The internet suddenly seems different. A little sublime. Everything and nothing. I don’t know if this is an epiphany– if it is it’s certainly half baked. Nor do I know if it was necessarily incited by my exposure to Catherine Daly’s work, or if it’s merely a thought that arose simultaneously during the course of the conversation we had. Her work is not expressly technological in nature, but I think there is something in the way she seems to find dual uses for everything that makes it feel that way. In To Delite and Instruct, for example, she creates poetry from source materials such as Bernadette Mayer’s Writing Experiments and other writing workbooks from 1950s and 60s, and suggests a more engaged approach to crafting poetry than expecting it to be “gifted” from an exercise (look for this piece to soon appear in the new Bernadette Mayer Folio section at Drunken Boat). It’s didactic (in a sly way), but it’s also a critique at the same time as art. Her collection Paper Craft is also at least two things: it’s poetry; it’s also an object. Which leads me to my original tangent on the internet: there was a time— maybe fifteen years ago?— when the internet was more of a mysterious thing, a cloud, and less of a marketplace. It was a kind of arcane poetry unto itself. Today, it would be easy to dismiss as a shiny advertising colossus or a passive repository for information. But Catherine makes it seem like a tool in the rawest sense. Her work weaves and is woven. It evokes that old, missed adventure in me of exploring new places. The familiar is new.

Catherine’s poetry is online and in print. An Illinois Scholar at Trinity University and Merit Fellow at Columbia, she has been a Wall Street bank officer; she has been a software developer; she has been an engineer; she has been a teacher. She is the author of numerous poetry collections— Locket, Secret Kitty, To Delite and Instruct, and DaDaDa to name a few, the latter described by one reviewer as “Cavernous and electric…DaDaDa unfolds as a hypnotically twisted love tome investigating the r/elation between language systems and the erotics of communication.”Comprised of games of language, tradition and tradition breaking, coding and decoding, often done simultaneously, her work is finely layered. Secret Kitty— available as eBook— is a self-described “flarfy critique of flarf.” In it, poetry is sent into the internet, changed, and reclaimed.

She is at work on a long project entitled CONFITEOR, a 1,000 page poem. In addition to writing, Catherine’s i.e. Press focuses on writing and art that engages the eye and ear.

Her blog, and several of her eBooks, can be found here: DREAMER IN THE WAKE

The phrase “strategies beyond….postmodern ventriloquism” is used in the description of “DaDaDa.” Does this refer to what you view as a kind of rampant recycling of postmodern approach in writing?

Because one of the strategies in DaDaDa is to turn the writings of others into my writings, there is this sense that historical writings are puppets — excavated, hollowed out and then filled with me.  So in that sense, “strategies beyond… postmodern ventriloquism” is a sneaky gesture towards critics: look, this isn’t the only thing happening here, just because this is happening. For example, doing this always results in a critique of the poem.  In another respect, though, yes, there’s way too much postmodern writing — variations of project and found poetry (which I do a lot of, but a little peculiarly) — which rests at the source without doing anything beyond re-performing the source text.  I find Cole Swensen’s work to be particularly thin.  Then there’s the case of flarf, although it is more constructed.

Concerning flarf poetry, it seems a bit like postmodernism having reached a critical mass. Some don’t take it seriously– it’s sincere, maybe, but it can also seem sort of headless. What distinguishes a valuable construction from one that is simply off the rails? In other words, how much micromanagement can a flarf poem withstand before the spirit of the endeavor is lost?

Flarfeurs want to have it both ways:  they are seriously critically constructed, and most have earned their theory chops (hence their being taken seriously by the langpos), but they want to dance away from every sort of criticism at the same time they engage it.  This is why they flog the apparent meaninglessness of the poems.  It is apparently a sexy dance for some.  Hence my first Hello Kitty book, where the indeces of various search engines acted more like languages (as far as yielding significantly different search results, depending on index focus), as well as that searches in [one] language and then translation [into another language] had a quite different result from babelfishing.  The book is one poem through three different search engines, and then translated to Japanese and back three different ways.

The brilliant thing about flarf is it forms a text field where all is criticism, and anything can be said.

The other thing I wanted in Hello Kitty was an open form — at least at the time — and I have stopped reading a lot of flarf, because it seemed to me some of the best flarf had a formal intent, and all of it was looking and feeling like closed form, left justified, stanzas, lines.

You’ve said that creative writing exercises or prompts are rarely of true value “unless assignments come from the writer, or are accepted by the writer in order to pull or push one’s practice a certain way.” (an interview w/ Thomas Fink). Your poem “Andragogy” seems especially leveled at eschewing traditional instructor/student prompts. How does one train for the intimate engagement of a poem?

The fast answer is by reading, reading your own work, reading other work.  But it is a good question:  I think the exercise — and because the “experiments” of experimental poets converge on the prosodic practice of the formalists, and somewhere in between are the “poetry exercises” — leads to a too-formulaic idea of what poetry is about.  Broadening this, I think there’s a sense that conceptual poetry, or what Kenneth Goldsmith calls “uncreative writing,” is performance of the idea, i.e., the formula.  His background is in performance art.  Much found poetry as well as super-cohesive book length poetry projects also seem to be performance — but there, I think, performance of the idea of what a poet is.  Take this text and ring my poet-changes on it.  Not that I haven’t done all of this myself.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve done it, not for the heck of it, or just to churn out stuff, but to learn by doing.  And when I teach, I do try to work with the students who want prompts — many adult students go from teacher to teacher, gathering different prompts — and say, read this sort of poem. What is making it tick?  Can you try that?

Can you give me some insight into your interest in Hello Kitty as a vessel for your work? At times it seems like the pop identity of the character appeals to you, but also the mélange of cultures with which Hello Kitty is associated (this fits with the idea of garbling of your own words, translated into foreign tongues and then back again). Why have you filled this particular entity with “you”?

I try to make the character’s mouthlessness important in the books, because there’s a lack of opening, a complete closure, and no speech, no tongue — [no] language?  The books are based on Hello Kitty coloring books, so they are these insipid fields of mostly non-verbal information — a lot different for me (when I started) than what I had been doing.

CALICO CAT has been in progress for about three years because it involves music and color, and I just haven’t taken the opportunity to deal with it.  I started some color, note mapping with the text, and realized that what’s really required is a sort of Glenn Gouldish color – note mapping of the spoken/imagined text.

in KITTENHOOD, it is more the success or failure of language to be located — the poems are mostly titled from Olson’s Dogtown — the carvings on rocks there.  Which in turn, relates to [Bernadette] Mayer bringing bricks w/ words on them into workshops (I have heard, I never went to the poetry project until I read there — from Secret Kitty).  I think in general, the MS Word Art in the text was probably less pushed than the writing in the first book.

I’m not sure what the last book will be about yet.  But I think you can see:  Hello Kitty is the opposite of a mouthpiece.

Hello Kitty’s mouthlessness; locationless language; the idea of sound speaking for itself (“Phonograph“); the use of modern technology to alter and disguise your work; it all seems to lean in the direction of taking human beings (or at least their interpretations) out of the equation, or at least banishing them for a moment in time. There’s a haunting purity to those Dogtown rocks. Do you feel that your work in this vein seizes on an innate rift between artist and audience, or are you instead inviting your audience to experience something beneath the surface of immediate understanding?

Fast answer: as opposed to post-humanism, I’m looking at what people have made and do (products, techne) FOR the human. In the work of mine that look most closely at the problems of authorship, the speaker, voice, the “I” –does our culture merely make these things?  I don’t think so. People make them, and they become “touchstones.” But those people are readers, spectators, observed, participants. There is of course a barrier thrown up here, in the process of trying to read/write more of the world and approach it in a perhaps less tiresome (more irksome, though?) manner. I was reading an interview with Jean Renoir last night, and he mentioned that in his opinion, including the audience, giving them room for interpretation, was merely that:  considering them.

Can you talk a bit about your long project, Confiteor? It sounds like your work on Confiteor often spawns other projects; I’ve read that it is to be a survey of 20th century poetics, but can you elaborate on what you envision the scope of Confiteor ultimately to be?

The long project is named after the confessional in the Roman Catholic church — I confess… that I have sinned in my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do, and I ask all the angels and saints and you my brothers and sisters to pray for me, etc. Except in the Latin, the relationship between pray and sing/speak is a little clearer.

In any case, for me it is a good rubric for wiggling out from under something like the Divine Comedy; the project is where women’s writing of all times and places (and sorts) crosses with the ideas of 20th century poetry (DaDa, Objectivism, etc.), and philosophy, particularly philosophy of identity, confession, language, theory itself, and math — the boolean algebra of the computer chip, the modern algebra (in vol 2) developed at the same time as revolution-era ideas of freedom and cosmology.

it is 1000 pages, four volumes, the first three each a trilogy and the last one an “addendum.”  There are not 10 or twelve poems in each book of each trilogy:  they are essentially independent books with some similarities to the others. Volume one’s device was an etymological “cloud” or “cross” of older to younger synonyms of mystical keywords surrounding a keyword of mysticism (like “light” or “mirror”).  They are a sort of neo-baroque embedded game — there are others, truth tables, etc.  Volume two’s device is reducing to binaries:  0 or 1, x or y, x or o. These binaries relate text which sometimes only has a narrative relationship through breakdown to binary, and sometimes reads in a normal-ish syntactical way through [those binaries].  These are some of the ways there are “objects” underlying the poems.

All my work spawns other works, but what’s happened is that , by the time DaDaDa was published, I had about 10 full length manuscripts, as I’d been writing for nearly 15 years.  So, I put one preliminary[manuscript] together with one primary one, and added in an ongoing series which had some thematic similarities.  Object-Oriented Design was accepted for publication two years ago, but like everyone, I think we’re just getting back to a normal publication schedule… I hope… anyway, that had started with Enheduanna, moved through some Sappho — the history of women’s poetry — moved through the development of the device, and ended with the modern algebra poems — the words “she’s a series” — then I realized maybe the order should be reversed, and begin with “she’s a series” and move back to identity/Enheduanna ([this was] itself already a dusie chapbook).

But then, some other poems which were closely related got written after publication, like a poem which rolled up the Da3 device into a rotating four point star, and so that became PAPER CRAFT.  Then, Paper Craft has its own on-hold sequel, called Craft + Work.  More is projected in the paper vein; as pointed out by blurbing Kenny Goldsmith, “in the domain of the digital, here is paper…”

The work isn’t coming out in any sort of order.  But some of the work in To Delite and Instruct was originally intended for the big project, too.

Locket was definitely intended to be the precursor to Vauxhall, but Vauxhall has as much visual poetry and embedded gaming as Da3.

This is just a jumble of facts, though — I think the more serious thought is, why?  And the idea is to have a long poem which is not “the world” and not a “life work” and not a single story but does cohere.  And so that work must query history and speech and reading; technology and how technology vs. art and gender aren’t truly binaries, but can use them…and the idea of writing and forgetfulness and versioning.

You mention that Confiteor serves as a rubric for getting out from under something like “The Divine Comedy”; in what way does it free you? Have you specifically felt the weight of Dante in some way– a structured voyage through religion, literature, science, etc.– when approaching the material for this project, or did you mean in a broader (or perhaps more personal) sense?

The project is a melding; The Divine Comedy is a special document, in my opinion, in the history of the Roman Catholic Church and in the history of poetry. The Divine Comedy is at the root of Pound to Andrews, but there’s very little that is relatable or philosophically relevant in it any longer. But also, since Catholic High School omitted Milton and all the protestants, Dante…loomed a bit larger.

What (and who) do you read for fun– poetry, prose fiction, flash fiction…?

I read a lot of nonfiction.  I also read a lot of flash fiction and new fiction that my husband hunts down and I steal from him.  I’ve been following flash fiction over the past 20 years or so.  I read “junk books” and “falling asleep books” as well.  Mussolini’s definitive biography, that sort of thing, is a falling asleep book; the first one was Don Quixote.  Couldn’t read more than a page a night.  The “junk books” are usually art/design from the library, and there’s usually one decent idea to glean from each one.

How to be a writer, how and what to write, how to someday be a great writer…. when one makes things, one spends a great deal of time — more time than building it, surely — doing it all “on paper” or as a draft or prototype or even in stages before actually making the thing.  One of the newer things is “wireframing.”

Photo by John Geiger

Richard Thomas is a busy man.  He’s a husband and father of twins.  He’s a graphic designer.  He helps moderate a writing workshop at The Cult, one of the most popular author websites in the world.  He’s helped edit zines and magazines alike.  He’s pursuing his MFA in Fiction.  He’s part of a group of up-and-coming writers who each year help each other through the hardships of writing a novel.  And yeah, he’s also a writer whose debut novel, a neo-noir thriller called Transubstantiate, was published in July 2010, the flagship novel of the upstart independent press Otherworld Publications.  High on life and hell-bent on sharing in the revelry of being part of a new movement of fresh voices in the literary world, Richard stopped by Oxyfication to share a little bit about himself, how his debut novel Transubstantiate came to be, and what it’s like when one of your literary heroes tells you that your writing reminds them of their literary heroes.

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Take us to the beginning, and through the years leading up to Transubstantiate.  When did you start writing?  When did writing become something more, that you wanted to pursue professionally?

I’ve always loved reading, since the 6th grade, when I won a contest for most books read (boys). I wrote a lot of papers in high school, but not any fiction, didn’t really have room in my schedule, college prep. It wasn’t until college, and really, my junior and senior years when I took a fantasy and science fiction class with Dr. Edgar Chapman, and we watched Blade Runner, that I started thinking about the possibilities. I took several creative writing classes, some independent studies that involved writing, and I got really excited about writing. My first story that I published was at Bradley University, in the literary journal, Broadside.

After I graduated and moved to Chicago, I worked at a country club up in Glencoe (there are some stories there for sure) and eventually moved downtown. I lived at 666 N. Dearborn, and again, there were some wild stories there. I remember typing away on my old Remington Quiet-Riter (that’s a typewriter) and sending out stories. It was so slow and painful, typing, copying, mailing. It was devastating. I got involved with other things – having fun, living the bohemian lifestyle, chasing girls, and kind of gave up on writing for a long time. I got sucked into the world of advertising, where I’ve been for 15 years. Sure, I was the fiction and poetry curator at Around the Coyote, a festival in Wicker Park, years later, and I even wrote some non-fiction for some indie magazines (Subnation and 3rdWord) but I didn’t have the focus, the desire.

It wasn’t until much later, about four years ago, that I was reborn at the Cult, studying with Craig Clevenger, Monica Drake, and Max Barry, and I felt like I had any talent, and finally started to believe in myself. Better late than never, right? This got me to the place where I felt like I should pursue an MFA (that’s real money, folks) and my wife got behind me, saw that I was serious, and I started to get work published, started to break through.

The only thing I can say is that for years I’ve been in advertising, and I’ve had success, won awards, landed multi-million dollar accounts, but it’s never felt right, and I’ve always hit a ceiling and stopped. The minute I started pushing in a different direction, towards writing, it felt right, I had some positive experiences, I started to break through, and that’s when I knew that I was doing the right thing.

Every book starts somewhere.  An idea.  A sentence.  What is the genesis of Transubstantiate?  Did you always plan on it being a book, or did it naturally evolve into one?

Well, it all started with the Max Barry intensive at The Cult.  We were given the assignment to write four introductions to four novels that we’d always wanted to write.  Anything at all.  So, I think I did a horror intro, science-fiction, neo-noir, and literary.  I wanted to title each of the sections with a word that was really unique and that I’d never heard before.  Transubstantiate was one of those words, vainglorious was another.  I poured over the internet, lists of unique words, all kinds of stuff.  That was how I came across transubstantiate.

The intensive was to write a novel, so starting with those four openings, I decided to expand the cast of Transubstantiate to seven. I’m not sure how I got to seven. I think early on (I was just looking at some old notes) I played with the idea of the seven deadly sins. So while those four openings turned into Jacob (literary), X (horror), Jimmy (SF), and Gordon (neo-noir), I added in Marcy, Roland and Assigned later. If you look at the seven characters, you can kind of see how they match up with those sins. Jacob was sloth, Marcy was lust, etc.

Though at times rooted in the fantastical and based in the future, Transubstantiate is very real in the dark side of reality sense of the word: people under surveillance, population control experiments, etc.  You’ve classified the novel as neo-noir, which is a sort of all-encompassing genre/movement, but would you say that there is also a social science fiction element to it?

For sure. I wish I could write more SF, I just feel like I’m not smart enough to write true SF, that it’d have to be soft SF. My math skills, science, well, they’re not my strengths. Although, I am toying with the idea of writing something “steampunkish”. I’m fascinated by the idea of moving so far into the future that we have all of this technology that we (in 2010) see as the “future” (such as ray guns, teleportation, time travel, etc.) and then everything fails. We shut down everything, it collapses, no more tv, internet, flying cars etc. And we regress to the survival mode of hundreds of years ago – fire, water, air, wheels, steam, gears, etc. I loved King’s Dark Tower series, and I’m reading some steampunk – China Mieville, Jeff VanderMeer, Cherie Priest, etc. I’ve always been drawn to SF, grew up reading Bradbury and Heinlein, but I’m still learning about it. I love Vonnegut too. So those guys are a bit of an influence, and that comes through in Transubstantiate. I try not to be too preachy.

Having seven different narrators is a daunting task both on the writer and potentially the reader, having to keep track of what everyone’s doing/saying/etc.  How difficult was that for you, how did you keep track of everyone, and did you ever have any apprehension about going that route?

