Author: Caleb J. Ross

“Be warned; this collection will polarize audiences, splitting readers according to their willingness to trust in an untethered voice. Sheep and Wolves does not believe in beach reading or in hammocks and hot chocolate. It does not believe in love at first sight or in happy marriages. To be happy, Sheep and Wolves says, is to embrace the absurd. “Lies are cheaper than therapy” [pg. 69].

Welcome to the bizarro fiction movement, hail Jeremy C. Shipp.”

[from the Oxyfication.net review of Sheep and Wolves]

The following interview took place via email between 7 September 2008 and 21 September 2008. Why email? I’m afraid of the man.

Your first authored book, a novel titled Vacation, was published in 2007 by Raw Dog Screaming Press. Sheep and Wolves, your follow up short story collection, is set for a December 2008 release by the same publisher. Aside from the forms themselves (short stories vs. novel) what is different with Sheep and Wolves, and how does that difference reflect you as an evolved writer?

In my skull, the two books are related, but not so much so that their children would be born with webbed toes and a tail. Not that there’s anything wrong with mutations. Mutations make the world go round, as the saying goes.

Anyway, Vacation is an exploration of twisted power dynamics on a global scale, while Sheep and Wolves examines the horrors of disrespect and abuse on a smaller scale. To me, this sort of intimacy makes Sheep and Wolves much darker than its distant cousin. Because now, the darkness isn’t just invading your planet. It’s invading your homes, your dreams, your lives.

That sort of intimacy is something I picked up on immediately, and with a great sense of satisfaction. But even though the stories are contained within a more personal environment, the collection still manages to explore large, perhaps universal, issues.

Many of your stories for example feel like a form of social commentary, or even a creative manifesto. “American Sheep” is one of the more straightforward of these story types, first addressing the manual laborer’s life of oppression, then offering the idea of acceptance as a possible cure for that oppression. Radical ideas to be sure. First, is it fair to look at this story as the opinion of the author? And if so, do you fear these ideas loosing relevance as you inevitably change as a person?

When I write a story, there are two aspects of this new reality I focus my attention on. The emotional/psychological reality of the characters, and the systemic forces that influence the world around them. And so, the horrors I write about tend to be both personal and systemic.

My basic political viewpoint: almost every aspect of civilization horrifies me. Therefore, my stories are based on very personal, emotional reactions—to things like racism/sexism/exploitation/oppression/etc. Writing about my disgust and dread (and finding some threads of hope in this world) is both therapeutic and empowering. Plus, I just love writing stories.

“American Sheep” is indeed a reaction to real-life societal horrors, although I wouldn’t say that I support the main character’s opinions on how to deal with oppression. I understand my character, psychologically. Some people resign themselves to abuse, because they’ve been taught to submit to authority their whole lives. For some people, submission is a (tragic and soul-shattering) defense mechanism.

So in the end, the ideas my characters present aren’t my ideas. With Sheep and Wolves, I wanted to create a collection filled with people who react to power and rationalize their actions in a myriad of ways. And as their stories are told, the real villains begin to show themselves. The true villains, to me, are systems and ideas.

In your interview with Jennifer Prado, you say that you like to “create layers of meanings, with complex interactions. That’s how [you] see the world, so that’s how [you] write.” This seems to suggest that your writing is a representation of reality rather than an attempt to understand it. Do you see any of your work as a search for answers rather than as a depiction of questions?

To me, the best way to find an answer is to thoroughly explore the question. For instance, I could ask the question: “Why do serial killers exist?” And there are some easy answers out there. “They’re aberrations,” or “they’re screwed up in the head.” But this isn’t really the kind of answer I’m looking for. Once I start exploring the question, then I realize that what I’m really asking is: “Why do serial killers exist? Why are there more serial killers in the US than anywhere else in the world? What societal ideas help form their perspectives? Where does the notion of dominance as power come from? Who benefits from this idea?” And so on.

Ultimately, I find that by creating representations of reality (even twisted funhouse mirror representations) that make sense to me, I can more clearly see the interactions between ideas and resources and rationalizations. In other words, I can see a bit of the truth.

Now, of course, I am waiting for a story addressing the converse of your example above: why are we not all serial killers?

I actually have a new novel in the works called Cursed, which delves deep into the serial killer phenomenon.

And maybe, in a sense, we are all serial killers. By participating in certain aspects of our civilized society, we indirectly murder all sorts of living beings. Humans included.

