Your novel Damned features a really devastating satire of these do-gooder movie stars. Is that all in good fun, or are you genuinely appalled by people like that?
I’m more or less appalled by people who preach ecological awareness but have lifestyles that consume so many resources. When we were at Sundance, in Park City, Utah, for the launch of the Choke movie, I was always struck by the hundreds and hundreds of Lincoln Navigators that were lined up everywhere and constantly running, so that they would be warm when the celebrities came out of whatever the venue was, and all these Lincoln Navigators, burning all this gas, lined up for miles, all had “No Blood for Oil” bumper stickers. And that was just such a shocking, horrible hypocrisy.
Part of the inspiration for my book Tell All is that every really beautiful, fantastically groomed actress had a kind of doughty, dumpy, very plain assistant, or team of assistants, who would act as this kind of remote support, and always traveled a dozen feet behind this beautiful object that they maintained, and at any moment when the object was disturbed, this team would rush forward and intensely groom it, and restore it to its perfection, and then they would immediately remove themselves from its vicinity so that they would never be photographed with it, and that was just amazing to watch.
How did you feel about the film adaptations of Fight Club and Choke changing the endings of the books?
I didn’t mind. That’s part of the bargain. If they’re going to put that much money and energy and time into the story, I think they should have some freedom to interpret and adapt the story. But I thought it was interesting that both movies cut out the third act scene in which the hero is completely humiliated and subjugated before his peer group, and I have to wonder if there’s some aspect of moviemaking culture that can’t allow itself to experience that kind of public humiliation.
Speaking of Fight Club, there’s an interesting story you tell on the DVD commentary about Marla’s famous line … ?
When I wrote the scene where Tyler and Marla wake up together, my first thought was, “What is the most romantic thing that Marla could say, the most sentimental thing?” And that would be “I want to have your baby.” And so, being Marla, she had to say the opposite. So it was just by formula, she had to say, “I want to have your abortion.” So that’s what went into the book. But everyone hated that line. Even Brad Pitt came to the producers and said, “My mother is going to see this movie, and my mother is going to be so offended by that line.” So everyone wanted to change it, and they floated a lot of different versions, and I think Fincher finally came up with “I haven’t been fucked like that since grade school.” And when he shot it that way, Laura Ziskin, the producer, went nuts and said, “Change it back, for the love of god.” And Fincher was so thrilled that he had come up with something worse that that’s what he went with.
And Brad Pitt’s mom was okay with that one?
I have no idea. You know, I think by that point it had been such a drawn-out process that it was kind of a line in the sand. This is what we’re going to go with. We got rid of the thing that you hated; you got something you hated more, so just be careful what you complain about in the future.
Your story “Knock Knock” is about a boy who grows up with his dad always telling these horrible jokes. Where did all those jokes come from?
I think I learned all those jokes in second grade. Second grade is really where they tell you those horrific jokes, racist jokes and misogynistic jokes that you have no idea what they mean, and you just memorize them because they have a very strong effect, they make people laugh in this kind of nervous, horrible way, and it’s only later that you realize that you’ve got a head full of crap.
At your recent appearances you start things off with an anecdote about an oncologist. Could you talk about that?
Earlier this summer I was at a charity dinner, and I was seated across the table from an oncologist—a cancer specialist. He was telling this funny story—what he considered a funny story—about sitting on an airplane drinking a glass of wine, and the woman next to him starts talking to him, and she’s saying how much she loves wine, and how much she’d love a glass of wine, and she used to drink a glass of wine every night. Only recently every time she started to drink wine she’d feel this fantastic sharp pain at the base of her throat, and she had decided, she was explaining to this doctor, that God doesn’t want her to drink wine anymore, because she feels this pain every time she drinks wine, or beer, or any kind of alcohol. And so this doctor drinking his wine sitting next to her on the plane says, “Ma’am, that’s not God. That’s what they call a ‘canary indicator,’ like a canary in a coal mine, and when you feel a sharp burning pain at the base of your throat like that anytime you drink even the smallest amount of alcohol, that is an undeniable symptom that you have Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.” And he gave her his card and said, “Give your doctor my card, and have him call me, because I think you have Stage IV Hodgkin’s, and you’ll probably die very soon.” And he said the woman on the plane suddenly wasn’t as chatty. And within a few days this woman’s doctor called him and said, “Well, you were right, you hit the nail on the head, she has Hodgkin’s … and you could have been a little less of a prick about telling her.”
