by John Shirley
I often think of SF and Fantasy as this jumble shop of ideas to be examined, reused, appropriated, and returned—a commons, if you will. Your thoughts on the copyright/commons debate. Should music be free? What about literature?
I’m a person who makes a living from intellectual property. I have an album—mostly songs, not readings—that came out in January 2013, from Black October Records. So I don’t leap headlong into Creative Commons for books and music.
Having said that, I do think it’s possible to worry too much about, say, free music downloading. South Park made fun of Metallica: the poor Metallica musician had to buy a slightly smaller private jet because of music piracy! Well, I don’t have a private jet but I don’t like it when The Crow (I was co-scripter for the movie) is pirated, as I get money from DVD sales.
And yet my son has almost convinced me that there’s room for it all. For example, a lot of artists put free stuff up on YouTube to publicize their work. If you offer a song free, people will buy your album. I have some of my short stories free at my blog in hopes of encouraging people to buy books.
Tell us about your work with Blue Öyster Cult. Was this a natural fit?
I wrote lyrics for them—eighteen songs. BOC is “the thinking man’s hard rock band.” Their music is intricate, their lyrics vary between deliberately ironic and chilling. They often used horror and science fiction imagery, stuff that had the resonance of Lovecraft or Bradbury. They had a vision of a dark underlying reality behind the accepted human world, and I identified with that point of view. You find something like that in the shadowy organizations behind a futuristic neofascism in A Song Called Youth, my cyberpunk trilogy—even though I tend to disdain conspiracy theories.
And in fact my first novel is called Transmaniacon, which is the name of a Blue Öyster Cult song. In my rather jejune way I dedicated it to them and to Patti Smith (who also wrote lyrics for the Blue Öyster Cult—as did Michael Moorcock). The band was aware of me because of the book, and many years later I got the invitation to write lyrics for them. And jumped at it.
The Crow has a dark history. What was your share in all that?
I found the comic, which was obscure, took it to a producer who optioned it (attaching me as screenwriter). It’s not an accident the comic was movie-like, since James O’Barr, the creator of The Crow, was into Japanese samurai films. I wrote the first four drafts of the script but didn’t get along with one of the producers.
I wanted to have a ruthless corporate scumbag be the main bad guy in The Crow, but the producer I had the runin with came from a family that owned a big corporation. He insisted on changing it, I argued with him, and soon I was out. They brought David Schow in for a rewrite, and he did fine. So Schow and I share the credit.
Obviously the real shadow on The Crow was the death of its star, Brandon Lee, during filming. Just an accident, something stuck in the barrel of a prop gun, and a powerful blank shell … but it could have been avoided. The movie was mostly done when he died, and they paid a settlement, then finished the film in post, and it was a hit. All in all it was a good movie, seething with stylistic originality, because despite the tragic accident, it had the right director, Alex Proyas.
Any movie projects in the works? There were rumors about Demons …
My novel Demons has been optioned a few times. The Weinstein brothers optioned and reoptioned it, and they had a director attached, and a script. But then the recession hit, and the Weinsteins almost went broke. They had to ditch most of their film projects and refinance, so the film was dropped.
But there’s interest, still. Demons is a nightmarish novel, with spiritual overtones, having to do with demons invading Earth the way hostile extraterrestrials do in other tales. And it’s an allegory about how far industry is willing to go in sacrificing innocent people for the sake of profits …
Your nonfiction book on Gurdjieff shows not only an understanding but a sort of affinity. How did this project come about?
It was the product of fifteen some-odd years of intense reading in spirituality and philosophy. People like Alan Watts and Aldous Huxley and William James and Meister Eckhart and Lao Tzu and Ramakrishna and Emerson and Thoreau. Zen writers like Shunryu Suzuki. Sufism, Christian mysticism, certain forms of Gnosticism—even old C.S. Lewis. In philosophy, Plato (the Timaeus dialogue), Spinoza …
Then I read an interview with Jacob Needleman about Gurdjieff’s ideas on the human condition. And I felt, yeah, that’s right! Needleman’s book Time and the Soul had a great influence on my thinking. So I became a student of Needleman and, through him, of Gurdjieff. Essentially, Gurdjieff says that we’re all psychological machines; that we’re asleep when we think we’re awake. But even though we are unconscious, there are moments of freedom and liberation. And it’s possible to develop something inwardly that can be freer yet, and more conscious.