It was tough. And I don’t plot either. So it was a matter of doing a couple of things to keep me in line.

First, I wrote every day for about an hour at work. I closed the door, wolfed down a sandwich, and then wrote. Each day it was a different character. Monday was Jacob, Tuesday was Marcy, etc. I’d only write maybe 500-700 words. Over time those expanded a bit.

But I’d think about the characters. While I was working, or on my commute to work, whatever that day was, I’d be thinking “Okay, Jacob, he’s in the bookstore, he’s waiting for the new arrival, and he has a secret. What happens next?” By the time I got to work, and to my lunch hour, I was ready to go. It just spilled out.

You may notice that for a long time I keep the characters apart, maybe four chapters, I think. I didn’t have a problem writing from the different POVs, in my head I could hear their voices, but I wasn’t sure how to handle it when they got together. I didn’t want to have two perspectives on the same situation, so most of the time it was a time-baton, where the scene gets handed off from one character to another. For example, early on, Marcy is going to see X, to have sex. I have it from X’s POV first, and I leave it about where she enters the gate of his compound. I pick it up with her, on her way, and it goes from the gate to the house and the sex.

For sure it was intimidating. And from most of the reactions I’ve gotten, I did a good enough job. But I’ll always worry that I didn’t do enough. Should I have given Jimmy more of an accent? Should I have made Gordon’s voice more fragmented?

And you’ll also see that every three chapters I do something as well. So not only do I have seven POVs, but Chapter Three is a flashback. Chapter Six starts out THIRD PERSON (where the previous entries are all 1st person) everyone in one place, then does a flashforward. Chapter Nine is all correspondence – letters, postcards, e-mails. Chapter Twelve is everyone in one room.

Maybe I’m insane, I’m not sure. I took some risks for sure, but looking back I can’t say that this could have been anything else. The only other thought I ever had was to really expand this, make it almost twice as long, but in the end I didn’t want that. And, there’s always a possibility of a sequel.

It’s interesting that you said you didn’t want to have two perspectives on the same situation because the part where all of the characters come together and find out about their new opportunity that’s exactly what you’re doing.  Did you think this scene was necessary for the reader so they’d know where these people came from, how they got together, or was more the natural progression of things for these characters?

I think you’re talking about chapter twelve, where they’re all in the same room together (and I don’t want to spoil anything here) about to be sent out to their new lives. Yes, in that scene, I did have all seven perspectives on the same place and time. BUT…I hand that baton off, from one person to the next, moving forward in time, no overlap, really. AND it’s much later in the book, chapter twelve, so by then, I had a little more confidence in what I was doing. Now, if you’re talking about chapter SIX, where they are all tied to the posts around the fire, well…it was the plot, I think. I felt like I had to get them together so they could understand what was going on. We kind of figured it out together, what was happening. As they are talking to each other, and not everyone is happy to be there, or to see each other, I was figuring out what was happening. And again, it’s six chapters in, so I was just starting to get a feel, some confidence, and knew that I was going to do a flash-forward there.

You spoke a lot in other interviews about the influence of the writing intensives that you took over at The Cult; the kind words you received from Craig Clevenger, the support you got from Stephen Graham Jones, and so on.  Did you ever find studying with some of your literary heroes a daunting task, or perhaps, and especially with Transubstantiate, did it maybe help give you the confidence one needs to actually write a novel?

You don’t often get a chance to connect with an artist that you love and respect. How often does a painter or musician or writer get to talk to somebody that they look up to, somebody they have studied and enjoyed? It doesn’t happen very often. Not every author that has taught at the Cult has been somebody I’ve read, but certainly Craig and Monica are two people I’ve read. Max, I was familiar with his work, but wanted to work with him because he’s successful, and it was the first novel intensive I saw at the Cult. I learned a lot from Max, more than I thought I would, since our styles are so different.

I was very nervous to work with Craig. I had a feeling that he’d be nice, that he wouldn’t be cruel in his criticism, but he is nothing if not sincere. He doesn’t blow smoke, he finds something in your work that is WORKING and he tries to focus on your strengths, while showing you where you can improve. At least that was my experience with him. The first story I sent in, I was sick to my stomach. When he compared some of it to one of HIS idols, Steve Erickson, I was blown away. He’s very smart, but he finds a way to bring it down to a level where you can digest it. He’s brilliant, really. I hope he keeps publishing, and more often, as I can’t wait to read more of his work.

Monica, she’s such a nice person. She has gone out of her way to help me, in the intensive, and in the real world, at AWP and other places. She really helped me to get over my fears, to treat myself as an actual writer. I think I’ve published every story I wrote in her intensive. She gets the best out of you.

Max got me over the paralyzing fear of trying to write a novel. He got me to write with a maximum word count per day instead of a minimum, and that reverse psychology really worked for me. He got me to see the story only as far as the headlights of the car would allow. I don’t think I could have written Transubstantiate without his advice, his support, and his confidence.

Later, I came back to the intensives for a fourth one, the SECOND Clevenger intensive. That was where I think I really started to write well. I’d learned so much in the process. I wasn’t scared of Craig any more, I considered him a peer, a friend, and when he pushed me to start sending out my story “Stillness” saying it was ready, perfect, I took a deep breath and got over my fears. That story got rejected a good dozen times, but I was aiming at the top, Clarkesworld, F&SF, only the best places. When it got accepted at Cemetery Dance for their anthology Shivers VI (out in September 2010) I was thrilled. Shocked, but thrilled. That’s a 1% acceptance market. Craig had been right. And because of people like him, and Monica, and Max, and so many others, at the Cult, the Velvet, and Write Club, I had the confidence to push myself. I’ve been lucky.

Stephen has also been so very cool. I’ve never had the opportunity to study with him, I missed that intensive, as well as Baer’s, but he’s been very supportive, gave me a blurb (as did Craig), and every time I’ve met him, at various AWPs he’s been so very generous. He’s hilarious too. Not to mention one of the most talented, and prolific, writers I know. He’s really what I’d like to become. He writes literary, as well as genre, has no problem defending people like Stephen King, he writes and publishes all the time, teaches, does panels, and never apologizes. Some day I’d like to be where he is. I don’t know if it’ll happen, but he’s really an inspiration to me.

Write Club also seems to have had a major influence in the writing and editing of Transubstantiate.  How important do you think having a collective of like-minded contemporaries was to the process, and how do you think it helped shape the final product?

Write Club has been a huge influence on me. Without this support group, I don’t think I could have written Transubstantiate. I won’t start naming names, because I’m sure I’d leave people out, but they know who they are. It’s the same core group of writers that shows up at the Cult, the Velvet, GoodReads, Facebook, etc. and they’re all so talented, so giving. I can’t stress how important it is to have a support network like this. These people, they tell me how it is. They don’t pull punches. We fight over scenes, over endings, word choices. They keep me on my toes. My work is much better because of them. These are the men and women that take the time to read my work, to put 100% of their mind, and heart, and soul, into making me better, into telling me when I’m on my game, helping me to fix what isn’t working, and when I get work out there, they are the first to say congratulations, to pimp me to their friends, to retweet, and post on FB, write up reviews, give me 4-5 stars at Amazon or GoodReads, etc. And not because they feel they have to, but because that’s honestly how they feel. Again, I’m lucky. And not to mention that these guys are very talented, and really deserve to be published and put out there more. I know that they’ll all succeed as well. I’m so happy to see them all getting book deals and putting their stories out there.

Right now I’m workshopping Disintegration, my next book. It’s a neo-noir, transgressive thriller. I think it’s my best work to date. But we’re fighting over the ending, they’re challenging me on scenes, on choices I’ve made. Not to be jerks, not to push their own agendas, but to help me to make this the best it can be. When one of us succeeds, we all succeed. It’d be easy to be defensive, to say “Screw you, I know what I’m doing,” but these guys are smart, they speak from their hearts, from experience. In the end, I have to write my story, I have to stay true to my vision, but if they can help me to make it better, more honest, more true, then I do it, I make those changes, I pump it up, I push myself. And to be honest? If I was alone, I probably wouldn’t do that.

You’ve listed some influences, from Stephen King, to Chuck Palahniuk, to LOST.  In Transubstantiate the main characters are on an island, survivors of a great plague, and Jacob, one of the characters who works in a bookstore is giving one of his customers Choke to read.  Thematically everything works, but are these sort of vehicles strictly for helping to advance the story, or were you having a little fun, paying homage with little nuggets, while at the same time maybe making a connection with the readers who have like interests/influences as you?

I was having a little fun. And paid homage to some of my influences. I do think that fans of my work will also, most likely, have read similar works, and if not, then maybe they’ll pick them up. You’ll notice I also take a cheap shot at Dean Koontz, somebody I read for a long time, an author I really enjoyed in my youth (Whispers, Phantoms) but kind of failed me in his recent books, many disappointing books over the last ten years (aside from the Odd Thomas books) so much so that I’ve stopped reading him.

There are also a lot of “Easter Eggs” buried in the book. I had a lot of throw away names, and instead of just grabbing a name out of the air, I decided to use the names of people I know, other writers, friends from the Cult, Velvet, Write Club, etc.

The Dean Koontz blast was loud and clear.  In my opinion writing should have more writer-on-writer, prose-on-bros crime, ala rap battles.  If you were going to go after someone–aside from Koontz–who would you set your sights on?

Oh boy. I hate to slam anyone, because I know how hard it is to be successful as a writer, so really, Koontz is a brilliant guy in some way, he’s a millionaire for sure. I’ve never been a fan of Pynchon. There are a lot of literary writers and critics that I wish would just get off their high horses and relax, admit they enjoy genre work, and stop criticizing people like Stephen King. I’ve seen SGJ do several panels, and he’s always defending King. He’s the man. I wish I could be meaner, but really, Koontz is probably one of the few authors that I’ve read a lot of, and over time, has gotten worse, and really let me down. I took that personally. I’ve read Dan Brown. I’ve read worse. Dan Brown has a place. If they’re really bad, I’ve probably never picked them up. If they’re really good, then they’ve never let me down.

To what you said about someone like Stephen King not getting respect among critics, he’ll never have a shortage of readers.  In a perfect world one would like to have commercial success and praise from critics, but it rarely seems to work that way.  With Transubstantiate and beyond, what’s more important to you as a writer?

Wow, tough question. If I had commercial success, I could live and work as a writer, which would be fantastic. But if I felt like I was writing to the lowest common denominator, I wouldn’t be writing with my heart, my visions. If I had some sort of critical success, but never made any money, and could never be a writer full-time, well, that would be somewhat disappointing too. I’ve thought about it. In this era of mass market work, having to write towards an audience, having to make a story marketable, it does seem that a lot of publishers want to take out everything that makes a story unique, a voice different. They don’t want it to be different, they want it the same, they want a proven story, to a proven market. Ideally, I’d like to write work that is interesting, critically successful (whatever that means, since a lot of critics are closed-minded, of a literary bent ONLY) and also something the masses can enjoy. I would like to think that I write on two levels: a story that can be read, understood, something fast and exciting AND something that has layers, imagery, depth, a second and third layer that can give you more than just the story, but things to think about, to contemplate after it’s all over. I hope that Transubstantiate stays with people. I don’t want to be the literary equivalent of fast food. While some have called King that, I don’t think he is at all.

If Transubstatiate had a corresponding “Booktrack” that readers would listen to to enhance the experience what songs/artists would be on it?

The one album that I listened to more than anything else while writing it was IN RAINBOWS by Radiohead. It’s got a lot going on – fast paced songs, slow moody tunes, a bit of the surreal there. That’s a good one to play with it. It’ll seep into the background, and then, you’ll hear a couple words, and it’ll all make sense, connect. Put it on. REBOOT.

I read  that Transubstantiate is the third book you’ve written.  What happened with the first two?  And what did writing them help with the writing of Transubstantiate?

Oh, man. I was hoping it would be ten or twenty years before I got this question.

The first book is called Remembering and it’s terrible. I workshopped it in my first Write Club, and, wow, it was bad. I have to thank Bret Fowler, a guy I’ve gotten to know at WC and the Cult, and just met for the first time here in Chicago recently, we did a reading together in Wicker Park a couple weeks ago. He really helped me to understand the difference between show and tell. I also realized that this first book was really preachy, just terrible. It was about a guy who gets all of the “answers” to the questions that haunt us all, directly from GOD. Bad book, it’ll never see the light of day. BUT I did learn a lot, what NOT to do, how hard it is to write a novel. Every writer has to write a first book, and most of them are horrible, should be thrown away. You get to say all of the things you want to say, get all of your “messages” out there, and then, throw it away. Seriously.

The second book is called The Fool, and it’s a memoir. Who knows, maybe some day it’ll happen. I actually got an offer on it many years ago, but it all fell apart. Basically, I had a lot of adventures when I was young – sex and drugs and rock n’ roll, you know. And I had all of these stories about people dying at my feet, acid trips and hallucinations, leaving my body, wild underground sex clubs. There were a good twelve stories that I found myself telling people over the years. I’m sure my wife, Lisa, would be happy if this never saw the light of day. Who knows. Maybe when I’m rich and famous I’ll get the right offer.

So, technically, yes, Transubstantiate is my third book. Disintegration will be my fourth. But I really consider Transubstantiate my first.

If nothing else, I learned how hard it was to write a novel, how long it takes to write 60, 70, 80 thousand words. It’s a big commitment. You should probably write short stories for awhile first, learn to master plot, character, setting, etc. all of the basics over a shorter span first. I don’t think I could have done anything but fail with that first book. It was way too soon, I was wasn’t ready. So, now, I know what it takes. I hope to keep writing, more novels and short stories. I’ve gotten over my initial fear, and hopefully I’ll keep learning and growing and getting better at this.

What would you say has been–or was–the hardest part in the experience of writing and publishing Transubstantiate?

Oh man. The hardest thing is believing in yourself. It’s the whole journey – believing in your idea, having the faith and courage to even TRY to write it. Then writing it. Then editing it for a year. Sending it out, believing it’s a great story, that you have a place in the world and are worthy. Selling your story to the masses, once you have a press, fighting for everything – the cover, the words, the events, the things you believe in, your story. The hardest part of writing and publishing is believing that you have something to share, that it is worth their time, their money, these hours, days, weeks of their lives. It’s hard. But I do believe in my words. Now. In my short stories, in Transubstantiate, and in the next one, Disintegration. I question a lot of it, so many words, sentences, scenes, chapters. I lose faith every day, and then fight to regain it. And when somebody takes the time to pop up on Facebook or send me an e-mail or writes up a fantastic review, well, I get a little bit of energy back, a bit of faith, and I keep going. Somebody just popped up on Facebook today, IM’d me real fast, just said, LOVING YOUR BOOK, and then disappeared. A guy in the UK. That’s awesome.

Transubstantiate is the first release from the upstart press Otherworld Publications.  Do you feel a lot of pressure having the flagship book on that press, and how are you measuring success for the book?  Is it just getting published, and everything else is a bonus? Is it overall book sales? Is it something else all together?

Sure, a lot of pressure. But, I can only do so much. I put it out there, do everything I can, and hope that OWP will do everything they can. We make mistakes, and hopefully learn from them. It’s a stepping stone, we’re all learning. I know that the people that are following me will benefit from the lessons that I’ve learned. And that OWP has learned. The printing process, the PR, the timelines, all of that, I know others will learn and benefit from what we’re going through right now. And whether we sell 50 or 5,000 copies, the bottom line is that I tried to put out the best book I could, and I hope that it will be a great read for everyone who comes in contact with it, entertaining, and maybe it’ll leave a mark, a tiny echo, some sort of lingering effect.

Success? Sales is one thing, sure. I’d hoped to sell 5,000 copies, but now I’d probably be happy with 1.000. Who knows. We’ve been late on a lot of things, and that has effected everything. But, as somebody said to me, it’s not just the release date, it’s the whole year that comes after it. So, ask me in a year how I feel about it all. I know that I’m expanding my audience, and that total strangers from all over the world are reading my book, and enjoying it. And that makes me happy. And my peers, fellow authors, they’ve reacted really well, all positive so far, so that’s a great feeling too.

I see this as a stepping stone, a process, someplace to start. I hope to do more with this book, maybe sell foreign rights, film rights, that kind of stuff. I have short stories coming out soon, “Stillness” will be in the Cemetery Dance collection Shivers VI any week now, and they often win a Bram Stoker award for this anthology. I have a story, “Victimized” in Murky Depths in early 2011, a graphic format magazine, and I’m really excited about that too. These are two of my favorite stories, possibly my best. It’s all connected. My novel, getting my MFA, my short stories, editing and designing for Colored Chalk and Sideshow Fables, all of it. It’s connected. I’ve been humbled by the whole process, but am really excited about how Transubstantiate has grown and gotten out there and gotten attention. Every time I get a note from somebody on Facebook or GoodReads or the Velvet of the Cult saying they really loved the book, that makes me happy. And in the end, that’s what it’s all about.

In promoting Transubstantiate, you’ve embraced the grass roots approach necessary for upstart artists in the 21st century, using all of the popular social networking sites (Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, etc.) to help spread the word.  Have you found it’s helped in finding an audience, or maybe even creating one?