Anything more you can give us about Cursed?

Cursed is my first full-length novel since Vacation. The setting is modern day America, and it’s about a group of characters who band together and attempt to deal with very weird problems. The plot is strange, dark and interesting (to me, anyway), but it’s really the characters who make the book what it is. I’m very fond of these imaginary people, and I almost hate to finish the book, because then I’ll have to say goodbye (unless I write a sequel—but I don’t usually write sequels). Since I’m only a few chapters away from the end, the novel could potentially be published in 2009.

By creating this alternate representation of reality that you mention above, your stories often demand from your reader a strong reciprocal involvement. Is it important to you that your readers come to your work ready to work themselves?

I do depend on my readers to think about my work; to make connections; to open their minds and their spleens in new ways. Also, I consider myself a minimalist, and so I leave a lot of open space in my stories—space that my readers can fill in themselves. Ultimately, I’m looking to find readers who enjoy and appreciate my style of writing. If they’re not enjoying themselves, then they shouldn’t read my work.

And what’s even more important to me than what my readers do or don’t do, is what I do. I always make it a priority for me to write freely. I would never tone down or dumb down anything. I respect my readers (and myself) too much to do that.

A project of yours that I anticipate won’t require as much reciprocity, simply by nature of the visual medium, is EGG. Tell me a bit about that, if you can.

EGG is a short film I wrote, directed by Jayson Densman, which is currently in post production. I can’t say too much about the plot at this point, but I can share this link to the trailer and behind-the-scenes photos and articles: http://www.rawdogscreaming.com/egg.html

When writing the screenplay, I wanted to utilize the possibilities of visual storytelling, and so I focused much of my energies on the imagery of the film. There is dialogue and narration as well, but I wanted the visuals to play such a vital role that the short would be powerful even with the sound off.

With the visuals being so important to you, how do you handle handing your work over to a director? Are you involved behind the camera at all?

If the director didn’t understand my vision for the script, then I’m sure a collaboration would be

frustrating for me. But I trusted Jayson with the script. He gets my work, and his ideas mesh well with my own. He’s done an awesome job with EGG. My only involvement behind the camera was indirect, as a creative advisor, which just means Jayson and I had many conversations about various elements of the film.

You say in your MySpace interview with JenniferCaress that you edit incessantly, and when you perceive a piece as finished, you edit more. Is it the fluidity of your ideas that encourages this editing fetish, or perhaps an obsession with story mechanics; grammar, sentence structure, etc.?

I believe this is a multi-layered form of useful insanity. First, there’s my obsession with rhythm. When I write, the rhythm has to sound “right” to me, whatever that means. If I can’t think of a word that sounds right, then I’ll just sit there and keep thinking until I find one that fits. Beyond the rhythm of the words, there’s also the fact that I see my stories as puzzles. I need every “piece” to fit together correctly, so that the overall “image” makes sense.

One story from Sheep and Wolves that I particularly like is “Sin Earth,” a morality tale that flips traditional modes of Demon vs. Angel to reveal the potential legitimacy of “Demonry” as a way of life. I suppose the fanboy in me just wants to know the story behind this story, if there is one.

I’m both fascinated and horrified by the use of demonization in our world. This is a social tool that cultivates hierarchical mindsets, and helps people to (unjustly) rationalize committing all sorts of atrocities. Civilized societies have a long history of demonizing tribal/pagan groups, which I, of course, have a big problem with. And so, Sin Earth was borne from my own horror.

Also, I think demons are cool.

You’ve listed Amy Hempel and Amiee Bender as two of your favorite authors; their influence on your work is obvious to anyone familiar with their minimalist and—in the case of Bender—magical realist styles. One author who struck me as an odd favorite, considering the style of your other listed picks, is Francesca Lia Block. I just recently got into her. What about her work grabs you?

Francesca Lia Block, to me, is a master of emotionally evocative imagery. She writes a lot about suffering, which is all well and good, but the icing on the cake for me is her talent in writing about love. The love that makes up the foundation of her books is neither cliché nor insulting. And, as a big fan of love, I appreciate that.

I want to touch on genre a bit. Sheep and Wolves is categorized as Literary/Horror. Much of you work has been lumped into the burgeoning Bizarro genre. With work as potentially polarizing as yours, I think genre can be a great thing. Do you write with genre in mind?

