author of HOOKED: Write Fiction That Grabs Readers at Page One and Never Lets Them Go, gave us his two cents. (For more in-depth discussion see his guest blog post here). Essentially, and I'm being abrupt with this summary, Edgerton said that cheating the reader, is cheating yourself. "If you don't resolve the story problem, the reader is definitely cheated." The result of that could be loss of readership and in extreme cases, loss of credibility as a writer.

Plot devices, such as the horrid evil cliffie won't endear you to anyone, not really. Oh sure, you may find yourself attaining a larger, devoted reader base who will see no fault in your work, but how sincere are they? How do you know if you've just got a large group of fangirls and boys who'll read your grocery list?

To satisfy the reader and yourself, you have to straddle that line. Edgerton makes it quite simple: "Good writing provides the skeleton and the reader needs to do the work of providing the flesh...[a satisfying ending] should contain a win and a loss and not be tied up neatly." And, "good endings should surprise, but, upon reflection, make perfect sense."

Our 'real lives' consist of us constantly staying away from conflict, keeping a distance from drama, but in fiction, you need to seek it out. You need to "seek it out at every opportunity."

So be true to your vision. Tell the story you want to tell, but be cognizant of your ending. Don't cheat your readers out of their satisfying ending. Find the morsels of growth, the ending that doesn't come wrapped up in a big, red bow. There is no need for a 'happily ever after.' There is only the requirement of 'happily for now.'

Teaser Tuesday

More of what y'all read last week.

It was the smoke that gave him away. It billowed above his head, snaking up into the humidity of Sunday summer in The Quarter and made Mercy certain he’d been infected. She stood with her shoulder resting on the corner of the building, watching, near a dumpster that smelled of burnt fudge and week old crawfish.

The man was leaning against his arm, stretched out on the white brick of the building, his head was down, body tilted and sluggish. The back of his shirt stuck to his shoulders by a film of sweat and his short black hair looked like slick oil. He kept looking over his shoulder, scanning any passersby that came near him.

The smoke grew thicker, the color shifting between gray and white, as it shot out and floated above him like a crown. Mercy knew what would be next. First the smoke jutting out through flared nostrils, the nose elongating into a snout and then the sharp scales that grew on the face and spread to the neck, then the chest until it covered the body-- until the leaking spores of poison settled into the skin. It was their deadliest weapon, that poison, how they recruited, how they killed.

Why Place Matters

Could you imagine Harry Potter's world without Hogwarts? Would American Gods been as compelling if Shadow and Wednesday had been traveling unknown roads, unnamed places? Would Frodo and Sam's journey have been less dramatic if they hadn't crossed through Mordor?

Setting, whether it's the lush grounds of a private, magical boarding school or the vivid landscape of Americana, is, for many writers as important as conflict and climax.

Being reared, theoretically, by two great southern writers probably made me a bit biased. We southern writers are known for describing place-- those odd towns or small little cities that become essential in the progress of a story. For me, place is essential. Can you imagine a story set in New Orleans (let's say Williams' Streetcar) without the description of the hot, humid air or the sound and feel of streetcars lifting the hems of women as they walk by?

You see, setting puts your reader right in the thick of your story. Setting allows them to smell, hear, taste, feel and touch how dry the air is, how loud the trains are. Setting pulls readers from their snowy homes, huddled in front of a fireplace and forces them onto a beach, smelling the salt air, feeling the gentle spray of the tide.

The 'sense' of place influences writers. Think Faulkner and his 'A Rose for Emily.' Would Emily's attitudes been different had she not lived in Jefferson? Would her choices have been altered if she hadn't been under the constant scrutiny of her fellow townsmen?

Setting is more than just a town or city. It's much more than a home or place. Setting is time, it is the essential elements of home, whether that place is a prison or a paradise. Setting shows your readers your characters, their lives, their intentions, their way of life. In many regards, setting is the foundation on which your story is built. Without setting, there is simply plot-- a plot with no sense of purpose, no real connection.