Was that a thing where he told that story and instantly you were like, “Oh yeah, I’m using that on the book tour”?
I knew I would use it, because it was such an extraordinary, sad, funny little story, but I wasn’t sure exactly what the metaphor demonstrated. And then I saw how I could use it to illustrate the metaphor that I like to talk about with stories. A good story should change the way you see the world. After you hear even the shortest great story, it should fill you with a little bit of fear. Because now whenever I drink, and from now on whenever you drink, you’ll wait for a little pain. Every sip of alcohol you’ll think, “Am I going to die? Do I have Hodgkins?” And when you don’t feel that pain, the combination of the fear and the alcohol will make you feel better than you ever felt before. And that’s how a good story works. It changes how you feel. It brings you to a greater appreciation, a greater joy, of your own existence.
Any other new or upcoming projects you want to mention?
I’m working on the next two books that come after Damned, so it’s going to be three books ultimately. And working on the two stories that will make people forget “Guts.”
Any idea when those stories will be revealed?
They’re definitely tour stories. Something that Tom really taught us was reading our work out loud, and so every week in workshop whatever you brought, whether it was a scene or a story or a chapter, you had to read it out loud to people, so you would get the spontaneous feedback of laughter or shock. You would get that completely uncensored feedback of an audience, and so every time I have to tour I write a story specifically for reading out loud, and that’s what “Guts” started as, and so these stories really won’t exist until the next tour, because that’s when I’ll need something to read out loud.
And the next tour will be?
2013, if I can help it.
The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy is a science fiction/fantasy talk show podcast. It is hosted by:
John Joseph Adams, in addition to serving as editor of Lightspeed, is the bestselling editor of many anthologies, such as Under the Moons of Mars: New Adventures on Barsoom, Brave New Worlds, Wastelands, The Living Dead, The Living Dead 2, By Blood We Live, Federations, The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and The Way of the Wizard. In 2011, he was a finalist for two Hugo Awards and two World Fantasy Awards. Forthcoming anthologies include: Armored (April, Baen), Epic (Fall 2012, Tachyon), and The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination (2013, Tor). Find him on Twitter @johnjosephadams.
David Barr Kirtley has published fiction in magazines such as Realms of Fantasy, Weird Tales, Lightspeed, Intergalactic Medicine Show, On Spec, and Cicada, and in anthologies such as New Voices in Science Fiction, Fantasy: The Best of the Year, and The Dragon Done It. Recently he’s contributed stories to se
veral of John Joseph Adams’s anthologies, including The Living Dead, The Living Dead 2, and The Way of the Wizard. He’s attended numerous writing workshops, including Clarion, Odyssey, Viable Paradise, James Gunn’s Center for the Study of Science Fiction, and Orson Scott Card’s Writers Bootcamp, and he holds an MFA in screenwriting and fiction from the University of Southern California. He also teaches regularly at Alpha, a Pittsburgh-area science fiction workshop for young writers. He lives in New York.
Artist Gallery
David Wyatt
Artist Spotlight: David Wyatt
J. T. Glover
David Wyatt is an English artist specializing in illustration, including both F/SF and children’s books, as well as concept and character work. He has illustrated tales by many well-known authors, including Diana Wynne Jones, Terry Pratchett, Philip Pullman, and J. R. R. Tolkien, among others. He uses many different media for art and exercises his creativity in all sorts of forms. Residing in Devon, he is a known wanderer of moors.