Me, I wanted practical results. I didn’t want to jabber about spirituality. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be in command of myself—I’d been such a bull in a china shop, in my life! Most of all I wanted to be more conscious. How could I get there, practically speaking? The Gurdjieff Foundation provided specific methods. To my astonishment, the methods really helped. I am not conscious, but I can see the signposts to a fuller consciousness.
So when Penguin gave me the chance to do a serious book on the subject, an intro to Gurdjieff’s life and ideas, I jumped at it.
But while I’m influenced by Gurdjieff, and use his methods, I’m influenced by Zazen methodology too, and by the teachings of Krishnamurti. Yet it’s not a vague mishmash. I am focused on a specific methodology, one you find in all the greatest metaphysical traditions, when you get to their inner, esoteric circle.
You have strong connections in cyberpunk, in underground comics, and in rock music. How did this come about? Does it all still fit together?
It overlaps more than fits together. Frank Zappa influenced underground comics; underground comics—for example, the work of Paul Mavrides and Jay Kinney and [Victor] Moscoso and Spain Rodriguez—influenced me, and so did Zappa and so did Captain Beefheart and so did King Crimson … and so did composers like Stravinsky and Varèse, for that matter. And Penderecki.
Groups as diverse as Blue Öyster Cult, the Rolling Stones, the Sisters of Mercy, Hawkwind, the Velvet Underground, artists like Jimi Hendrix, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop, John Lydon … they were all voracious readers. Most of them had read the better science fiction. Patti Smith was especially influenced by Baudelaire and Verlaine, as I was. And people in that scene had an appreciation for filmmakers like Fellini, like Kubrick, like Roeg …
Somehow it all made up a counterculture to the counterculture. We were outside the counterculture per se; we were our own underground counterculture, and it all overlapped.
Which do you like better, writing for TV or for comics (leaving aside the money)?
I’ve only written for comics once: a five-issue mini series for IDW: The Crow: Death and Rebirth, which is a sort of reboot of The Crow set in Japan (and in Japanese Buddhist hell). It was a good experience in some ways, frustrating in others, but I got my story told. It’s out in a graphic novel now.
So I haven’t had that much experience with comics. But it wasn’t as committee-oriented, in terms of the writing, as television. You’re always filtered through producers and executives, “suits,” in TV and movies. Few people get to be auteurs. I’m still waiting for my first really satisfying film or TV writing experience. I had a bit more artistic freedom writing the comic.
Do you have a daily routine as writer? A certain bow tie, an heirloom chair, a time or word-count quota? (People like to know these things.)
So you know about the bow tie and the chair? Well, it’s true: I tie a bow on a chair, and then the chair tells me what to write.
Beyond that, I try not to get up too late in the day, I try not to spend too much time online, and I usually end up writing from about noon till three. I take a break, then write till dinner. If I’m writing a w
ork-for-hire piece I assign myself a certain number of pages per day. If I’m writing out of my own wellspring of inspiration, which naturally I prefer, I try to write at least five pages. Sometimes it will be more. Thank God for revision. I often start the writing day by revising what I wrote the previous day to get into the swing of the narrative.
That’s fiction. Nonfiction, of course, I write nude, on my roof (in all weathers), wearing a balloon-animal hat.
What are you reading right now for fun?
Are we allowed to read for fun? I usually read biographies or historical fiction, at this time in my life. Now reading 1356 by Bernard Cornwell. I’m also a big fan of Patrick O’Brian and tend to reread him. I like reading something that edifies me and entertains me at the same time. Guilt free!