For sure, definitely. Facebook, my friends have grown to over 4000. The Facebook group for Transubstantiate is over 1200. And lots of people in the group have gone out and bought copies, people all over the world – Germany, Australia, the UK, all over the US. It’s very cool. Same with Goodreads.com, we got over 1000 people to enter the contest (gave away five copies), and 200 selected the book as “to-read”, and right now, eight people are reading it over there. So that’s pretty exciting. I know that all of these resources have helped, the forums I’m at, the Cult, the Velvet, my blogs, Twitter, all of that. I know that I’ve not only made new fans, but have turned friends into fans as well, have put my words in the hands of people who knew me, or knew of me, but never read my work. It’s contagious, it just keeps growing and spreading, like a virus. I mean, like a flower. I know that all of these resources have certainly helped me, a first time author, and my press, as well.

You just recently experienced your first book signing.  First, what was that like, and second, what has been the most surreal thing so far about the whole experience of having your first book published?

The book signing at GENCON in Indy was pretty cool. I’ve been to AWP three times now, and to other conventions, big trade shows, but GENCON was wild. Not as cool as COMIC-CON, I don’t think, but there were stormtroopers, ghostbusters, Final Fantasy chicks, various anime in stages of undress, fur bikinis, lots of strange things. Our table was in Author Alley, just a little area in the back. So, if people made it us, they were probably looking for books, and were pretty serious. Otherwise, it was a wrong turn, and they kept going, looking for more half-naked girls or giant 10-sided dice.

I was kind of excited to see a little sign with my picture, Richard Thomas signing from 12-4. And a stack of my books, both the signed/limited and the paperbacks. I got to talk to a lot of people. Most of the books were fantasy, so the book covers were dragons and pixies and stuff like that. We stood out, more neo-noir, crime, mystery, some SF. I got asked a lot of great questions – how long did it take, what was my book about, what was neo-noir (or speculative). I sold three signed/limited and I was pretty excited. I kept thinking “I can’t believe this guy is dropping $40 on my book.” Even with all of the extras (cd with 5 short stories, extra bonus chapter, extended interview). It was kind of touching, really, that they were willing to take a chance, willing to come back later to get the book signed because I wasn’t there yet (had some trouble getting my ID, go figure). We sold a lot of paperbacks over four days too. It was a lot of fun. Nobody can really talk about my book like I can, explain the genre, the themes, the plot, or answer questions.

The most surreal thing was probably at AWP Denver. A guy came up to me and asked me if I was Richard Thomas. If I was the guy who wrote Transubstantiate. I was shocked. He was a really smart guy, ran a panel, and was actually really well read. I don’t know if he knew what I looked like, or read my name tag, or what, but I talked to him and it was really cool. I shook his hand, and kind of gave him a hug too. Probably slipped him some tongue, I was so excited. It was surreal. My first fan. Made my day.

Talk a bit about Disintegration.  You say you’re in the process of working out the ending but take us to its beginning.  What’s it about?  Does it relate at all to Transubstantiate or are you going somewhere new? How soon before we get to read it?

Thanks for asking. Disintegration is similar to Transubstantiate in the sense that both are neo-noir (new-black) fiction. They both are thrillers, although I think Transubstantiate is faster, where Disintegration is slower, more introspective. The other difference is that I see Transubstantiate being speculative where Disintegration is transgressive. I put these labels on my books simply because it helps me to keep the voices straight, the tone. Transubstantiate has a bit of the horrific, the fantastic. Disintegration focuses on the anarchy of one man, the rebellion, man vs. society, man vs. himself.

We’ve been talking a bit about what makes a novel “noir” over at the Velvet, and some think it’s just that it’s tragic, that the protagonist is a loser, who will never win. I don’t know about that. Maybe. I’m more open about what it means – dark, tragic, with a certain mood and tone. But I’m not sure if noir, or neo-noir, has to have a bad ending, that tragedy. I’m still learning. And in the end, I don’t really care about the labels, I just want it to be a fantastic read.

Disintegration has nothing to do with Transubstantiate, I’ll just answer that straight out. BUT…there may be a sequel to Transubstantiate someday. I have some ideas.

How soon? Well, I hope to finish writing it this year, and maybe have it land at a press next year, so that means as early as 2011, but most likely 2012 or later. I’ll be shopping it around, and have a short list of presses and agents that want to see it.

What’s it about? It’s about a man who loses everything, his family, his life, his identity. He slips into this darkness, he separates himself from society, goes off the grid, and starts to do work for a shady man. The work gets more violent, until he starts killing people, on assignment, and descends into a life that is far removed from what he once was. But somewhere down there, he still has hope, still seeks out a connection, still clings to some sort of hope. It’s dark, much darker than Transubstantiate, and I’m thinking this one may be more of a tragedy, more fitting to the noir label (or neo-noir). It’s a mix of Falling Down and Dexter and is a lot more influenced by the style and writing of Will Christopher Baer. I think it’s my best work yet.

What’s the immediate future hold for you and Transubstantiate?

Well, I hope that we’ll sell some books, get some attention, and help build my audience. Everyone has been great, very supportive, people all over the world. I’m really excited about Shivers VI (Cemetery Dance) coming out in September, so many great authors in that anthology, Bram Stoker winners, great company, that should get me some more attention. I’m reading at Quimby’s in Chicago on October 16th, that’ll be fun. My first book club in Kirkwood, MO (St. Louis) in late October. I can’t wait for Murky Depths to come out, early 2011, and would love to get into more comics/graphic novels, pair up with an illustrator, that would be fun. And of course, finishing up Disintegration. And my MFA down at Murray State University in Kentucky. So, lots going on. I just want to keep writing, keep getting better, start sending out short stories again (I’ve been really dead as far as that goes, just haven’t had any time, and I published everything I had built up in the intensives, over the last three years).

And I’m excited to keep supporting all of my friends that are publishing: Nik Korpon has Stay God coming out at OWP this December, and Brandon Tietz is re-releasing Out of Touch with us too, and Michael Sonbert too, also joining the family; Caleb Ross has I Didn’t Mean to be Kevin with Black Coffee Press; Simon West-Bulford has a book at Medallion, The Soul Consortium. I LOVE all of these books, I’ve read them all. Great books, really talented authors. All guys from Write Club, the Cult, the Velvet. I’m so excited for all of them, we’re all breaking out at the same time, couldn’t be more fun, more thrilling.

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The Oxyfication review of Transubstantiate can be read HERE (Mild Spoilers).

The website of Transubstantiate can be found HERE.

Transubstantiate can be ordered from all major online booksellers (Amazon, B&N) or directly from the publisher HERE.

Sarah Shafey is a Renaissance Woman with a capital T. That ‘T’ could stand for ‘Talented.’ Or ‘Thirsty.’ Or ‘Transcendent.’ Each of the three ‘T’s are equally fitting; yet they only begin to describe her jacktress-of-many-trades persona. Sarah Shafey is a producer and engineer who runs her own recording studio called Squeaky Clean Records. She’s a deft interviewee; her “Shafey’s Palace” webisodes are as much entertaining as they are insightful. In many-a-photograph, she’s a chameleon whose ability to constantly reinvent herself will leave you breathless. She helps manage a creative collective, GoodSoundsGood, which is taking the Toronto music scene by storm. Most importantly she’s a singer-songwriter whose full-length debut album, Tiny Music Box, is a myriad of avant-garde magnificence, a sort of sonic flea market that showcases all of the aforementioned aspects that make Sarah Shafey remarkably unique.

Tiny Music Box is no small achievement; defying generalization the way true artists defy having their work pigeonholed to a certain definition. On Tiny Music Box’s 14 tracks you’re taken on a cruise across the radio station dial; pop, jazz, funk, vaudeville, contemporary, electronic– you name it. Tiny Music Box is an experience, a journey, an insight into the creative mind of someone who always has their eyes looking forward, and their ears tuned into whatever is around them.

Sarah Shafey is a classically-trained pianist whose attention lies beyond the periphery, seeking out whatever is available to her in the quest to get the most out of her sound, be it traditional instruments, or that which is produced by a computer program. While so many others choose to ignore the bigger picture politically of what’s going on in the world, the world-traveled Shafey isn’t afraid to say—or sing about—how she filters everything through her eyes. She’s seemingly one of the few nowadays who choose context– listening to CDs on a Sony Discman– versus convenience, like the billions who have their iPods plugged directly into their brain. Yes, Sarah Shafey is unique, and through everything she never loses her sense of humor. Recently Sarah Shafey stopped by Oxyfication to talk shop.

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The obligatory ‘where did it all begin?’ Growing up what was your exposure to music? What types of music did you like/listen to? Who got you into it? And when did you realize that you wanted to do it for a living?

It all began in a back alley…

Kidding.

I guess you can say it began when I first [laid] my hands on a piano when I was 4- years old. I was at my babysitter’s house, and I actually looked forward to it because I got a chance to fiddle away on those sweet ivory keys and ignore everything the babysitter said. I have always enjoyed listening to all genres of music as long as it was catchy to the ear, and it helped that my parents had a great vinyl collection of the Bee-Gees, Elton john, Boney M, Cat Stevens, classic stuff. I was raised in a very education-based atmosphere so after I graduated from University I decided to rebel and give the whole music thing a shot and moved to Toronto. It was less about making a living and more about just living the best and happiest way I knew.

As a person you’re very well traveled, and the influences are very evident and all over the place in your music. Were there any specific places, or people, or experiences that maybe more than others you remember really wowing you, and that maybe now you see in your music now because of it?

I did indeed grow up all over the world and am extremely thankful for it. Not only did I get to see the world for what it really [was] as a whole, but I got to hear music of all sorts. I didn’t realize that I was retaining all this music in my brain until I started producing and it naturally starting coming out. My background is Egyptian and all of my extended family is still there so we often would go spend months over there and its such a different way of life. I love that the people don’t have very much but they are happy as happy can be with family, friends and of course tabla circles all night long. I find Egyptian music from the 30’s-50’s to be the most intriguing and haunting and recently starting delving more into recreating that feeling in my own stuff. I was also in England for a while and the DANCE/POP/JUNGLE scene was crazy and I have always loved a good party song. And of course Toronto is filled with great music of all genres, and meeting and collaborating with these people has obviously had a great influence in my own music.

In 2007 you released a debut five-song E.P. Though stellar it seems, at least in terms of grandiosity, to sound like there’s a singer who is sticking her toes in the water to gauge the temperature so to speak. What was it like recording that E.P.? What did you take from it?

That EP was a blast to make. I had just moved to Toronto and met a wonderful bunch of guys running a studio called 3Bone Audio and quickly they became my family. They were fresh out of University and were all ridiculously talented with production, engineering and mixing, and I felt like the luckiest gal in town to be able to freely go over to the studio and just make some beats and sing to them. It wasn’t calculated at all, and at the time we were all just into making electronic stuff so that’s how that EP came to be. For me it was the greatest lesson in production and computer programs, and I took it all in and have never taken that experience for granted.

2009 brings the release of your first full-length album, Tiny Music Box. How long of a process was the making of it? When you started off recording the songs that would become Tiny Music Box you’ve said that you thought you were just going to make another demo consisting of a few songs. How far along into that process did you know that you wanted to do something more, and did you ever have a specific vision or concept of what you wanted from the songs, or was it more a matter of just recording the songs as they came to you?

So my baby, Tiny Music Box, was also an experience that was just plain fun to make. I went through writers block for a year, and instead of dwelling on that I decided to lock myself away in my apartment, buy a load of gear, rip a bunch of programs—yeah I said it—and teach myself how to produce, and do it well. After a few months of just writing stuff I realized songs were coming into fruition and decided to just record without a deadline until I had a bunch of tracks on hand. I eventually ended up after two years with a ridiculous amount of songs ranging from rock, hip-hop, electronic, classical, jungle, pop, you name it, and decided to take the songs that were piano based and turn them into an album.

Tiny Music Box has a little bit of everything. To someone who hasn’t heard it yet how would you classify, or describe the album to them?

It’s a soundtrack to space, time, consciousness, life, people-watching, memories, the id, alter-egos, superheroes, stupid people, hands-on-hands-off, human interaction or lack-thereof, lightening, politics, children laughing, people clapping, why are we here, alternate dimensions, black holes, the monetary system, and piano melodies on fire.

Where did “Five Min To Go” come from?

[Laughs] This song makes me laugh. I serve tables to survive and one day during the last five minutes of work I started writing this song in my head and heard a muted horn as well. It’s simply about how I feel during those last five minutes that drag on to feel like an eternity.

In your bio it says, “She quickly became hungry to learn more about computer programs and how to infuse new technology with classic live instrumentation.” With your classically trained background is there ever an internal conflict going on between the use of traditional instruments versus what’s produced by a computer—i.e. a naturalistic sort of wanting to remain true to your training/roots—or is it all simply matter of wanting to get the most of out whatever is available to you?

I seem to get asked this question quite a lot, which is interesting to me because I read a lot about people who are either specifically pro-digital or pro-analog. I am all about intertwining live stuff with computerized sounds. I think it’s a blessing to be able to have the ability to use both and I don’t feel conflicted at all about combining the two. It’s a fun game to me, and I try my best to stay on top of new technologies and programs available. What do they call that…ummm FUN!!!

To that point, from your debut E.P. to Tiny Music Box, your sound has grown exponentially, incorporating so many more instruments to the fold, creating more luscious landscapes within the songs. Was this something you set out to do, was it a natural evolution or growth, or was it maybe something else? If the E.P. sounded like a singer feeling out the pool it seems like with Tiny Music Box you’ve jumped right in.

You couldn’t have been more eloquent with this question. The EP was exactly that; I had no idea what I was doing at the time and just went for it. With [Tiny Music Box] I was much more comfortable with my skills, with mixing and producing, and decided to use any and every instrument on hand or available to me via other musicians. I have always been a fan of using vocals and harmonies as another instrument—Radiohead—and love layers upon layers of pads, strings, anything really. A lot of the instruments used were literally stuff I would find at bargain stores, or even recording chopsticks banging on each other as part of a beat. I am sure my next album will be completely different according to whatever other weird instruments [I] have found in the meantime.

The melody in “Trouble With The Rain” sounds like it could be an outtake from Bill Conti’s score from Rocky. Though I’m pretty sure Rocky wasn’t the inspiration for that song, the point is that many of your songs seem tailor-made for film. With Squeaky Clean Records your focus is on commercial and soundtrack music. In terms of your own music—specifically the songs of the E.P. and Tiny Music Box—when you’re writing those types of songs do you see or imagine them in film, or do you separate that sort of writing from your commercial writing?

Yes, Boss!! My dream in life is to score for film, and you’d better believe that I am going to do it. Cocky maybe; [it] doesn’t faze me. I think that there is still a lot to learn, but every time I write a song I imagine a scene from a movie and definitely make them as potential soundtrack songs. Sometimes I am so nerdy as to take clips from YouTube, put them on mute, and write stuff to them. Squeaky Clean Records is all about composition for film, games, anime, web, and it’s mostly instrumental music. I have sound banks just overloaded with songs that could be used for movies by Tarantino, Jean Pierre Jeunet, Tim Burton; just give me an orchestra and I am ready to go.

Through posts on your blog, or in songs of yours such as “War Crimes” it’s pretty evident that you’re politically aware of what’s going on in the world. First, how do you feel about the state of things, and second do you see a song—songs in general, but more specifically your own songs—as being anything more than an artists outlet to state their side of things? Or do you feel as an artist that artists have a responsibility if they so feel compelled to spread the word so to speak on the political events going on in the world?

I believe that we are extremely apathetic beings who are lazy and sit around wasting time thinking about having more, more, more, I need more, give me more. Yuck! I think everyone has a responsibility to speak his or her mind about the sad state of affairs in this world. I am not entirely educated on everything that is going on, and I am definitely not the most eloquent of speakers on these matters, but I know what I feel in my heart and gut and it’s mostly a sense of sadness for the lack of community, values, and acceptance of difference. Instead we sit around and Twitter our lives away, which I think is one of the greatest ploys created to distract us from the reality of things. I write my songs exactly how I converse so I’m literally having a conversation with my listeners and myself. Obviously I think we can do more as a whole, myself included, and that needs to start with new ideologies that combine all schools of thought; Capitalism, Marxism, Communism, Liberalism, and possibly something new that I am not smart enough to conjure up. We cannot just sit around and wait for our government to create our rules because folks it’s not really working very well.

You wear so many hats—singer, songwriter, producer, engineer—that your thumbprint is on every process of the recording. Is this a desire to control the entire canvas so to speak; is it more a natural bi-product of using your varying talents on your own music, or maybe something else? Is it ever difficult to separate or step back from one aspect to focus on another?

This is a tasty question. I have always been interested in doing the most I can for my own projects. I enjoy wearing all of these hats equally, and it is not about control. It is more about using whatever skills I may have and applying them to my own work and still understanding when to step back. I know that if I tried to master my own music it would sound like garbage because I don’t do that. I know that if I tried to do the artwork, it would look like paper-mâché rotting. I know not to try playing a horn instrument because it would probably break, etc.

Tiny Music Box has initially been released in a pay-for-download only format, forgoing the traditional hard-copy route. You’ve stated your intention is to hopefully generate enough capital through the current download structure to be able to produce physical CDs in the near future. Are there any advantages perhaps though to what you’re doing now considering that so many people nowadays have shied away from the traditional route and get their music from iTunes type download sources, and would you be happy if Tiny Music Box remains a download only album?