Perhaps there are those of you that would disagree. I'm open to varying opinions. But for me when I write about alternative histories, unusual characters or mythical creatures, I know where they came from. I know what their childhoods were like, what they like to eat, what they do with their Friday nights. I know this, because I know where they got their starts. It's the where that allows me to draw attitudes, accents, opinions and intentions.

Setting simply is your story. It's the heart, the genesis of your character's life and, I think, that because it isn't all that far removed from any of our own realities, it's what makes your story alive.

What do you think? How is important is setting in your stories?

Teaser Tuesday

This is a really rough tease, something I wrote from a WIP not yet complete called "Death of Mercy"

Suggestions/edits are much encouraged!
Cheers



She felt the blade nip her breast, the raw tear of her skin breaking loose, her lungs filling before her knees sunk to crunch into the gravel. She heard the merciless sound of her thudding heart, the only sound loud and constant enough to drown out all others. In the images that skidded before her— the chaos of tussles surrounding them, lips cut and bloody, fists and knives thrown and stabbing— her eyes found him, stared into his, seeing not the indifference or flippancy, not the dark dilation of his pupil, but simply death, bidding his time, patient until the end, that confident grin telling her it was done.

He’d caught her, finally. Him, a spider, predatory and patient and she slipped into his funnel web like a willing insect, wrapped in the silky trap with little fight left in her.

There, at the finish, she found it almost funny, dying by her father’s hands. Perhaps not funny, she thought, but ironic, considering their situation. She only met him a year ago, a year to the day to be exact, but he’s known her, known of her, for a millennia.

Of course, the story doesn't start with Mercy dying. It truly started with the day she tried to kill August.

What Gives You the Urge?

Blatantly stealing this topic from Lia.

As my last 'non-Teaser Tuesday' post indicated, I wrote when I was younger. Okay, I wrote badly and some would argue that I write only marginally better today, but nonetheless, I've always written. I've been thinking a lot about my writing history this week. I was trying to remember where this inclination came from-- what made me sit down one day with pencil in hand and just write. Sadly, experiences in the aforementioned wasted, slacker, bad decisions youth relieved me of many brain cells and, for the life of me, I cannot remember when I first began to write. If memory serves, (even poorly), I was always doodling or writing down some odd character or line throughout my childhood.

I do remember who my first influence was, however. It was my mom. I recall having a Halloween poem to finish, some stupid time wasting assignment in my Reading class and I just didn't 'get' poetry. Thankfully, she did and she sat down like a woman possessed to finish the assignment for me. (That was the only time she did that...she was certainly a 'I'm not doing your homework for you' sort of mom). In any event, I watched in fascination as she scribbled on that thin piece of paper and wrote and wrote and wrote until she was satisfied. It was a funny little story and I remember thinking, "that was so cool."

As I got older, my writing experience shifted to very poorly (rhyming no less :P) pubsecent, emo poetry. I outlined a lot. I have boxes filled with notebook of WIPs or story ideas that will likely never be written. It wasn't until I was in college, much older than that sad little teenager, that I actually completed a story. For a grade. On a deadline. It was terrible, but still I did it and I like think I've gotten better, that I am no longer a slave to my emotions, rather, a slave to the muse.

Now I write because I must, because all those years of procrastination and letting my emotions force me into stories that were veiled attempts at exorcising my demons, have cultivated me, have changed me. I write because my characters want their stories told. I write because it's who I am, who I was always meant to be. I write because if I didn't, little else in my life would satisfy me. Now, I'm not speaking poorly about the relationships I have with others. I'm talking about the relationship I have with myself--the utter desperation that seems to be innately a part of every artistic person...that need to create.

So, my urge comes from two places, really:

1. From those loud little buggers that shout in my mind "tell everyone about us"

2. And from that part of me, the part that is likely akin to your own, that makes the sky green, creates worlds that are foreign and frightening and brilliant-- the same one that allows you to see what others cannot, the one some call imagination, some call the inner artist.

If I didn't have either of the above, I honestly don't know what I'd do with myself. To tell the truth, even thinking on that is the scariest thing I could imagine.

What about you? Where does your urge to write, to create come from?