Did you learn anything useful from your stint in the Coast Guard?
Sure. I learned that I had a hell of a lot to learn. I learned that I was a clumsy, fairly absurd, loutish young snot. I learned respect for men who risk their lives to rescue people, too. It was all a bit like Kipling’s Captains Courageous, but I didn’t pull it off as well as his snotty boy did.
There is a persistent theme in your work: the battle between the young and the old. The good guys being usually the young. Has this changed over the years?
Not entirely. Over the years, I’ve accrued more understanding of elders, and of some traditions. But of course lots of traditions are vile and need to be dumped. Racism is traditional, customary in some places—a thing being customary doesn’t make it good.
You will of course find more older people in my novels now that I’ve grown up. But when reediting earlier books I find I still connect with most of the writing. My A Song Called Youth (I think of it as one novel, and it is—in the Prime Books omnibus) was titled that because I knew, even back then, that youth has its own point of view. And it’s all relative.
A reader described Everything Is Broken, your anti-libertarian thriller, as Atlas Shrugged turned on its head (a contortionist metaphor worthy of Cirque du Soleil!). What inspired that work?
Ugh, I hate to be compared to Ayn Rand at all. If it’s on its head, it’s because my thinking is the opposite of Ayn Rand’s. What inspired the book was a reaction against Randian thinking, against Libertarianism, against the Tea Party. Everything Is Broken is a crime novel/disaster novel fusion that, underlyingly, is also an allegory about the value of community and the need to fight back against the Ayn Rands out there.
How would you describe your politics?
While I can see some virtue in some selfishness, and I believe in independent thinking and constantly critiquing government, I think we still have a profound need for a well-organized, democratic, centralized government. I have a streak of socialist in me, but I believe in a free market modified by regulation; capitalism modified by, for example, socialized medicine, social safety nets. It’s not a choice between government and anarchy. It’s about allowing some space for the anarchic in a structured society.
I’d like to see Elizabeth Warren run for president. We need a woman president next time. Hopefully, if it’s not Warren, our woman president will be a progressive Independent, or a Democrat.
What was your intro to Left politics?
I think seeing the photos of the My Lai massacre, when I was a boy, influenced me to ask: What the hell is going on? Those grim, grisly color photos of murdered women and children radicalized me. Years later my radicalization was moderated by experiences on the street, back when I was a drug user. I came to appreciate a properly run police force.
Looking at history, I see some social progress—like the end of legal slavery and the beginning of empowering women. The rise of unions helped establish the middle class. Some of that’s been undone, but the fight goes on. I appreciate the Occupy movement. It didn’t have a clear message but no one else was doing anything that honest. Some of those people will in time develop a more effective political movement, and I’ll welcome it.
What do you find most frustrating about the Left? Is the Right right about anything?
I find kneejerk political correctness frustrating; I find the Left’s self-righteousness and lack of pragmatism frustrating. And the sheer cynicism of many who were on the Left and now just shrug and sneer—that, too, I find frustrating.
I think we need conservatives. It’s a kind of thesis, antithesis, synthesis thing, and we need them to push back against us, within reason. But you know, even conservatives get “progressive” after a while. Few of them would consider taking the vote from women. They digested that much social evolution. They have digested some degree of environmentalism—and now in the age of global warming they’re getting a real schooling.
And conservatives are correct that unions can be exploitative, and too expensive for a community if they become greedy. Only, that shouldn’t mean getting rid of unions—it should mean modifying unions, a bit. It doesn’t justify the kind of union-busting on a state level we’re seeing now, in places like Michigan.
What do you mean by “reverse terraforming”?
Turning the habitable world into an uninhabitable world through world war or environmental irresponsibility. Like global warming.
Do you think writers have a particular social responsibility? What is it, then?
I only know that I personally have a sense of social responsibility—yet as a writer I also feel another kind of responsibility: to entertain. It’s a balance. Dickens was powerfully entertaining—but he sure made his point, and a sharp, penetrating point it was. There were actual social reforms prodded into being by his novels. Steinbeck, Upton Sinclair—more than once, novelists have prompted reforms.