I am just happy it’s out in any form possible. I spend a great deal of time on the internet and find a digital format to be extremely convenient, but I also still use a Discman over and iPod any day, so a hard copy version would be nice. The quality of a .wav file over an .mp3 is not even worth discussing, and I have always found that the EQ settings on Discmans sound way better than the tinny sound of an iPod. Don’t get me wrong, I do have an iPod, but honestly I use it more as an external hard drive. [At] the end of the day quite frankly it’s about what I can afford and rent comes first.

What are some of the goals you have for Tiny Music Box?

To use it as a mind control tool, become a crazy dictator and make school children recite my songs in unison during recess.

You’ve got a remix that you did of Radiohead’s song “Nude” posted on your MySpace page and you’ve completely re-imagined the song to the point where if you didn’t know it was Radiohead to begin with–at least until towards the end–you’d be hard-pressed to guess it was them. What was remixing that song like? How was the reaction you received for your version?

Radiohead are like Gods. I just had so much fun doing that remix and thought it was genius of them to put the stems up for public use on their website; what a grand gesture. I had a friend of mine, Zaki Ibrahim, sing on it as well as my buddy Mike Celia play guitar. It was purely for the sake of doing it because I could. People have liked it, but that wasn’t my concern. Now if they could only post the stems from The Bends my life would be complete.

You’ve been photographed a good deal and if these were to be a collection it would seem fitting that it would called something along the lines of The Many Faces Of Sarah Shafey. Is being photographed something you enjoy, and do you see it as another extension of your vision as an artist?

A guilty pleasure, I must say, that I think is mostly based on narcissistic thoughts. I am Aquarian for God’s sake; I get bored really easily with whatever image I am projecting into the world, and according to my mood I feel the need to keep a photographic diary of it all. I also really enjoy working with these different local photographers because they always provide their own unique vision and I appreciate their talent. [Singing] “SHE’S SOOOOO VAIN, I GUESS YOU THINK THIS SONG IS ABOUT YOU.”

You’re part of the very talented Toronto-based creative collective GoodSoundsGood. Tell us a bit about how being a part of it has been for you, and how you see where you all are now versus when you started it in 2007?

Yay, GOODSOUNDSGOOD! I love the fact that I am a part of something so amazing in this city, and I feel lucky. It’s funny how it started out. Two wonderful musicians by the name of Emma-Lee and Emer thought up the idea to start a mostly female collective of musicians of varied genres. I got an email a few years ago randomly asking me to come to a potluck to discuss what would later be known as “GoodSoundsGood”. Although one wouldn’t know it, I am extremely shy when it comes to certain social settings, and I lied and said I was sick or some lame nonsense like that. I luckily got a second email—thank God— and decided to suck it up and went, and boy am I ever glad I did that. I walked into a room full of intelligent, talented, friendly, smart, and HOT people who were ready to get together and take over the world. We have all grown exponentially over the years, and root each other on in every aspect of our musical careers. We share resources; play shows together, learn together, eat together, and I have made some of the greatest friends through GSG.

Another hat that you wear is interviewer. What’s Shafey’s Palace all about? When are you bringing it back and who is up next?

“Shafey’s Palace” fills me with joy. I was watching Wayne’s World and thought, “I am going to do that.” So I ventured towards Yonge Street, bought a piece of shit camera, and starting calling friends and asking them to come along for the experiment I called “Shafey’s Palace”. It is an online interview, live music show that caters to local indie talent, and a touch of humor. I knew I had the skills to built a decent website, and also do audio production, and I thought it would be cool to record them doing a live song and mix it to sound like a professional studio recording. My intention was to come back with more in the New Year but my own album’s release took over my life for a minute there and I had to focus my energy on that, which was a priority. Now that it all said and done with, get ready for Round Two. Next up is blueVenus, and I am pretty sure it’s coming at you in March ‘09.

What’s 2009 going to bring for Sarah Shafey?

[Singing] Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King/Queen; Let every heart prepare Him/Her room, And Heaven and nature sing, And Heaven and nature sing, And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing…And Justin Holt is cool!!

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Tiny Music Box at CD Baby

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Squeaky Clean Records

Shafey’s Palace

GoodSoundsGood

The word independent– indie– gets tossed around a lot, sometimes without people knowing what exactly it means– or, rather, what they mean. Are we talking about the form of the art itself, or the avenue of its creation? We’re obsessive classifiers; compulsive cataloguers. I suppose it helps to label things as a way to keep our shelves (and lives) from being in total disarray, but sometimes we don’t do ourselves justice.

There is a sound sneaking through Jeffery Straker’s music that I had trouble identifying. While on the surface Step Right Up feels very much like a pop record– bright and catchy– I think I see now my initial trouble. I was guilty of a prejudice: I believed that pop music was manufactured in a place we shall call the Pop Music Factory.

In my mind the Pop Music Factory was an impeccably landscaped corporate facility with dark windows, sitting on a quiet lot; on the outside it was the picture of orderly calm. But what was happening inside would horrify a music lover: its soundproof walls concealed a whistling, shrieking whatsit, a machine of Seussian complexity that dwarfed all who stood before it, clanking and shuddering and never in need of maintenance, noisily digesting whatever myriad of raw materials– musicians, usually– were fed into it, producing a predictable, shrinkwrapped novelty: this was Pop Music. Oh, what sad times are these. While I had heard of Indie Pop, I was certain it was a figment of our imaginations. There could be no such thing. It was an oxymoron.

What creates those types of prejudices, I suppose, is lack of vision, on the part of both those making the music and those listening to it; Straker suffers from no such lack of vision, and his real trick is reminding you that pop music can be both independent and marketable.

Jeffery Straker grew up in a tiny town in Canada and fostered a love of music that was somewhat at odds with the hockey-going community; after years of accomplished piano study, he decided to pursue non-musical interests, only returning to music on his own terms. And now, he’s the purveyor of bright and boisterous piano-pop as heard on Step Right Up. Whether he’s actively refusing to follow stale precedents or he’s lucky enough to have distinctive tastes it’s hard to say, but there is definitely a nonconformist of some degree at work in songs like Special K— a diabolical waltz that in its climax soars to TSO-levels of bombast— and Flat Lines, the quirky and clever tale of a girl who will never, ever fit in. Both sensitive and scrappy, his music brims with memorable lines and characters that share space like an ensemble cast. They tell stories of joy and pain; subtlety and melodrama; frustration and victory. In an iPod era, where music is consumed ala carte, here is an actual album.

And though he is sometimes compared to a young Elton John, has slept at Jim’s Joint, and has more than the rest of us in common with a man named Beethoven (keep reading), he is not owned by these associations; the same way that the characters in many of his songs seem to unknowingly share a piece of the same soul, each fighting forces outside of themselves while trying to maintain an identity, sometimes when you grapple with labels and identifications you lose the big picture. Sometimes you need to just let go and enjoy the ride. In this way, Jeff’s ahead of the curve.

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You come from a rural farm town in Saskatchewan, a place that may seem to a casual observer to be worlds removed from the business of making music– when you were growing up and honing your craft, did the location itself affect your development as a songwriter/performer in any way? What creative outlets did you find for yourself? How did you get your music fix?

Yes, I grew up on a farm beside a little village that has 250 people. It was a neat place to grow up in that you knew everyone and actually knew quite a bit about everyone around you. But for me as a guy with an artsy/music leaning I ran against the grain a little. The main things to do were hockey and driving around in your car. Neither appealed to me. So many of my friends just hung out, you know? And I just wanted to play the piano. I couldn’t see the point of hanging out. I think, in hindsight, the point was that there was no point. Maybe? I did play hockey too – but sucked at it. When I was 14 or 15 there was a glitch in the town’s demographics and there weren’t enough boys to make a team for my age group. Thank god for that. So that was the year that I had the perfect excuse to just play the piano more. And then to never play hockey again. How totally, utterly un-Canadian. It was great. I think the main way that this all influenced me musically was that my music making was more solitary vs doing it with others. So I think that planted the seed of being a solo singer-songwriter vs gravitating to being in a band. There just wasn’t a thriving arts scene in the little town, so forming groups/bands didn’t quite happen. In grades 10/11/12 I drove to the nearest city to study piano at the conservatory and practiced 3,4,5 hours a day. I really loved it. I met a lot of other music-geeks there too so it was neat to know they were out there. Now I know they’re everywhere!!!

Your piano training began at age six and culminated with a degree in piano performance at Trinity College of Music in England. Is it jarring or difficult to move from classical piano into the realm of pop music? Do the skills translate well, or is it like learning something altogether new? Do you prefer pop over classical styles, or is it perhaps that pop is simply more marketable?

I kind of burned out on classical music by the end of my studies. I think I brought it on myself by practicing so much. But I also realized that I just wasn’t cut out to be a classical pianist. And my last professor was pretty hardcore and really only ‘ate/slept/breathed’ classical. So realizing I didn’t want to pursue classical music made me think I should just stop piano. However after university I discovered this ‘other land’ where I could pursue music. Like pop, folk stuff. And it was a rebirth in a way. It wasn’t that messy – no umbilical cord or anything. No screaming or pains. But it took some getting used to. Mostly in relying on my ear to play more / vs [reading] notes. Luckily my musical mother passed me a really good ear! Bless her. And with time I saw that the technique I acquired from all that classical study was invaluable. And the theory and music understanding has been great too. I still listen to a lot of classical music (love Bach and Beethoven). But I just simply prefer pop to perform and listen to most of the time. The pop I made on my last recording has a wee bit of a classical influence – in the instrumentation and in some of the piano parts. It’s not Britney pop that’s for sure. Pop is such a BIG land. Pop is Madonna and pop is Broken Social Scene. They are miles apart. Jesus I don’t even know if I answered your question.

At one point, burned out on piano, you acquired a degree in plant biochemistry, claiming that you felt you needed to study something completely different. Eventually you were pulled back to writing and performance and found your interest revitalized. Do you think it was good to take time off from musical pursuits? When you returned to writing and performing in earnest did you find your sensibilities, or perhaps style, had changed at all?

My first job after my degree was a research stint with Canada’s national research council. I hated it. I wanted to poke my eye out with a test tube. Bloody hell. I recall working one summer with a professor who had tomatoes going up on the space shuttle. Frankly – I didn’t care if they were going to be eaten by the astronauts or thrown out the window as space junk. It was horrendously boring to me.

I quickly switched to a job in marketing and quite liked that. But I was playing the piano all along and started writing and singing and realized what felt the most comfortable. I think the time away from music was necessary for me – maybe in a way to realize how important it was to me. Self-inflicted deprivation perhaps. I’m glad you asked me this because I realize now that that’s exactly what it was. When I came back to it, I approached the piano in a whole new way vs. thinking of it as just a classical sort of thing.

It occurs to me that a singer/songwriter just starting out usually has the luxury of being able to walk into a gig with nothing but a guitar case in hand, and often might have several guitars to choose from in his home. A piano is more of a commitment: it’s not feasible to have a half dozen pianos in your apartment to pick from. How does that work? Did you (and do you) haul one around with you everywhere you perform, or do you try to scrounge one up when you get to the area? Do you have a favorite piano?

I take a digital piano when I perform, if the venue doesn’t have a real one. And honestly, sometimes the venue ‘has one’ but it turns out to be really shitty so I end up using the digital one anyway. I quite like my Yamaha P-90. It was weighted keys that mimic an acoustic piano really well and the tone is really good. Many of my piano playing friends who travel have one. It’s kind of heavy though and I’m a bit wimpy. I hate lugging it around. Everytime I pick it up I say “I wish I’d have studied the piccolo.”

Regarding arrangements, how do you write your songs— do they start off entirely as piano compositions on your own? Do you write with a band in mind?

Great question! This changes all the time. In the past I’d write complete or almost complete songs on piano and then take them to my band for arrangement work. The musicians in my band are really creative. They’re so creative in fact, that currently I’m writing song chunks, and then taking these bits to them and jamming it a bit to see what comes out. I don’t think I’ve used their talents enough in the past. Lyrics are still mine – and the core of the tune is still mine – but how it pieces together and flows is way more in the collective ether. I want to muck around with that a bit. Two heads are better than one…sometimes. We’ll see.

Who or what influences you musically? It’s hard to monitor yourself in this way, but do you feel yourself growing into or out of any particular styles or sensibilities as you continue to grow as an artist? What artists/songs do you feel you’ll be forever indebted to?

The comparison that I get the most is to Elton John’s early material – at least with my latest recording. I think it’s just my vocal timbre and the fact that I’m a guy playing the piano and singing that makes people draw the comparison. It’s kind of obvious to draw that conclusion. Maybe there’s something else? I get it all the time though. And I find that OK – my god…I could be compared to worse! Maybe it’s because I usually toss “Tiny Dancer” into my sets? Who knows. People often come up to me after a show and say (usually apologetically) “I know you likely hate being compared to people but, you really remind me of Elton John in his early days.” I usually say thanks – and don’t really know what to do with it. I do love his early stuff. I think it’s incredible. It’s defining stuff. It shaped music as we know it as far as rock/pop goes. But I also have some cabaret influences – and I don’t even really know where those came from. Not in all my songs. It just appears in some of them. There’s so much music out there. I listen and surf around on MySpace a lot and hear so much. I think it all seeps into you somehow – however that happens. I don’t think I’m ‘mainstream’ per se despite getting some mainstream radio play. And I’m fine with that. My music is what it is. Ever since I started this as my full time career 3-4 years ago I’ve said “you don’t pick music, music picks you.” And on the same token, you don’t really pick the genre/leaning/style you feel the most natural performing. It just kind of comes out of you. The muse is the mysterious part.

You’ve got some interesting associations in your musical DNA– during the recording of your album in LA, you stayed at room #32 at the Alta Cienega hotel— Jim’s Joint— where Jim Morrison stayed in the late 60s. Perhaps more interesting, you’re only six degrees separated from Beethoven through teacher/student lineage. Is there anything substantial that comes out of brushing up so closely to that kind of history— any influence, any gravity— or is it just trivia? Was it a weird experience staying in room #32? Any lingering ghosts?

My lord that motel room was funky and weird. There are photos on my myspace and website of the inside – and of the motel itself. It’s in Hollywood at the corner of La Cienega and Santa Monica. A lovely little lady runs it and keeps a tight ship. If I were a betting man I’d say that Jim’s spirit comes to visit that space a lot. He was there from ’68-’70 I think. And those were formative years for the Doors. Honestly I didn’t stay in the room very long – but I definitely cannot imagine living in the room for 2 years. He apparently had a drunken fling with Janis Joplin in LA. When I was lying in bed – I wondered if it was in that room? Oh if the walls could talk…speaking of the walls, they are covered in graffiti and it’s become a shrine, like his gravesite in Paris France.
My Beethoven connection is in fact true. If you go back six degrees through my piano teachers you land at Beethoven – seriously. He is famous for his driving compositions. Strangely, when I was competing in classical competitions back in the day, the judges always said I had a real knack for performing Beethoven. My highest scores in competitions were always from performing Beethoven sonatas. Take from that what you will!

What’s been your biggest thrill thus far in your performing career?

Oh lord. I was asked to open for Melanie C (from the Spice Girls) at her outdoor Toronto performance last summer. So playing to her 10,000 fans was great. However not completely fulfilling for some reason. I also just love seeing people come back to their second or 3rd show. That’s likely the coolest thing.

Step Right Up exhibits a noticeable cabaret influence, though it’s so seamlessly integrated with the pop sound that it’s a beautiful marriage— what led you to start experimenting with the style? Was it a natural addition to your sound, or something that you chose and honed?

I don’t even really know where the cabaret influence came from. Likely just a lot of the music I’ve been listening to. Rufus Wainwright has it too I think – and I like his stuff. I think a lot of what I listen to has bits of it. And my classical leanings, when mixed with pop – likely come out of me as more cabaret. Perhaps. Pop + classical + me = cabaret. Something like that.

You recently shot a video for “Hypnotized” in Toronto that involved circus performers, fire spinners, dancers, and contortionists— sounds like a wild production. How was the experience? Had you done anything like that in the past?

It’s going to be out soon – and a link will be on my website for sure. The production was a completely hilarious and excellent experience. It was a first. The performers were incredible and it makes for a real visual experience (I’ve seen a rough edit). There is a bit of a ‘love’ story in it too – but it’s really subtle and a bit mysterious. And the circus/carnival suggestion came from the director/producer. He saw it in his head after hearing the song “Hypnotized” from my CD. There was actually a guy at the shoot that drove a nail up his nose with a big hammer – like a side-show type of thing. I don’t think that made the final cut. We were just messing around with all this great carnival imagery at the shoot and then it really came together in the edit. It was fun to be in downtown Toronto, playing an old upright piano on a street with a burlesque dancer sitting on top and can-can dancers high-kicking beside me. And then add in a “Thriller-meets-West-Side-Story” group dance routine that the choreographer put together. It was pretty nutty.

What inspires you other than music– any favorite books or movies?

I really gravitate to underdogs. I love the stories of underdogs making their way. I also am really inspired by people who make their way through life in unusual ways. I find that really inspiring. Whether they choose business, the arts, or whatever. If they take a path that they need to make on their own – that’s so cool to me.

In terms of books – I recently read “Are you somebody” by Nuala o’Faolain, and “Magical Thinking” by Augusten Burroughs. Both delightful! Currently I’m reading the last 2 Malcolm Gladwell books, “Blink” and “Outliers.” (I read “Tipping point” a long time ago so need to get caught up) So I’m a little all over the map with my reading but I find little nuggets in all of it. Malcolm Gladwell is so neat because he’s made sociology interesting. I took a Soc. course in university and it put me to sleep. He’s breathed new life into it and I’m sure sociology profs the world over thank him for his writing.