Not only am I fan of love, I’m an enormous fan of the Bizarro and Horror genres as well. Whenever my work is classified as either of these (or psychological fantasy, etc.), I’m honored, but when writing a book or a story, I don’t think in terms of genre. This isn’t to say that I’m not conscious about the conventions of various genres. It’s just that during the actual writing process, I try to give my imagination as much freedom as possible. There are certain boundaries I vigilantly maintain, however, such as those that support the psychological and emotional reality of my characters.

I’m interested in how an author’s work is influenced by personal life. Is your family, wife, brothers, sisters, anybody, involved at all in your writing process?

My wife, Lisa, is usually the first to read anything and everything that I write these days. Her encouragement is like getting a shot of B-12 and drinking a shot of wheatgrass at the same time. She’s very honest with me, so when she tells me she likes a particular sentence or story, I can take that to heart.

Lisa’s especially fond of my new novel, Cursed, and so when she says things like, “Do you have any more pages? I want to know what happens next,” I feel even more motivated to write.

My dad also reads quite a bit of my writing. And my brother, Joshy, is the only person who’s ever read everything I’ve ever written, since I started writing books at the age of 13. My other brother, Jake, is always there for me when I need to ramble on about a new story idea. Suffice it to say, I’m blessed to have so many supportive people in my life.

And they’re not just supportive, they’re interesting as well. Various family members have inspired me to create certain characters. And I’ve had countless philosophical conversations with my kinfolk over the years. All this, of course, affects my writing.

How does your immediate family react to your writing? I can imagine the visceral content of your stories being a tough sell.

I have a few fans. My wife, dad, brothers, some cousins. And then there are those who don’t particularly enjoy my work. My mom, for instance, doesn’t read much of what I write. She’s always been very supportive. She just doesn’t like dark fiction. And I’d never hold that against her.

At times, certain members of my familial tribe take it upon themselves to tell me what sort of books and stories I should be writing. And that’s always a bit funny. When this happens, I’ll smile and nod, but I don’t think I’ll be writing a Christian Romance novel anytime soon.

Jeremy C. Shipp is an author whose writer creations inhabit various magazines, anthologies, and drawers. These include over 40 publications, the likes of Cemetery Dance, ChiZine, and The Bizarro Starter Kit (blue). While preparing for the forthcoming collapse of civilization, Jeremy enjoys living in Southern California in a moderately haunted Victorian farmhouse with his wife, Lisa, and their legion of yard gnomes.

Jeremy C. Shipp online
Order Sheep and Wolves

Carswell, Sean, Train Wreck Girl. San Francisco: Manic D Press. 2008. paper,ISBN: 978-1-933149-21-9

Before I go any further, know that Train Wreck Girl will easily be one of the best novels of 2008. At 20 pages in, the earth paused. I remained absolutely entranced through the final page. Novels like this don’t happen very often, so pay attention.

Train Wreck Girl poses as a fairly straightforward story of a man traveling cross-country to flee his past, returning years later, only to re-immerse in all that he tried to originally escape. He’s outgrown this childhood town of Cocoa Beach, FL, but only in width. The slug line describes the narrative beautifully: One man’s quest to figure out what to do with his life now that it is too late for him to die young.

Beyond the immediately arresting imaginative structural elements (the first chapter is told as a countdown to New Year’s, 1999; some following chapters are told as itineraries outlining the protagonist’s day life) is a narrative so beautifully balanced between plot and character that it wasn’t uncommon for me to breeze through 50 pages without realizing a single blink.

The protagonist, Dan, for example, is a poor, seemingly uneducated man, yet carries an impressive cultural awareness that artfully dodges the dirty savant trope so common with “hard life” literature:

She called me white trash. Which hurt. The “trash” part I can take. But I don’t know why she had to throw “white” in there. [pg. 18]

Or this observation, when introducing two of the narrator’s old friends:

Marigold wore a ring on her left ring finger. Christian didn’t. I took that to mean they were engaged. [pg. 45]

It is this uncanny ability to completely mine a character with initially apparent minutiae that allows Train Wreck Girl to avoid so many potential pitfalls into character-generic cliché. This could have easily been a simple crime novel, a straightforward road trip story, or even a terrible love story. But it isn’t. Perhaps it is this very ability to tease, while simultaneously comforting the reader that carries the novel.

Here’s the ultimate test of a successful novel: can the story humanize a scene involving people farting on a corpse? Train Wreck Girl can, and does.