Yes, I know, we’ve gotten stuck with Fox News now, and the Citizens United decision, the Koch brothers. We’re in danger of falling into a corporatist dictatorship. But we’re not there yet, and books like Brave New World and 1984 and Fahrenheit 451 have helped. So did books like Catch-22. Solzhenitsyn schooled us about the excesses of USSR-style communism. Uncle Tom’s Cabin helped end slavery. Novels can be our social conscience.
Have you ever collaborated with anybody besides E.A. Poe? How did it work out?
The Poe collaboration was just finishing an unfinished story by him, in an anthology called Poe’s Lighthouse. I hope he approves of my collaborative efforts but I haven’t heard from him. Yet.
I’ve also collaborated on stories with Rudy Rucker, William Gibson, Marc Laidlaw, and Bruce Sterling. That’s good shit, man.
Ever been attacked by wild monkeys?
Oh, you laugh. We’ll likely all be attacked by them, and other tropical creatures, as global warming chases them north! The worst will be the diseases, though. Say hello to tsetse flies, Montana.
You wrote of drones (in A Song Called Youth, if I remember correctly) long before they flew into the consciousness of the public. Do you ever worry that the CIA is mining your books for ideas?
I was recently told by someone that he gave the early version of those novels (I’ve since revised and updated them) to people high in the U.S. military in the early ’90s. However, I refuse to apologize to al-Qaeda.
The military has confessed to mining ideas from Star Trek and Arthur Clarke and Larry Niven. In A Song Called Youth the drones are basically a tool of the oppressors. The heroes of the novels are the resistance to a corporatist neofascist theocracy—and drones represent danger. And some of that’s coming true.
But I think drones can be used legitimately. Sometimes. Better get used to them. Police forces are buying them up.
What kind of car do you drive? (I ask this of everyone.)
A Toyota Echo on its last legs, if it had legs. I want to get a Chevy Volt next.
There’s a legend that you introduced William Gibson to SF. True?
The legend has it backward. I introduced science fiction to Gibson. He was already a reader of SF (and a great deal more). He had already published one piece in an obscure SF zine called UnEarth. I showed his unpublished stories to the editors
of OMNI, and to Terry Carr. Carr later bought his novel Neuromancer.
But what really “introduced” Gibson was his excellence as a writer. When I read his stories I was immediately impressed by his wit and the beginning of what was to be a kind of literary mastery. It was like hearing Eric Clapton play guitar for the first time. “Yeah, man, he can play.”
Do you prefer writing short stories or novels? Does one ever morph into the other?
I have shamelessly woven short stories into novels for years and have developed novellas, like Demons, into novels. You bet. I’m a pro, that’s one thing pros do. No, “pro” there is not short for prostitute, it’s short for professional.
R.A. Lafferty? Ayn Rand? Rudy Rucker? Hunter Thompson? Each in one sentence please.
Lafferty had an incomparable originality in his way of looking at the world, which showed me that good science fiction didn’t have to be science-based. Ayn Rand ended her life on welfare. Rudy Rucker is a lead guitarist of ideas. Hunter Thompson was a huge talent who perhaps influences some writers too much.
Do you listen to music when you write?
I typically do, as it seems to soak up distractions, for me at least, and it creates atmosphere and even conveys energy—but it has to be music of a certain order. The lyrics can’t be out in front or on top; I can’t be listening to Dylan while writing or I’ll start writing Dylanesquely. Instrumental music works if it has the right feel—if it feels like the “soundtrack” of what I’m writing. I can also listen to certain bands where the lyrics don’t intrude. Mostly they don’t intrude because they’re embedded in a wall of sound. Like Motörhead, for example, or the Stooges’ Funhouse album. Rammstein is ideal because it’s high energy, the right mood, and the lyrics aren’t distracting because they’re mostly in German so they’re just sounds to me.