What are you working on currently—is there another album in the works?

I’m just getting into really working on some new material for a new album! The last album was quite a process. Through 2007 as I was touring, I wrote the songs that I recorded in Dec 07/Jan08 in LA, for “Step Right Up.” Then the mixing/editing/mastering was completed in early 08. Tour prep started and then late May I was out the door. 80 shows later it was December and I had been so busy touring and doing promo stuff that I hadn’t had time to write much. I captured a bajillion ideas – lyrics, little melodies, rhythms – on my hand mp3 recorder all along the way, but had no time to work anything out, to smear it around and see how it felt. So that’s what I’m doing now.

www.jeffstraker.com

Jack Scoresby. Maybe the name doesn’t invoke in everyone the same respect and gratitude that it does in me – but that’s only because not everyone knows him. Yet.

I remember Jack emailed me a long time ago and told me he wanted to buy a print. And then emailed me back about a week later and said he couldn’t buy a print anymore because he spent all his money on his birthday party. I looked at the pictures from said party, complete with blow-up castle, lap dances and more alcohol than ever was before – I couldn’t be upset about money so well spent. Since then, Jack and I have developed a great friendship and he has become a major inspiration to me.

Jack’s photos are dark and sexy and strong and vulnerable and violent and soft. Much of his work deals with extremes and polarizations; it’s these contrasts that make his work so captivating, and it’s what makes Jack as an artist so interesting. His 365 Days project—a self-portrait taken every day for a year—was 365 lessons in pushing the limits of creativity, resourcefulness, and intensity. His latest photos coming out of Japan show a new growth in terms of process and perspective. I recently got the opportunity to ask Jack some questions about his photography, life in Japan, and his future artistic endeavors. Ladies and Gentlemen, the very sexy, very talented, very manly, very honest, very fucking wonderful, Jack Scoresby.

I know photography is just one of your many talents; you also write and act and probably are capable of other things I am as of yet unaware of. Did you always have a creative drive? Or did your creativity click later in life? What sparked it?

It definitely clicked. I was in the 8th grade and had this huge crush on a girl named Kiley Rard. She was just perfect; brains, beauty, kindness, and a great sense of humor. Totally out of my league at the time, because I was still that kid that everyone made fun of. She was very nice to me though. I had always been a voracious reader, even as a child reading two novels a week usually, so I had ideas for things to write. She liked writing as well so to have something else to talk to her about I started writing poems and short stories and asking her to read them. She loved them, or at least said she did, and things sort of snowballed from there. She moved away at the end of that year, but I took Drama for four years in high school after that and continued writing for all of it. I briefly majored in film learning the technical side of things like lighting, sound, directing, finances, camera work, etc. I stayed involved in the theatre for a long time after high school as well. Eventually I got interested in photography because of how much I enjoyed the lighting class at college and because an ex-girlfriend of mine modeled for some private photos for me at my birthday party, which I thought turned out pretty decent. I thought I might be good at that too. But bringing this answer back to the original question, I think everything I do that’s artistic can be traced back to Kiley for giving me the initial motivation and resulting confidence in my creativity and imagination. I always had the imagination, but she focused it and gave me pride in showing it off.

In many of your 365 photos, you seemed to find yourself defending the content of your photos – specifically concerning how you portray women. What did you think of this reaction, and did it change your way of thinking about your photography in anyway?

A majority of the women I photograph are close friends of mine, so that’s probably why I defend the content when it concerns them. I don’t use sexuality as a prominent theme very often I don’t think, besides my pinup work. I used nudity even less. It offends me when people see something in my photos I didn’t put there, then they attack me for it. I realize that any photo will be only about 20% of the whole idea someone forms when they view it, but that’s also the reason it bothers me. I have never photographed any woman in a way they were uncomfortable with and I have never presented women as anything but beautiful and/or powerful figures in my art. So when someone says it’s porn or it’s degrading, it’s insulting. It’s like they’re calling me a liar. I present something with my work, and the viewer does the rest of the imagination. That’s with any art. I don’t feel I should be vilified when they imagine something into it that I didn’t put there then get offended by it.

Initially it did change the way I viewed my photography, but as I explored and developed more it began to bother me less, especially as I learned more about the photographer/audience relationship. Often I find that when I’m in disagreement with someone over the content of my work, be it sexuality or violence or anything else, that person does far less to understand it than I do to understand their work or why they feel the way they do. Ultimately it’s made me imagine things differently, but controversy is a reaction like any other, and as an artist a reaction is what I strive for be it positive or negative. I think the positive feedback I receive is usually much better constructed and from much more accomplished and artistic people than the negative, even from artists who don’t explore sexuality and violence at all. I’m of the opinion now that I’m generally more mature and more open to art and the world than the people who tell me my work is irresponsible or offensive. It’s almost become it’s own unique compliment now to be insulted by people who I don’t have anything in common with anyway. It’s like I’m doing something right.

One of my favourite things about your photography is the contradictions in how you portray yourself – and to an extent your subjects. One day you can be a crazy killer, the next a vulnerable man, the next a goofy playboy king of hot women. What compels you to portray so many different characters and emotions in your work?

Escapism. I like to wear different hats, and I like to remake myself sometimes. It’s a persona/personality thing, where the personality is how you are, and the persona is what you want people to see you as. Sometimes I like to be me, but a lot of times I like to be something else for a little bit. It’s very interesting to look at a photo of yourself being something you’re not, or doing something you never did. It’s like looking into another world because there you are in living color doing it, but it wasn’t real. I’m not violent or a playboy by any means, but sometimes I like to see what it’d be like if I was. The theatre background probably doesn’t hurt either, and I do tend to view a lot of my photos as pieces of a story. Many photos I take I think are actually the moment right before, or the moment after the real moment the photo is about. I like people to imagine for themselves what came before, or what happens next, and make a story that way. To do that the people in my photos (be them myself or others) are playing characters and roles to communicate that. It’s all a play on emotion and trying to get people to feel certain ones. Ultimately it all comes from me, and I’m a little bit of everything in my photos, but the photos are all extremes and exaggerations built on truth, but in the end it’s just theatre.

I know you are an excellent writer, but maybe not everyone does. Are you going to try to pursue this further, or at least maybe show the world a little more of your stories?

I am actually currently working on a novel. Hopefully a trilogy. I’m not going to say too much about it besides it’s a science fiction/fantasy story. As far as writing goes that’s where my main focus will be for a while. I’ll continue to write short stories but probably won’t do anything public with them until I’ve accumulated enough. I have no idea what amount “enough” will be, but at that point I might find a place online to put them and make them public.

Since you were deployed to Japan (being in the Navy and all), how has your creative view changed, if at all?

So far it’s definitely expanded my creative view. I mean how could it not? I get to see things I’ve never seen before, and familiar things have a new tint in the lense when I look at them again. I want to get a little more real with my photos, but still keep all that theatre I was talking about earlier. Maybe move from doing plays to doing films if that makes sense. I want to stop using stages in the form of studios and backdrops and I want to shoot on location. I want to start making the stories the photos tell more real in that respect.

One thing I’ve been interested in doing here, and will be starting soon is documenting the homeless in Japan. The class difference is really interesting in a very sad way, and to see the haves and have-nots in such close proximity in such an advanced and flourishing place such as Shibuya for example is something I really think everyone should see.

Have you found new inspirations in Japan that you would never have thought of back in America?

I accidentally answered part of this already with the homeless idea, but there’s a lot of other things on my mind as well. I want to go more into the modern culture here that’s unique to Japan first and foremost, but on a more general scale I want to do more urban work and a lot more with available and natural light. Being from Oklahoma, a lot of how dense and populated it is here is very new and beautiful to me. I want to capture that as I see it while I’m here. I have a love for the cities here and how busy things are on a constant basis. And again, the culture here is fascinating. I want to remember it and I want it to be remembered, so I’m looking to incorporate it in my work while I’m here.

Since I met you online, I think it’s appropriate to have an Internet question. Tell me how the Internet has affected you and the development of your art?

It’s had a huge affect. I mentioned I’m a theatre geek, and as such I enjoy attention, so the Internet has given me a large audience to show my work to. Not only that, but it’s given me an audience of people who I can pay attention to, and appreciate, and learn about. It’s helped me grow in so many ways, both imaginatively, and in just how many people know me for my work. I’ve made some great friends online who are both artists and passionate about the same things I am, and I think that’s a really amazing thing to be able to share with those people. The Internet has given me feedback and a spider web of connections to friends and inspirations that have made me a hundred times more creative than I ever was. The audience it’s provided me also gives me the motivation to continue doing photography and to continue to love doing it, because what artist wants to perform for an empty house?

So many people use pseudonym’s online, or pen names associated with their work. Jack Scoresby is not your real name. Why create the distinction between Jack and Jacob?

A lot of people ask me sometimes if Jack and Jacob are two separate people. I’ve even had people ask me if certain photos are of Jack and others of Jacob. I’ve always kind of thought that was ridiculous. Jack Scoresby is a pen name of mine of course, and I’ve considered it a character as well. I think the best explanation comes from an earlier answer where I mentioned the personality and persona. Jack Scoresby is my persona. Jack is me as I like to be seen, but Jack is still me in every way. Every photo I take of myself is of Jack Scoresby, and it’s also of me. There’s not really a distinction between the two. As to why I’d create another name to go by, Jack Scoresby comes from two different names. Jack London, my favorite author, and Lee Scoresby, a character from my favorite story. I think it suits me and my feelings at times, and its origin is a homage to artists and art that I enjoy. I thought it would be a fine name to go by when making art of my own. I think if there is a distinction to be made, then it only goes as far as persona/personality. Jack is just the hat I wear when I’m creating things.

And now I’m going to steal a question from Justin Holt from when he interviewed me, because it was a good one. A hypothetical: Someone comes across your photo stream – what do you want them to get from your photography?

Honestly I’m not looking for the audience to get anything. I’m selfish and I want something from them. I want a reaction. I want them to feel something, to have a mental or emotional response to my work that makes them form a new thought they never had before, or revisit a memory that’s powerful to them. I guess that’s what I’d want them to get; a new thought they never had before.

Who are some of your all time favourite photographers? Show us a photograph you’d wish you’d taken.

Besides you? I’ve never made it a secret you’re my favorite photographer. I might as well discredit this whole interview right here and now. I’m kidding. Anyway, a lot of my favorite photographers are from flickr. I’d say I’d have to mention Stephen Poff, Chad Coombs, J.R. Blackwell, Sable O’Driscoll, Mark Velasquez, Chad Michael Ward, Billy Bofh (A.K.A. MonkeyTwizzle), Chase Lisbon, Pilar Castro, Lars Venner, Rune T, Lauren Peralta and many others I’m sure. As for a photo I wish I’d taken, I feel I’ve never done enough when I’ve been around J.R. Blackwell, and she’s done some amazing work in the 365 days project she’s just completed. I think this shot is way up there on the “Shots I wish I’d taken” list.

What do you see for yourself as an artist in the future? More photography? Writing? Acting?

I’ll always be pursuing photography. I don’t think that will ever stop; though I also don’t think I’ll ever want to do it professionally. I want to write more and I am, and maybe someday I might be able to make a living at it. I’ll always be open to acting as well as I do enjoy being involved in the theatre and in film, despite a long absence from it. We’ll see how that pans out.

Realistically I know that being successful—enough money to make a comfortable living successful that is—isn’t likely in any of these fields, so I’ve decided to go to school and become a high-school drama teacher if all else fails, or even if it doesn’t fail. It’s something I think I would really enjoy and be good at, or else I wouldn’t bother trying to do it.

Basically no matter what I’m going to be involved in the arts somehow. I really don’t think it’s in me not to be. I’m not too sure on the specifics, but as long as I’m around I’ll be making something I’m going to want other people to see.

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Interviewee Jack Scoresby’s ever-evolving work can be found at flickr.

Interviewer Katie West is a Canadian photographer, writer, and all around creative soul.  Her first book, low self-esteem, was published in 2008

Often, our only perception of an artist is the work he creates. As such, chances are you wouldn’t recognize Norm Breyfogle on the street— it’s fitting, in a way, considering the character with which he is most often associated.

Norm drew Batman for DC Comics for six years, from 1987 until 1993. This was a renaissance period for the character, and Breyfogle’s vision of Batman wasn’t quite like any before him— Breyfogle’s Batman was sleek, expressive and sinister, and he was the first artist that seemed truly conscious of the transformation that took place when Bruce Wayne put on that suit: under Norm’s hand, Batman didn’t use the idea of terror so much as he became it. His work was rejuvenating to the character, updating the myth for a more sophisticated age and giving it a cinematic flair; moreover, he rediscovered the raw essence of Batman on the page, what made the character more than just a man in a suit. He made the character into something truly elemental. Something cool.

During this time Norm also co-created the provocative character of Anarky with writer Alan Grant. The character was complex: a teenage vigilante with violently populist leanings. Anarky clashed with Batman for a time before going on to star in a well-received spin-off series of his own, followed by a short-lived solo series in the late nineties. Ever since, the character seems to have been expunged from the DC Universe, much to the confusion of its creators and dismay of fans.

Norm has put his stamp on numerous other characters over his career— Captain America. The Flash. The Spectre. Superman. Prime. And his original creation, Metaphysique. He’s done work on Of Bitter Souls for Speakeasy Comics and the recent The Danger’s Dozen for A First Salvo. He’s also working on a novel.

At its best, the work an artist creates is sometimes absorbed subconsciously into the fabric of culture, even though the artist himself often remains in the shadows. In many ways comic books are the best example of that phenomenon— they are the most communal of our art forms; a pop-culture mythology shaped by many hands. It may be difficult to keep up with the constantly fluctuating universe of comic book characters and their storylines over time, but the opposite is true of the touchstones of the genre: the more time that passes, the easier it is to identify the moments when we were stirred. Breyfogle’s Batman is essential, and his work today continues to inspire. We are pleased he could spare us the time of answering a few questions.

Please visit www.normbreyfogle.com for news, galleries, and a virtual store where you can order trade paperbacks, sketchbooks and original artwork.

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You started drawing at an early age, when money wasn’t in the equation. One of the most prevalent fears of creative people is that turning your passion into a profession will suck the life right out of it. When you first made the jump into comics, did the professional aspects of the position (such as working under deadlines and adhering to the structure of someone else’s a narrative) alter the experience of creating art? Did it become just a job, or did you manage to keep it fresh and fun?

It’s always been a job, yet fun at the same time. The first two years were the hardest, when I was drawing Whisper under deadline for First Comcs, but once I got into the routine and internalised a lot of the reference it got more managable. I always knew even as a child and as an amateur that it was going to be a lot of work, but it was work of which I felt proud.

I’d counted on comics, and they came through for me. I did instead hope it was going to be a lifetime vocation, though. (lol) And I guess it may still be so for me, although things have changed. I certainly can’t count on Marvel or DC to hire me anymore, and don’t ask me why; it’s a puzzlement.

Tell us about your first days at DC. Do you remember seeing the first issue of Detective Comics that bore your name? Was it a thrill, seeing your stamp on such an iconic character?

Was that first issue the one with the Crime Doctor at center stage (I’m not sure)? I cringe when I see it now, but yeah, it was a huge thrill at the time. A life-long dream come true.

On your website there’s a gallery of your amateur work. Your boyhood drawings of Batman are skillful, but traditional— he’s clearly a man in a suit. Later in that gallery, there’s an ink drawing of Batman you did at age eighteen that shows how you were approaching the character differently: here, Batman’s taking on some of those abstract qualities found later in your work on the Batman titles, like the use of stylized shadow and the use of his cape to create atmosphere. As your work progressed throughout the comics, the cape became almost wraithlike, and your vision of Batman occasionally bordered on demonic. Is this early drawing where you started to experiment with what eventually became your very distinct and stylized take on the character? Was it a conscious decision to take the design of Batman in this direction, or was it sort of an organic change?

I don’t know if that particular drawing I did at eighteen is the actual beginning of anything, but I do remember it being kind of a revelation to me at the time. (Of course, that’s one of the reasons I’ve still kept it at the top of my amateur porfolio. I have many notebooks of stuff I did at various ages showing a progression in my ability. In any particular selection, of course, I choose the stand-outs.)

Many of your most striking covers from this period are actually the simplest; my personal favorite is the cover of Detective Comics #590. From looking at the cover, we don’t know who the villain is, and we don’t know what the story is about— but the framing, choice of perspective, atmosphere and color make this one a classic for me. This cover seems like an oddity for the medium; it’s rather quiet and reserved. How did you approach the matter of designing covers? Were you required to include certain elements depending on the story, or did you pretty much do whatever you wanted? Do any favorites come to mind?

For the Tec 590 cover I guess I was influenced by the gothic look of London. Big Ben provides its own mood.

I undoubtedly drew many cover sketches for that issue’s cover, but I threw away all my Batman and Detective prelims when I was forced to sell my house, move and downsize after suddenly being rejected by Marvel and DC Comics in 2001, after about fifteen years of steady work for DC in the comics business.

When designing covers I attempt to summarize the contents of the story in some way without spoiling it. Some of my faves include that Tec 590 cover you mentioned, Tec 587, Tec 591, and Tec 592 I’m also especially proud of the cover painting for the hardcover graphic novel Batman: Birth of the Demon.