The scene depicted in “Fever Crumb” has the kind of apocalyptic feel that one would expect for prequels to Philip Reeve’s Mortal Engines books. Can you talk about how you chose the elements that came together to accomplish that?
The original U.K. edition was designed as a double cover; the idea was the viewer was in the cockpit of a wheeled contraption looking at the scene through a porthole. When the cover was opened, the whole picture was revealed. This meant I had to choose a strong central image as a focus, which would work in circular frame as well as the double page “reveal.” Once I read Fever Crumb it was fairly obvious to me that the balloon rising from the massive head was the way to go—it provided an unusual, dramatic focus with the opportunity to expand the scene with a stormy, post-apocalyptic landscape. I was aware that the original Mortal Engines quartet would be reissued in a similar fashion, which is why I focused on machines and landscape rather than characters, as I felt that might be restrictive further down the line due to the constraints of the initial design. Philip is very visual in his storytelling, so it’s always easy to find something striking in his books that I can work with.
You work with many different media, though you’ve said elsewhere that you’ve moved to your Mac for a lot of work these days. How much choice do you have in that when starting a project for a new client, and what’s your favorite?
I’ve never had a client specify a medium before, so it’s really my choice, although time constraints dictate nearly all my book covers are done digitally these days. It’s not so much the initial creation that is the problem—it’s the alterations one is required to make because of marketing, last minute format changes, etc. Right now my favourite way of working is with pen and ink and watercolour, but that’s mostly for my own pleasure. As yet, I’ve not had the opportunity to produce images in this style commercially; they’re not really “in your face” enough for book covers.
What draws so many creative people to live in Devon? You talk some on your website about the history of the area, but what do you find there that comes nowhere else?
Well, I’m sure there are lots of places around the world that have a similar magic. For me, Dartmoor is at once strange and familiar, possibly because some of the art that inspired me as a kid was created by people who live here. There’s a curious mix of cosiness and otherworldliness. It’s as though lots of different times exist at once. Plus, there’re a lot of mossy rocks and twisty trees and mist, which I never get tired of drawing.
What’s the most common flaw you see in the work of novice illustrators?
Not so much a flaw, just a perfectly natural lack of experience/confidence, which I recognize as I had it too. When you first start out, it can be difficult to change things if asked, as you tend to have given your all to make one image the best you can. I used to find it hard to come up with an acceptable plan B, but it’s a lot easier now…
What sort of sparks must exist in a scene for it to lend itself readily to illustration?
I think the best illustrators can make even a mundane scene interesting. For example, a simple image of someone sitting on a chair can convey a multitude of feelings with use of lighting, body posture, perspective, etc. For me, it varies greatly depending on the context of the illustration. A book cover tends to demand a powerful, instantly readable image, so I will be looking for drama, atmosphere and strong shapes in the basic design. For interior illustrations, it depends on what mood I’m trying to achieve, be it amusing or serious, intimate or epic. Of course, you often have to choose a subject according to how much space is available on the page—there’s no point trying to show a gigantic spaceship looming over a city if there’s only inches to play with—best to show a couple of stunned faces looking skywards (as an example).
You’ve illustrated the works of numerous major fantasy authors, and your visions have been seen by millions of readers. What can top that for you? What would be your golden assignment?
I don’t really have any ambitions—when I was younger I quite liked the idea of putting my own stamp on various classics, but these days I much prefer working with new characters and creating their own worlds and mythologies. It’s partly cowardice; a lot of the classics have been illustrated so well it can be quite difficult to find a way of bringing something fresh and worthwhile to a new version.
What do you make of current trends toward more purely CG approaches to book covers, as opposed to traditional or hybrid approaches?
Book covers are predominantly adverts, tools to catch a potential buyer’s eye, and as such they will be subject to the fashions of the day. It’s perfectly natural, so I don’t have a problem with it. I tend to be impressed by strong design, whether it’s a scratchy charcoal drawing or photo-manipulation. When I first started out in the early nineties, I think I got work because I brought a simple, dynamic look to covers, due to my early love of comics. At the time, lots of children’s book covers were well-painted scenes from the story; I went for a kind of movie poster/graphic novel look.