In comic book titles, the landscape is constantly changing: artists, writers, story arcs, and sometimes even continuity. Occasionally entire universes of characters— decades of history— are rebooted. Is it challenging to remain faithful to canon working in that fluctuating universe, or does it instead give you a certain freedom to re-imagine things at your whim, as in your ever-changing Batmobile designs? Any characters besides Batman you were excited to put your own spin on? Any visual changes you made to the characters or environments that you were especially pleased with?

I’ve always made an effort to become thoroughly aware of the details of the characters I draw. Some titles and stories are more difficult to manage in this sense. For instance, team books are harder because there’s so much more to keep in mind for each and every page.

I would assume that I put my personal stamp on every character I draw, as does every artist. I liked drawing Robin dark and menacing rather than as a smiling elf, I liked designing various batmobiles before editorial reined in on the Batman canon details after the first films were released. I designed the look of many Batman characters largely because Alan Grant wasn’t using the old stand-bys but was creating new ones. The Flash was top fun for me in the titles in which I drew that character; I’d like to draw him a whole lot more.

Btw, Batman and DC stuff has only been about one-fourth to one-third of my output throughout my comics career. I’ve designed many characters for other companies, such as Prime and all his nemeses (Malibu Comics), the stuff in Of Bitter Souls, some things in Black Tide (for Angel Gate Press), and The Danger’s Dozen, to cite just a few examples. And, of course, there was the mini-series Metaphysique, which I created, wrote, designed, pencilled, inked, and for which I painted all the covers.

You worked on the launch of a new Batman title, Shadow of the Bat, which presented stories with a more psychological focus. Was this handed down to you, or something you and/or Alan Grant had asked to do? Did you approach the art in the new title any differently than you did the other Batman titles, or was it simply business as usual?

At a Batman summit conference Alan and I were offered a new Batman title by Denny O’Neil (I don’t think anyone had a title for it yet, at that point). Alan didn’t want to accept the offer, but I was willing to draw whatever DC wanted me to draw so I said yes, and Alan finally agreed to write it. I found out later that Alan balked at the offer because he knew that a very special anniversary issue of Batman was coming up (issue 500, I think, or was it 400?) and he knew it’d be big seller. Well, it was indeed a big success and we didn’t get those royalties because we were instead working on SOTB by then which, although it was also a success, wasn’t nearly as high-selling as was that one single anniversary issue of Batman.

The only thing I recall doing differently for SOTB was being able to play around with full bleed pages (where the artwork could go all the way to the edge of the page). Other than that, it was pretty much the same for me.

That was also the time that Batman comics started using elements of the movies in their designs, so that was a little different, too.

Concerning Batman in film, you’ve mentioned you weren’t too crazy about Tim Burton’s take on Batman due to some unrealistic set choices, callous violence on Batman’s part, and locales that felt somewhat otherworldly. Joel Schumacher’s Batman descended into misguided spectacle. How do you feel about Christopher Nolan’s take on the franchise with Batman Begins, and now The Dark Knight?

Yes, there were many bad decisions made in the first film which apparently became instant canon for the later films, but Nolan’s version is correcting much of that. I find it amazing that it took Hollywood nineteen years to realize how stupid it is for Batman to be unable to turn his freaking head! At this rate of improvement, maybe there’ll be a perfect Batman film by the time I retire. (lol)

Batman Begins wasn’t perfect. The idea that Bruce Wayne didn’t get his head straight until he was already an adult destroys one of the most important elements of the character, i.e., that he knew what he wanted to do with his life shortly after his parents were killed and he then spent well over a decade training his body and his mind to be preternaturally skillful. In the Nolan version, Batman is clearly no top scientist; he has to rely on Lucius Fox to explain relatively simple things like the Scarecrow’s nerve toxin! Nolan depicts Wayne as an unfocussed, angry young man all the way to adulthood, until Ras Al Ghul gets a hold of him. That’s not really Batman as he should be, imo.

My personally favorite Batman put to film so far can be seen in the short fan film titled Batman: Dead End.

Lots of superheroes go through changes over the years, but Batman seems to be a particularly susceptible target— he started off as brooding and violent; he lightened up after the Comics Code Authority was established in the 50s; the 60s saw him become campy; and the 70s brought some of the darkness back to the character. Still, sales dwindled until Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns in the mid 80s, after which you arrived on the scene. Which Batman were you most in touch with growing up? Why do you think Batman survived so many permutations, and came back so strong?

To me, Batman’s costume always guaranteed a certain aura of dark coolness, at least in the comics. As a child, I was reading Batman comics in the campy ‘60s and yet I still saw the same dark coolness factor. Of course, I was a young kid, and pop culture – and comics – was brighter and less sophisticated back then.

The reason Batman remains Batman even after all the changes is because his fundamental motivation is so simple and traumatic, and, having no superpowers, his fans can identify with him more easily than with some other characters. Also, Batman straddles a number of different genres with lithe grace, including detective, superhero, sci-fi, pulp, horror, and many others. Perhaps inevitably, such a very wide range of application is going to appeal to a wide range of many differing types of people.

I know it sounds shallow and kind of stupid, but I also think that a huge part of Batman’s fame has always been his costume. This is one reason he’s so difficult to depict well on film. For instance, in drawings and animation his cape can become almost alive and expand to dynamic proportions which – if seen in live action – could easily appear silly. And his cowl in the comics often seems alive, showing his facial expressions right through it, while in the films it’s become a solid helmet.

Superhero movies are certainly nothing new, but it seems like we’re getting a concentrated dose of them in recent years. Recent films like Sin City, Spiderman, Iron Man, and the new Batman films have made tons of money, stayed true to the source material, and received positive reviews on top of it— a surprising trifecta. Do you think we’re in the golden age of superhero movies? Why do you think the public is so hungry for these stories?

We’re obviously in the midst of the first really big and successful era for such movies, but I believe the future will hold even more glorious times.

People are going for this stuff strongly now because the storytelling, sfx, acting, directing, and everything else is finally being applied to this genre at a cutting-edge level of professionalism. Also, as the real world continues to darken, so do many folks enjoy high levels of exciting escapism.

Ultimately, I think the coming of age of CGI sfx is the main element that has pushed superheroes onto center stage in film. Never before could such activities be shown as realistically on screen as they can be now.

You’ve made comments in the past that you thought the character of Anarky was possibly too provocative for a post 9/11 climate. But years have passed, and with the success of the film version of V for Vendetta, and in light of some of the more complex themes in The Dark Knight, it would seem there is a mainstream audience for stories that challenge our perceptions of what it means to be a hero (and villain). I realize the character’s fate is not up to you, but do you still think Anarky is too heady and subversive, or was he simply too hot to handle for a mainstream publisher?

I think maybe so, but the truth must be very complex. I would hope that most folks would’ve noticed by now that there’s been a heck of a lot of propaganda control since 9-11. The “free press” has become a bullhorn for the special interests of the ruling elite, at most others’ expense. Thinking in a sophisticated manner is one thing, but when such thinking starts to challenge the political status quo, that’s when the censorship really hits the fan.

Who knows? Anarky may be the main reason Alan Grant and I are now persona non grata at DC (and even at Marvel).

You left DC to work for Malibu on the title Prime in exchange for the publishing of your creation, Metaphysique. It was an ambitious project, and the run was abbreviated due to market woes, but obviously the lure of being able to build your own universe was powerful. Have you always wanted to create your own characters? What did you take from the Metaphysique experience?

As a child I read voraciously but I never wanted to be a writer, probably because I got side-tracked very early by my interest in visual art. By the time I made the deal with Malibu I’d only written a small number of short prose and comics stories, (some of those stories were published by Eclipse Comics in the original version of Metaphysique), but after seeing what the Image guys were writing, I knew I could provide a story with a bit more depth because my long-time interest in reading fiction, philosophy, and psychology motivated me with a lot to say.

The main thing I gained from Metaphysique was confidence in my ability to write an epic story if I so desired.

During a time when work was scarce in comics, you started writing a novel to blow off some creative steam; you’ve since expressed some interest in turning that novel, once finished, into a comic book. Your panel layout and sense of pace in comics is so dynamic— how has it been stepping from that into a world without pictures?

I was a big reader from childhood on, and my highest scores on my college level entrance exams were in English, so I suppose writing came to me more easily than it might have otherwise. But still, the first efforts with my novel were like kicking a bird out of its nest in order to make it fly. Not only was I demoralized because of my rejection by the mainstream comics companies, but writing a novel is a much bigger effort than I realised at the time. The first three chapters were exceedingly difficult for me, even though I knew basically where I wanted to be by the beginning of chapter four or so. And it was only after chapter three that I decided to plot out the rest of the book.

Now I enjoy writing so very much that I wish I could concentrate only on that. But I can’t; I’ll still have to pay my bills through my illustrations for at least a while to come. Soon, though, I’ll be able to finish my novel. I have no idea if I’ll be able to sell it, though.

Prose writing provides the communicative tools for expressing profoundly complex depth to a degree that movies and even comics just can’t match.

On your website there’s the option to order commissions, though you are not accepting any at this time. Any idea when commissions will again be available? How do commissions work— do you work with only certain characters, or could you do, say, Popeye vs. Galactus (not that you should)?

I should be accepting new commissions by the end of September 2008, and I’ll draw anything a client requests, within reason (no pornography or major dissing of any established characters). I’d be happy to draw Popeye vs. Galactus, though (I once drew a quickie for someone featuring Superman vs. Atom Ant).

The scope of your most recent collaboration– The Danger’s Dozen– is huge. How did you approach the challenge of handling such a big cast of characters? Was there something in particular that drew you to the project?

The Danger’s Dozen is the most difficult project I’ve ever drawn, for basically three reasons. 1) There are a heck of a lot of characters and settings, 2) the stories are incredibly complex, and 3) the reference I’ve been provided is somewhat spotty due to the fact that earlier printed issues and discs were destroyed or lost some time ago. A First Salvo has been very good about providing me with as much reference as possible, but I wish I could read the early issues wherein a lot of their multiverse was first established.

Concerning the convention experience– do you enjoy meeting fans? Do you ever get the impression from these meetings that your work on Batman is as influential to fans and budding artists as the work of guys like Neal Adams and Jim Aparo was to you?

I always enjoy meeting fans. Just about everyone has always been very sweet and gracious.

Sometimes I do indeed hear that my art has had as big an impact on some folks as Adams’ and Aparo’s and others’ art had on me, and it’s very gratifying. It makes me feel that I belong, that I have a place – however small – in history.

What are you working on now?

This summer, after some health problems I experienced in the spring, I’ve been concentrating for over a month on regaining my health, and I’m now ready to start working again. First on my schedule are two separate eight-page stories, one for IDW’s title Munden’s Bar, and one for A First Salvo. Then I’ve got numerous commissions to finish, and after that, in September, I’ll be starting work on a new project that I can’t talk about quite yet.

Thanks so much for your time.

My pleasure.

“I won’t settle nope not a little bit.”

If it sounds like a proclamation it should, and it comes beautifully by way of Emma-Lee, Canadian singer-songwriter on “Where You Want To Be.” Since last time we heard from her she has managed to get exactly where she wants to be. Her debut album, Never Just A Dream, which was given 4/4 stars from the Toronto Star—and also fared quite nicely with Oxyfication—is a brilliant beginning-to-end coming-of-age listening experience that defies genre classification. For the better part of the two years leading up to the recording of Never Just A Dream, however, it seemed as if the reality of it coming to fruition might be in danger. Emma-Lee faced two potentially career-ending-before-it-had-a-chance-to-begin medical hurdles that resulted in two separate surgeries on her vocal chords. At 25-years old, more resilient and determined than ever, recording wrapped on the album in mid-2008 and was released in August. On the album Emma-Lee played the songstress-of-all-trades: writing, singing, co-producing, photographing, promoting, and chief financing the project. The wearing of many different hats is nothing new for Emma-Lee. She runs her own photography business, Stripped Media, and she’s a founding member of the Toronto-based creative-collective, GoodSoundsGood. In a brief moment of downtime Emma-Lee stopped by Oxyfication to answer all things pertaining to Never Just A Dream, from what it felt like to finally finish the album, to what it’s like being the object of affection of the Viagra-popping generation.

***

So it’s been over two-and-a-half years since you first spoke with Oxyfication. In our first interview you stated your goal was to record your first full-length album and now on the eve of its August 8^th 2008 official release, Never Just A Dream becomes a full-fledge reality. For starters, has it finally set in yet that you’ve done it, and if so when was that moment? Was it hearing the finished product in the studio, when the disk arrived on your doorstep, or if so/not, what were those moments like?

I think the moment for me was when the vocals were officially done. Before mixing, mastering and packaging, I knew all those things would be done one way or another but because of the surgery, and my nervousness about whether or not I could sing the way I used to, it was a true victory when I had completed that part of the project.

Early response to Never Just A Dream has been extremely positive, including a nomination in the “Best Jazz” category of Toronto’s Independent Music Awards as well as a nod in the Toronto Star’s weekly “Anti-Hit” list of the best-undiscovered musicians. What do these honors feel like? Are they strictly a validation thing for all of the hard work? Are they something you worked towards/hoped for? Or is all of it just an added bonus to accomplishing something that you’ve proud of?

It’s always nice to get a positive reaction from people. You pour your heart into something and at the end of the day I’m very proud of the record, so I guess people enjoying what I’ve done is a bit of a bonus. I’m always grateful for the added exposure though.

What has been your favorite or most fulfilling moment in all of this so far?

For me it’s watching the songs come alive by way of my amazing band. I’m blessed with a lot of talent around me who believe in the project, which is very encouraging. The world is so fast now and everyone is so busy. If someone is willing to lend me their time because they believe in the music, that’s probably the most fulfilling thing about what I do.

Back in 2006 you spoke of making an album that “flows like a story.” The obvious theme of Never Just A Dream would seem to be rooted in heartache, yet there is a strong sense of redemption in songs such as “Flow”, “Isn’t It Obvious”, and “Mr. Buttonlip” that it seems if there’s any real sense of cohesiveness in terms of an overall story it’s of a woman—or person for that matter—who is coming into their own, who feels comfortable in their own skin, as scarred as it may be. Considering some of these songs are years older than others did you still have a cognizant theme in mind when you were putting the album together, are they more a collection of songs that happen to skate in familiar waters, or were they perhaps just the songs that fit best with what you wanted to say?

I would say they are a collection of songs. The three you mentioned are all about one person and play out on the album in order of which they were written: the sadness of the break-up, the trouble that comes from trying to remain friends, and the inevitable angry or “fuck you” song. The rest of the songs on the album are more or less things that took place in the last few years of my life and just sort of “fit”. For a debut album I wanted something that people could put on start to finish, but it is by no means a concept record.

The lyrical content seems to be familiar territory on the album’s first run through, but the lyrics reveal many intricacies on subsequent listens. Possession and the pitfalls of couplehood seem to be a recurring theme– and then comes a song like “Where You Want To Be”, which is on a different plane. With such an economy of words the song floats through some tricky states of mind— there are shades of comfort, tenacity, and disappointment here. Do you approach a song like this by trying to abbreviate a distinct narrative you’ve got in mind, or are you working purely in abstracts that, when paired with the music, evoke a pure mood?

“Where You Want to Be” is sort of an observation on people who are complacent with where they are in life and never chase anything further. I’ve had a few friends who seemed to settle quite early on and never dreamed of anything that wasn’t directly in their reach and I never really understood it. It angers me a bit when people who I know are full of potential or talent, but just sort of give in to being comfortable, even if that means sacrificing a dream.

The song “Flow” has undergone a facelift since its first appearance on The Sneak Peek E.P. Though the melody and spirit of the song remain the same it’s a completely different song. Why did you decide to change the song? Was it strictly a matter of having more at your disposal now than when you initially recorded it? Did the song mature, did the way you sing it perhaps mature, or was this the way you heard it sound in your mind all along?

Definitely the first version of “Flow” was never in my mind “complete”. I think a song can be done a million different ways. That’s what makes music so exciting. A big part of the change in the way it sounds was removing the electric guitar and replacing it with piano for the intro. Tyler Yarema, who plays all of the piano and organ on the album, came into the studio and I told him to just experiment with playing the intro verse a few different ways. When he played this ultra-minimalist take I just knew it was right. He barely knew the song and his intuition was just so bang-on. I think he did maybe three takes of the song and that was the one we (Mitch Girio, my co-producer) and I chose. Vocally, I had definitely improved and matured since the first recording. I’ve laid off the over-done runs that often happen in that genre as I found they often can be distracting from the real message in the music and lyrics. It took me awhile to tune into that. I know now that I don’t have to show off my vocal acrobatics to get my point across.

In terms of the structure of how the songs of Never Just A Dream were laid out the album opens (with “Bruise Easy”) and closes (with “Until We Meet Again”) with a fade in/fade out feel to it giving it a sort of cinematic feel. Was the sequence of the songs something you paid a lot of attention to, or planned out?

Once those songs were written—which coincidentally they were the most recent additions to the album—it made sense for me to open with something really bare. People in the industry will tell you to put your best songs first on an album but I didn’t really care about that. It was more important for me that the first song be intriguing rather than bash people over the head with a hook. It’s short, almost like an intro; it sets a mood. The last song, with its title (“Until We Meet Again”) seemed like a no-brainer to place at the end, and I think it is an equally intriguing way to finish the CD. For my first real “album” I didn’t want to compromise anything. No one is telling me what to do right now so why should I do what is expected by the mainstream? I think the best thing that you can do as an independent artist is to take major advantage of the freedom. At the end of the day it’s my name tacked on to the project so if I don’t feel good about it, it’s going to be hard to promote.

The boys that inspired these songs, have you heard from any of them on how they’ve been immortalized? Is there a line of men already forming to be in the next round of songs? And specifically, with the song “An Older Man”, have you already, or do you expect a harem of Viagra-packing gentlemen to show up at your performances?

[Laughs] A few older men have come a-courtin’, that much is true. As far as the rest, the one who Mr. Buttonlip is about left me a really funny message on my answering machine after receiving the album. It was something along the lines of “Hey…just wanted to tell you that I love your album, particularly Mr. Buttonlip, but I have a feeling it’s about me. If it’s not about me and I’m just being a vain asshole I’m sorry, but let me know because I think I will like it a lot more if it’s about someone else.” I kind of forgot when I gave it to him that there might be some offensive words on there.

The strings added another dimension to the songs giving them a grander yet seemingly more intimate sound. Were strings something that you wanted to work with all along and what was that like, hearing songs you built on the guitar get transformed with classical instruments?

That was one of the most exciting moments in the project. I asked Mike Olsen to do the strings early on as I’d heard a lot of his work, which was amazing. I have a belief that you need to let people just DO what they’re truly good at. So I basically gave the songs to Mike and said, “Write whatever you want”. I know that I do my best work as an artist, whether it be in music or photography, when people just let me do my thing. Rules and restrictions can be suffocating, so I wanted to let the people involved in the CD shine in what they had worked their lives becoming an expert at. The results are just as I expected, and I still get goose bumps when I hear their parts.

In the past two years you were forced to face two separate problems with your vocal chords resulting in two different surgeries. Were there times when the “What if?” and “Why me?” questions started to creep into your head? Or did these roadblocks only strengthen your resolve to get Never Just A Dream completed? What was the hardest part of going through all of this? Have you had to change your approach at all? How has your voice held up since the surgeries?

I’m not a religious person but when a series of unfortunate events occur in your life sometimes you turn to spiritual means to sort them out. Certainly a lot of “what if” and “why me” questions crossed my mind. But I’m not the type of person to just succumb to struggle. I know that there was no fucking way I would have come this far and worked that hard just to roll over. My voice feels the same, if not better than before the surgeries, and I try to appreciate it a lot more.

In the heat of the creative process is it hard—or on Never Just A Dream was it hard—to objectively step back and enjoy what you hear, and moreover enjoy what’s going on? Does it get too familiar at times? Were there/Are there times when you have to step back for a while to allow things an opportunity to remain fresh? When/If ever did you start to hear the “magic” on the album?

I would say I heard the magic right away. After those first sessions recording the bed tracks I was sold. There was a period of time spent not doing any work on the record because of the surgery I had. During that time I played the shit out of what had been done and got to a point where I felt I had listened too much. Then the vocals, strings, and finishing touches were put on and it was exciting again. After a couple weeks listening to it for hours on end during the mixing and mastering stages I was sick of it. I do that with almost every record I love though. I listen to it for every detail until I could recite it to you lick for lick. Once I sent it off to the plant to get manufactured I took a few weeks off and didn’t listen to it once. I think it’s important to spend time away from something so you can appreciate it again later. I listened to it again today actually and still felt really happy about it, so I guess that’s all I can ask for.

In our first interview we talked about the hardships that being an independent artist—in its truest sense—face. Considering that you shouldered the brunt of the load on Never Just A Dream (singer/songwriter/nylon guitar/co-producer/art direction/promoter/chief photographer/glockenspiel/financier/and most importantly, claps & stomps) how difficult has it been it to pull everything together and still maintain the focus, drive, and creative spirit? Do you have a greater sense of accomplishment because you laid so much of yourself on the line? And do you feel like everything up to this point has been how you envisioned it would be?

I think given my resources for completing a project like this I have no complaints and I feel comfortable where I am right now. Many of the singer-songwriters I admire took a long time to really accomplish great things and I’ve always felt like a late bloomer in that sense. I didn’t really start writing songs until four years ago, so I can only hope to learn more every year and become a better writer. At times it’s difficult to maintain a creative spirit when you are mountains in debt, but truthfully my best writing comes from harder times, not when I’m lying on a beach getting a massage in Barcelona. As annoying as they are in the present tense, as long as I tune into those feelings as they’re happening, hopefully [I can] write a song, and they can be good for the spirit.

The sounds of Never Just A Dream meander through many different genres—from jazz, to blues, to pop, to a big-band era show tunes feel—rather seamlessly, and though theory says that good music should conquer all, it seems the music industry from top to bottom is hell bent on compartmentalizing sounds/bands/singers into specific categories, even if they don’t fit, for marketing purposes. The flipside of that—and a freedom perhaps granted to you as an independent singer—seems to be that because the album is so diverse in its sound that it could appeal to a broader base of people. Have you run into any hardships on this level, either trying to describe the album, market the album, or promote the album, or has it been a fairly easy go because of its diversity?

I’ve pretty much come to an acceptance that I am terrible at streamlining—or channeling—my inspiration into any one sound. I listen to way too many different types of music to make a record that is any one particular genre. I mean never-say-never; there might be a top-to-bottom jazz album in me yet, but not anytime soon. I love to explore far too much. I think it’s a lot more acceptable in Indie music to be all over the map. Or it’s simply more common because, again, no one is telling you what to do. As much as I hope that people will listen to this album from start to finish it’s an iPod generation, and people pick favourites and play those. Does it really matter how cohesive something is anymore? I don’t know.

In terms of singles, do you—or with Never Just A Dream specifically did you—consciously think that you’re going to need a single—or singles—to help pull people into the album? Do you write with that in mind? Does something like that maybe develop after the fact? Or is the whole need for a single overblown?

In my world a single isn’t necessary. I’m not making the kind of music that’s going to be played on mainstream commercial radio so I have to go to campus radio. Their format is totally open; DJ’s play whatever songs from the album they want. You can try to get your fans to request particular songs but that doesn’t always have sway. However, if there were a first “single” for the album it would be “That Sinking Feeling”. I’m working on getting funding for a music video for that song right now. I have never tried to write a single, or a “hit song”. I could be completely wrong but I still hold to the idea that the best songs come from true inspiration, not what someone thinks is catchy or “cool”. As soon as I feel like I’m “trying” to find the hook I toss the song. Pretty much all of the hooks I’ve ever come up with I don’t really remember where they came from. They just sort of came out, eventually.

You mention trying to secure funds for a music video of “That Sinking Feeling”. Though internet sites such as YouTube are hugely popular, and have pretty much completely replaced the MTVs and other once video-friendly cable outlets that are now more concerned with reality shows, do you think that music videos still have a pertinent place in music? So many of the popular videos on YouTube seem to be quirky by nature, and though they can go a long way to getting a lot of people to notice you, it seems that fame in that regard can definitely be fleeting. Is your desire to make a music video driven by the chance of exploring another creative medium, is it because you truly believe that there’s still a place for music videos out there, or is it maybe something different? And do you have an idea of what you’d want to do for “That Sinking Feeling” visually to compliment the song?

I believe YouTube is an opportunity to expose a little piece of yourself to the world with a low budget. It’s a good way to connect personally to your fans, but as you said, it’s fleeting. My interest in making a music video isn’t so my mug can be on computer screens across the world as much as it would be the joy of attaching a visual creation to the musical creation. I think there will always be a place for music videos because often the combination of music and film is more memorable than just the song itself and ups the sentimentality a person could feel towards it. I have an idea for the video, but you will just have to wait and see it to know what it is! Completing a music video will definitely be a big check mark off the old “life to-do list”. I’m excited to say the very, very least.

Prior to the release of the album you had a pre-order where people could buy their copy (or copies) of Never Just A Dream in advance. The benefit for you was that it helped raise necessary money. The benefit for them was that they received the album upon its completion ahead of the official release date. Was the pre-sell a success, and what was the overall response. How wide-ranging in location were the people who pre-ordered?

The pre-sale was quite a success. I was surprised and flattered that people were sending me money for an album that hadn’t been recorded yet, and that they hadn’t heard even a tiny sample from. Apparently I have some very kind and supportive friends and fans. I got orders from all over the world.

Both with Indie releases and those from major studios the album booklet and its artwork are often overlooked or passed off with indifference. Perhaps that’s due to the overabundance of people who get their music in mp3 format, or perhaps it’s a way to cut down on cost, but you’ve paid great attention to the artwork and the booklet and the presentation really pays off creating a fuller experience. Was that really important to you and if so, why?

I figure anyone who buys the physical CD is buying it for that exact reason; the experience. If you’re more partial to iTunes you probably don’t give a toss what the liner notes say. So I made the booklet with the idea in mind that the CD was going to go to people who wanted that experience. I love photos; it’s obvious why I got into photography. I’ve always been drawn particularly to the way my favourite bands/musicians were presented in their artwork. There is a quote from Bjork that says:

“The reason I do photographs is to help people understand my music, so it’s very important that I am the same, emotionally, in the photographs as in the music. Most people’s eyes are much better developed than their ears. If they see a certain emotion in the photograph, they’ll understand the music. So instead of having to listen to my album ten times, they’ll get it the first time.”

I guess that explains why I do self-portraits. I can capture myself exactly as I would like to be perceived.

Now that you have your first full-length album under your belt has there been any time to relish in that feeling of “I’ve finally done it”, or is it just a matter of having to move on to the next phase of promoting and selling the album? And does the completion of the album leave you with an added sense of pressure both on yourself and what you expect of the album?

I’ve definitely had my moment to enjoy and say “Ok, it’s done” and I’ve fully moved into promo mode. As far as pressure and my expectations, I feel that I’ve done the best job I possibly could right now and I’m truly happy with the result. If people get it, and like it, that will encourage me to move forward. I look at this record as an introduction to what I’m all about, and I hope it will take me far enough to make another one.

You’ve already performed several dates in advance of the release of Never Just A Dream and have several others lined up in the coming months, including your first mini-foray into the U.S. Ideally the goal would be to tour the album as much as possible in as many different places/counties, but realistically as an Independent musician, what sort of places/cities do you see yourself getting to?

I’ve been playing with a band for most of my career. As much as I would love to take them on the road with me everywhere it’s financially not feasible right now. I’m working on finessing my solo act so I can go anywhere at the drop of a hat. A solo performance is always completely different than with the full band but it should never be thought of as better or worse – just different. Some people have said they love to hear me acoustic because my voice is at the forefront; others love the rhythmic element having a band provides. I like playing with a band for the feeling of sharing music with others on stage, but there is a certain control you get playing alone that you can’t always have with a band. I’ll go wherever people will listen; but I would like to spend more time in Europe, if only for its simpler navigation. Canada is a monster.

In terms of the live show not being any better or worse whether it’s a solo gig or one with a full band, do you feel that all of the songs from ‘Never Just A Dream’ can—and do— translate over to a solo show, or are there some that you reserve for when you have a band?

I personally prefer playing with a full band because that provides me the ability to show an audience exactly how I hear things in my own head. On the flip side, the intimacy and control you have when performing solo is also nice depending on the gig. I believe all of the songs translate to solo, that’s where they started. Not always, but as a general rule I think if it can’t stand-alone with a guitar and a voice it’s probably a dud.

Finally, in closing your last interview with Oxyfication, when asked where you saw yourself in a year’s time you answered, “I predict I will be in the midst of making a full on disco album and working on a completely pretentious coffee table book of nude self portraits.” How are those proclamations coming along, and do you have any insight into a year from this point?

[Laughs] Well, the nude coffee table book and disco album are still in the back of my mind, but I’ve been too busy with NJAD to really let them…flourish In one year from now I hope to have all the material for a new album, and if I have that, I’ll be exactly where I want to be.

Gordon Highland has done college radio, wedding videos, graphic design, short films, ad copy writing, photography, freelance work as a radio station engineer, commercial scripts, and home recording. He’s directed. He’s been in several bands, most recently the semi-acoustic duo Winebox. Rumor has it he’s been to the moon in a homemade rocket of his own design.

It might be tempting to say Gordon samples the arts as one might sample an hors d’oeuvres tray, but that sort of implies that there is no substance to the experience. On the contrary, he strikes me as more of an Iron Chef of the arts, able to whip up complex and imaginative creations from virtually anything you put in front of him.

Did I mention he’s a writer? His first novel, Major Inversions, follows the travails of Drew Ballard through the city of Edgewater– a B-List backwater version of Hollywood threatening to collapse under the weight of its own ego. A beachfront community rapidly losing what’s left of its beach to hotels and businesses following the money of the nearby studios like remora fish, Edgewater is populated by an abnormal number of hyphenates: actor-bartender. Writer-caterer. And in Drew’s case, security guard-musician. He pays the bills by writing corporate jingles, and by night he plays guitar in a hair-metal tribute band under the stage name Jag.

The story starts off with wicked humor as we meet Drew for the first time, and he recalls his beginnings. Fittingly, these opening chapters hit you like a song you know is going to have a hooky chorus, an ironic chef-d’oeuvre that starts— literally— with a piece of shit, and leads into a nightclub performance that is deliriously perfect in its conception, as tightly choreographed as a synchronized stage kick.

Three is a little of the artist in everything he does; this is true here, as Drew shares a few superficial similarities with Gordon. But perhaps less obvious is that they seem to share a penchant for effortless multi-tasking— a sense of navigating a deep sea of details, and never going under. As the story opens, Drew seems almost in charge of Edgewater: he sees through its illusions, and knows the score. Gordon puts out a similar vibe. Fortunately he was available to shed some light on it.

Major Inversions is among the many projects that can be sampled at Gordon’s website, G Dot Com.

* * *

You’ve got a lot of creative interests—music, writing, photography and film among them. Which would you call primary, and why?

Music is the most easily accessible, because I can just grab a guitar and shred my cares away on demand. Some days it’s just a physical diversion, others it’s an exercise in mimicry, or actually working towards creating something. I like that it allows me to choose between art and performance with equal satisfaction. I guess it’s like how a novelist might enjoy blogging. I direct and edit videos for a living, so that earns my number-one spot at the expense of some passion. Writing fiction is the newest to me, so it’s the mistress most favored.

You’ve recently completed your first novel, titled Major Inversions. The inspiration for the main character came largely from your college days, when you worked as a security guard and moonlit as a musician in a number of bands. Can you tell us a bit about the story and its characters? How close to home is your main character?

Thanks for the plug. He’s sixty-ish percent me. I saw him as sort of an id: the Tyler Durden to my Rupert/Cornelius/Jack. That story about the briefcase full of dildos and rubbers for the kids in juvie is true. As is the one about swapping a cup of piss for a case of beer. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Major Inversions is basically about a day-job security guard in a hair-metal tribute band by night – with all the trappings of deluded fame and its fiends on the fringe – trying to make a life change when he meets “the girl,” and failing at every turn, including a disastrous attempt at seeking out his birth parents. Everything takes place in this fictionalized east-coast Hollywood with its requisite cast of plastic characters, and all under the watchful eye of his parasitic new roommate always lurking in the periphery.

While the plot itself is total fiction, I drew from personal experience to sort of paint the backgrounds and dress the sets, so to speak. Those little details and day players that create a realistic atmosphere for the absurd happenings. In a strange twist of coincidence, a few months after I started writing I joined an 80s tribute band. Pop, though, not metal. By that point I’d already outlined most the band subplots, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some additional influence (laughs).

Sometimes it’s difficult to work in one aspect of a medium while having your passions lie at the other end of the spectrum. In some ways it might seem paradoxically easier to make a novelist out of a bricklayer than a novelist from someone who’s had experience in advertising. With your professional experience in ad copy and commercial scripts, do you find any difficulty in using the same tools in so many different ways? What kind of relationship do the habits and skills honed in your professional experience have with the creation of your novel?

It’s true that I’m usually most excited about the opposite of whatever I’m being paid to do any given month. Much as I loathed copywriting at the time, it was a fantastic prep school. When you’re tasked with something like a company slogan, every effing word has so much weight, you’ve really gotta master economy and concision of language. You befriend your thesaurus in a quest for the perfect word. Ad copy is also loaded with authority. Sometimes you gotta establish it first, and then certainly work to maintain it throughout the piece. Those old habits can’t help but pervade my writing today, and are responsible for what I’m told is a confident tone. I’m one of those edit-as-I-go writers with the inner critic always on his shoulder, so one finished page is a really good evening for me.

Screenwriting is extremely limiting as a form of expression, and it’s the main reason I wanted to attempt a novel. Permission to describe in senses other than sight or sound, pile on the adjectives, inner monologues, point-of-view shifts – all those forbidden devices that handicap screenwriters. Though, in fairness, writing for the screen will improve your visual arsenal and help you be more verby and active-voiced. That whole “externalizing the internal” thing.

I’ll tell ya, directing actors has also been a phantom influence. Their endless questions will force you to consider subtext and what each character wants from another in a scene, because it’s all they have to latch on to (laughs). Body language, reactions, some physical business to occupy them so they aren’t just a talking head. All stuff that should be on the page if you want multi-dimensional characters and heightened conflict.

Now that your novel’s finished, you’ve been pursuing publication. Is this your first experience in doing so? What are your thoughts on the process so far?