You talk on your website about your musical past, and about how learning to play the guitar during art school was invaluable. Do you still play, and how does creativity in other areas influence or bleed into your other work?
Yes, I still play a lot; in a band, and recording my own stuff. I also do Argentinian Tango, which is another way of working with music. They are all creative (dancing, playing and drawing), but in distinctly different ways, like you are going up the same mountain from three different directions, each with their own challenges and rewards.
What projects are you working on right now?
I have a few things on the go—The Spook’s Blood, by Joseph Delaney, which is part of a long-running series (the first book, Spook’s Apprentice, is coming out as a film called Seventh Son next year). For younger children I’m illustrating Ice Spell, the third in the Frogspell series. Also at the moment I’m doing some character designs and concepts for a film; I’ve been having trouble visualizing things from multiple angles, so I’ve been making Sculpey models to help out, which is great fun.
What do you enjoy most about the modeling, and how has it affected your painting style?
I don’t normally make models, partly because of time constraints, but also because I don’t like using too much reference. I tend to draw things from my imagination; sometimes I’ll need a bit of help, like folds in clothes, or how light falls on hair in specific ways; in which case I might use reference for small areas that help sell the image. Because I often use a lot of dynamic perspective, I sometimes take snaps of myself from odd angles so I can check how the anatomy is working, etc.
The last model I made prior to the one I’m currently working on was Captain Nemo’s Nautilus (for Oceanology). I had to do a cutaway diagram of the interior, so I needed to know exactly how the ship might be constructed. The model I’m working on at the moment is of an unusual character, which will probably be made as a puppet, so I need to think more in three-dimensional terms as opposed to
a one-off painting. You can breathe life into an idea quite quickly with clay; I find it fun because it reminds me of being a kid messing around with Plasticine …
J. T. Glover has published fiction, non-fiction, and poetry in Dark Recesses and Underground Voices, among other venues. Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, he currently resides in Richmond, Virginia with his wife and a not inconsiderable number of aquatic friends. By day he is an academic reference librarian specializing in the Humanities.
Her Words Like Hunting Vixens Spring
Brooke Bolander
The first fox to come clawing up and out of her throat is a sleek gray thing with enormous ears and eyes like drops of crude. Rosa opens her mouth to belch—she doesn’t give a good goddamn about being ladylike at this point, when the desert has cracked her lips to the texture of dried clay and the only other person around to hear is her horse—and all of the sudden she’s tasting musk and spitting fur and something big is scratching its way free of her gullet. The pain is lightning sear and cactus spine. She tumbles off Santiago’s back and crumples in the sand, dark spots exploding behind her eyelids.
The fox shoulders and wriggles from between her jaws, first the whiskery, pointed muzzle and then all the rest. Finally free, it shakes its sodden coat and shoots Rosa a disgusted look. It wraps its tail around its paws and sets to grooming itself dry, for all the world like some mouser caught in a rainstorm. Rosa watches in glaze-eyed wonder. She can’t think straight. Her brains are still vibrating slightly from shock and hurt.
When she finally wobbles back to her feet, the first thing she does is fish the empty patent medicine bottle from the bottom of her leftmost saddlebag, pushing past two waterskins, a fiddle case, and a faded tintype of her brothers. There’s a drawing of a dandy with a waxed mustache on the label, and a long list of ailments the wondrous stuff inside is supposed to cure. Rosa examines the flask from top to bottom, but there’s no mention of potential side effects printed anywhere, nothing about ague or addiction or (surprise) spontaneously hacking up full-grown foxes. No question about it, then. It’s a genuine miracle, just like she asked the bruja for. An inexplicable, painful miracle, with no use whatsoever in her hunt.
Lightspeed Magazine Issue 21 Page 11