My original intent was just to be able say I’d written a book – you know, check it off some list or something. But I became quite serious about it very quickly, and the book gets noticeably better as it goes along. Not just as the plot gains momentum, I mean literally its craft, to mirror the progression of my narrator’s own writing abilities. How convenient, right? That’s a risky device for a first-time scribe like myself, because all people want to read are the first ten pages, which are by design nowhere near the strongest. Predictably, lit agent interest has been nonexistent, so now I’m targeting smaller publishers. I really don’t want to self-publish because that external validation is important to me. We’ll see.

You’re into writing and performing music as well, and have taken the DIY approach to a lot of your recordings—playing the instruments yourself, and being solely responsible for the production. Obviously this allows a great deal of freedom, but can also be restricting. Are you ever forced to “dumb down” the song in your head due to the difficulty of being responsible for all sections, or has practice led you to a fairly comfortable method of assembly?

I’ve never written anything I couldn’t execute musically, but I don’t compose in my head, either, only by getting the actual notes underneath my fingers. Writing and recording are parallel processes for me. The original seed for a new song is more enigmatic, but I think so-called “creativity” is largely something that’s enabled. By that I mean, in addition to raising the antenna, you gotta have the chops and the tools to express and capture your vision when it comes. So yeah, as a one-man studio, my songs definitely suffer from my own engineering. For example, creating a drum track is a tedious catch-22, because you want to lay the foundation down first, but can’t until you know the entire song’s arrangement, so there’s this maddening back and forth that happens with temp guide tracks and metronomes while putting the puzzle together. My brain hurts just thinking about it. . . (laughs). Once the drums are down, though, it’s just a matter of adding furnishings and coats of paint, and that’s how I build a song: one instrument at a time, with no grand conceptual vision beyond how the melody and chords relate to the lyric.

It’s easier for people to take it for granted that song lyrics are autobiographical; for whatever reason this seems a natural assumption, perhaps because there is the implication that songwriting is supposed to be a more direct expression of the self, whereas fiction is more likely to be looked at as a construct. How would you characterize the differences between lyric writing and written fiction? Do you approach them differently?

That’s interesting, never thought of them that way. Lyrically, I’m not really from that Dylan/Springsteen storyteller tradition, I’m more of the Cohen/Roger Waters school where everything’s wrapped in metaphor and iconography and intended for you to project your own meaning onto it. I feel like I haven’t done my job when a phrase is too direct. Also, I rarely write lyrics in my own voice. The concept can’t help but be based on something I felt, but it’s then dramatized and filtered through someone else’s viewpoint. Which is especially interesting now in my duo with a woman singing them (laughs). Yeah, I do take a very similar approach to fiction as lyrics, with the ubiquitous metaphors and painstaking wordsmithing, anyway. That’s why Major Inversions took so long to finish; it was like writing thirty-four songs! (laughs) Of course all the jingles sprinkled throughout the book are a more obvious connection here.

You’ve mentioned your self-produced CD, Music Inside, as being simultaneously a source of pride and a stylistic hodgepodge; can you explain both your dissatisfaction and why it remains a source of pride? Does this push and pull of attitudes occur in your other work as well?

I’ve done a lot of home recording, before and since, but that one was just me trying too hard to prove something, making an “album” by myself despite the compromises of such pride. I had too many styles of music on there, excelling at little but the guitar playing and drums. One tune even managed to morph from country into funk. (laughs) But at the same time, mixing down that last song, designing the artwork – it made it real. Instead of just eleven songs, I had a CD, a complete work. Never mind that they belonged on eleven separate albums. (laughs) Since then I’ve learned to compartmentalize things more effectively, to be more cohesive. For some, having created something is more important than it being good, and these days I’d rather be known for the latter.

A lot of the songs you’ve written on your own are now being sung by Shannon Lipps in your semi-acoustic duo Winebox. What’s the process— do you record a demo version for her to listen to with intact vocals, or do you discover the melodies together? How close is the finished song to the one in your head?

Chords or riffs always arrive first. Whenever something beams down my antenna and prickles up the arm hairs, I jack the guitar or piano into the Mac and get a quick scratch recording before it vanishes back into the ether. Usually a chorus and verse, maybe 45 seconds. Most songs end there, stillborn into an MP3 purgatory. If it has Winebox potential, I’ll loop it as I scat or hum over it, workshopping a melody. Eventually I’ll remember Shannon’s not a tenor, and start over. (laughs) Rather than ruin it with my crude throat, I’ll use a voice-y tone on the synth to record the melody over the chords, making sure I’ve accounted for all the syllables in the lyrics so it’s obvious what’s what. Then I just sync my idea folder up to her iPod so she can live with them awhile. But we have telepathic tastes, so it’s pretty obvious at first listen which ones will get developed into actual songs. She’ll “blue them up” – inject more soul and nuance once she interprets and takes ownership of the vocal for herself. Then we’ll work together to fine-tune the melody or a lyric here or there – change all the hers to hims and whatnot.

Music has a different birth than written media; an entire take can be ruined by one false note. How do you approach the actual act of recording—is there ever a “magic” take, or are there always concessions? Are you overly concerned with the intricacies of the recording (knob-twisting), or is the essence of the song more important?

Unfortunately, the jigsaw approach I talked about earlier doesn’t create the ideal atmosphere for transcendent recorded takes. I focus on the strength of the tune itself and hope its magic will be revealed when performed live. Sometimes I get lucky, though, and the gods will smile upon a heavenly pinch harmonic or some bass frequency that twists up in your gut just right. I do use a wireless controller, and that helps reduce the number of times I have to scoot across the room between takes. One thing I don’t do is quantize. That’s where you put the programmed notes up on a grid and snap them to their precise beat divisions. Percussion is all I program anyway, but I prefer it flawed and natural-sounding. Actually, that’s not true. If I have a horn section or some orchestral addition, I’ll usually program those, because after the vocals are recorded I sometimes want a different harmony, and it’s easy to use the grid to change or nudge a note before you commit to recording it. So yes, I’m an obsessive knob-twister, but just to squeeze the most from my limitations. And I’ve definitely embraced a more organic, simplified process in recent years.

It costs money for the equipment to produce music, while you could essentially write a book for free. What advice might you offer to someone wanting to get into home recording? How important is the gear? Any hard lessons you’d like to help them avoid?

Yes, stringing a bunch of loops together is not “composing music.” Even if you did run a filter sweep on it. Just wanted to get that out there. (laughs) The internets are saturated with self-appointed filmmakers and musicians today because software is so affordable and user-friendly. But humans write songs, and the good ones thrive despite the technology used to create them. My best advice is to get comfortable with your instrument(s) before giving in to the temptation to dabble in recording.

Also, the song itself is king. Not how clean it sounds, or how well the waveforms line up, or even how catchy it is, but how effectively you transferred the emotion you felt when writing it to the person who hears it. Once you have songs worth preserving, invest in a system that’s modular with the flexibility to grow as your budget grows. And a really good mic preamp.

Moving on to film, what’s the process by which you approach visual media? What appeals to you about photography and film that other media lacks?

Well until something more immersive comes along, a virtual reality or some kind of shared biological experience, film is the highest art form there is. Just the way we can combine and manipulate multiple senses, time, spatial relationships, and perspective in a way that no other medium allows. But it’s also by necessity collaborative if you want to work at a high level, and control can be a difficult thing to relinquish. Your vision gets diluted – or enhanced – by everything from actor interpretation to the set design to the music. Not to mention the environment it’s exhibited in. Whereas with a book, words go from the sender’s brain to a page and into the receiver’s brain.

My general approach is just to take advantage of what’s available and hopefully show the ordinary from a new perspective. Having the sound betray the visuals, regulating the mood with music – flip the script, ya know? There’s a psychology to the camera: the direction it moves, how the shot’s framed to imply certain relationships, heighten tension, conceal or reveal – stuff like that. You’ve got the length of the lens, how high it is, filtration. Even in post-production you can keep changing perception of the story with color tints, editing tempo, animation, or whatever. I love having such a giant palate of techniques to work with.

Tell us about Featurette: The Making of Redlight. What is it? Where’d it come from? Who all was involved?

Featurette is a short film I made a few years ago that played at some festivals. At that time, it was sort of the culmination of everything I knew how to do professionally – like a calling card – given how tenuous job security’s always been. I wrote, directed, shot, edited, composed . . . basically everything but hold the mic boom. (laughs) I’m even in the damn thing. Charlie Phillips, Victoria Prater, and Pat Redd act the main roles, and Charles Stonewall was on set through most of it helping with lighting and production.

I’m a big fan of metafiction, especially Charlie Kaufman’s scripts, and I’d just seen the latest season of Project Greenlight, so Featurette’s concept was somewhere between the two: it’s the documentary that would go on the DVD about the making of a film by some hack contest winner. Except there is no actual film; you pop in the disc and the special features are your only option. Everything is inverted. Any excerpts from the “film” are this uber-shitty, overexposed black-and-white video, while all of its behind-the-scenes footage is well-lit color widescreen stuff on dollies and whatnot. Much more filmic. It made me laugh, anyway. There’s still a mini-site up for it at GDotCom if anyone’s interested.

My friends have been up my ass a long time now about making another short, but the last thing I want to see when I get home at night is a camera, ya know?

Having so many creative outlets, I am picturing a chaotic playground of a workspace: how do you separate your interests and choose a focus? Does the environment for writing a story differ from the environment for writing a song?

Yeah, I write stories in the kitchen and songs in the shitter. (laughs) I’m half-kidding. Inspiration usually strikes wherever is furthest from my workstation. Mentally, I mean. I have guitars and notebooks strategically planted in all rooms of my home, including an electric piano at my day job. Most fiction I write at an empty dining-room table on a laptop facing my bookshelves. Guess I figure if I get stuck, some form of literary osmosis will leak from their spines onto my keypad. (laughs) Lyrics tend to get penned into a Moleskine notebook on the couch, using about three times the necessary ink. Same goes for acoustic guitar parts, faux-scoring some muted film on IFC with a blank pad of sheet music within arm’s reach. Eventually everything gets centralized on the Mac in my recording studio with one of those Time Capsule wifi drives. A Cinema Display is a wonder of widgetary distraction, so I’ve recently adopted a full-screen blackout feature to try to maintain focus on the doc at hand if writing in there.

Who or what inspires you? Do images inspire you to take pictures? Does music inspire you to write a song? Or is it more complex than that?

Most of my musician friends experience this same phenomenon: we’ll be driving back from a concert, and cannot wait to get home and make some music of our own. Every time, whether it’s because the artist elevated the bar I aspire to, or because they were such magnificent hacks I’m encouraged I could do better. Such a short path from inspiration to motivation sometimes. But not always the other way around. (laughs) I’m sure I often confuse jealousy for inspiration. Most often it’s a film, sometimes a gorgeous melody. A few sure-fire sources off the top of my head: Michel Gondry’s music videos, Leonard Cohen’s words, Beethoven’s notes, the airport, and PostSecret.com.

The airport?

Yeah, it’s a peoplewatcher’s paradise. One of my other security guard jobs. I’d bust ass to get a few flights out, then have some down time. Sitting there in the terminal eating my sad little ham sandwich and making up backstories for everyone. It’s a virtual cross-section of society and human emotion. You’ve got couples parting ways, being reunited, fugitives, minors flying alone. Celebrities, strippers, businesspeople, military, rich, poor – all on the move for whatever reason I’d assigned them. Hell, my mother’s been an airport bartender for twenty years, think she’s got some stories? And my dad does police records . . . so between the two you’d think there’d be a few Elmore Leonard caper novels to be mined. (laughs)

You also mention Beethoven. What is it that you think makes classical works so eternal? What is the role of a masterpiece in moving modern art and culture forward– or, to the contrary, is art and culture forever in the shadow of those untouchable works? When you look at the recent landscape of art, is there anything else you feel has the potential to be treasured for centuries to come, or is that something only time will tell?

Wow. I never formally studied art, so I’m flying without gauges here, but I think what at least contributes to timelessness is simplicity and the use of universal metaphor, like I was saying earlier about lyrics. I’m sold on that monomyth model and its classic archetypes with the heroes and princesses and mentors and the temptations and atonements and all that. The tale of Jesus follows it precisely – or vice-versa – and that one’s still selling pretty well, as did The Matrix. Even something like The Breakfast Club, firmly rooted in 80s culture, will endure because society is forever stratified and everyone feels like an outsider sometimes. One reason Dark Side of the Moon is still relevant after thirty-five years is because the causes of madness in our lives never change: power structures, the quest for money, aging, violence – and on another album, using metaphors like dogs, pigs, and sheep for social castes was brilliant as well. Instrumental music can have a longer shelf life because the lack of words allows the listener to project his own story onto the wall. And classical in particular doesn’t suffer much from passing trends, its instruments don’t require electricity, and it has a lot of contrast: piercing highs and bong-rattling lows – those degrees of “light and shade” that Jimmy Page also brought to Zeppelin – the same conflict that drives good art.

More recently, music like Coheed & Cambria, The Arcade Fire, and Joanna Newsom show this kind of potential. Coldplay’s anthemic nature will probably secure their place in the classic rock canon. Books like McCarthy’s The Road are destined to be relevant for years because it’s just a father/son relationship in a cruel world. House of Leaves is a modern masterpiece. Its analysis and fervor may wane over time, but it’s just so rich for exploration, something The Raw Shark Texts attempted as well, and I imagine such multi-media experiences will play a key role in keeping written fiction alive in the coming years.

What’s your ultimate goal? Is there an overarching need you feel in creating that is being fulfilled in all your projects, or does one rise up as somehow holier than the rest? In other words, could any one alone sustain you?

My goal used to be to see something I wrote or directed up on the big screen. Then a short film of mine had some festival screenings, so technically that was achieved. It was no masterpiece, but I wore so many hats on that project it was like the culmination of everything I’d honed up to that point, from writing to directing, cinematography, editing, composing, on and on. But I guess it also means I should be more specific about such dreams before I rub the lamp again. (laughs) That’s still the goal, revised: a feature film with a theatrical release.

What projects are next on the list?

I’m still in songwriting mode at the moment, building the Winebox catalog. Drafting a few short stories. Someone recently asked why I don’t focus on short stories to get some publishing credits under my belt. It occurred to me that I’d never written any because lyrics always provided that outlet with about the same level of effort. Of course if there’s interest in Major Inversions I’d love to write another novel. Otherwise I’m probably looking at another short film this summer or fall.

Thanks for the space here at Oxyfication, Jason. Great questions!

Caleb Ross is sometimes mistaken for a person from a television show called The Tribe. And though he accepts the adulation of his occasionally confused fans with a grin, his true identity is one that is far more interesting and, if there is justice in the world, one they shall soon know: that of a talented young writer from the Kansas City area, specializing in a prose style that walks a surreal line between the subtle and the explicit. While evoking moments of calligraphic insight in his shorter work, he is equally capable of the broader style that befits a novel, crafting for his readers surreal trips into the strange as he follows his characters into the oily dark of the subconscious; we accompany them on doomed, Sisyphean pilgrimages through forever-dark truck stops, museums of human oddity and towns overflowing with the dead. He is gifted, in that his characters exhibit grotesqueries that somehow seem encoded with the same flaws of the world they inhabit, as if they are not constructs, but victims: the fruits of a tree growing upside down.

His turn into a writer of formidable talents has all the characteristics of a religious awakening, in that an interested professor turned the nagging symptoms of a writer into a full-blown infection. He’s attended workshops and received scholarships on the strength of his work, and has been published in Flint Hills Review, Dogmatika, The Green Muse, and Vestal Review. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Caleb in a workshop environment, and recently, he was good enough to answer a few questions

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Your bio on your website claims an experience somewhat like kismet: fed up with your current major, you signed up for an English Literature class almost on a whim. This experience seemed to awaken something in your understanding and/or appreciation of language, and its power. What was it that made that class– or that decision– so special?

Amy Sage Webb. Simple as that. Amy was my writing professor throughout my university studies, and she almost single-handedly opened my eyes to what reading and writing, motivated by creativity, could do. I had always enjoyed the idea of reading, of what books could do, but I absolutely hated reading. Same goes for writing; I was in love with the potential of the written word, but I was just too daunted (or maybe just too apathetic) to apply myself to the task of tangifying whatever ideas I had at the time. But Amy, she sensed intent with my first few scribbles and nurtured that purpose into something usable.

Did you feel an immediate fit with your new identity as a budding writer, or did you feel somehow out of your element? What was it about the craft that appealed to you so?

The transition was not as jarring as one might suspect. At least not as far as technical concepts go. So many of the principals associated with visual arts have “sister rules” in creative writing. The concepts of unity, composition, color (or mood), and movement are just a few that come to mind. Honestly, I think I would be pressed to find any elements that are exclusive to one medium. I suppose there is a reason we have the blanket term “art” which we pin to so many creative forms.

I think both the hardest part of the transition, and the most appealing reason I had in making the jump, had to be the shift in creative motivation. I’ve long believed that every idea has a pinnacle medium. For instance, if I had the idea to express what a broken home situation does to the unstable family’s neighbors (not a bad idea, really) I should first ask myself what artistic medium would best express this idea. Would a poem work? Maybe…but would it be the best? Could I paint the image? Could I sculpt the idea? I believe that one of these methods would be best and it is up to the artist to know which one. This is not to say that ideas cannot transcend medium, not at all, but one of the roles of the artist is to know the difference between the almost best brush stroke and the best brush stroke. Choice of medium is just one of the many brush strokes.

So back to the original thought, making this transition in motivation was difficult at first. For my entire first semester I was trying to write a story that should have been a painting. I was trying to sketch a novel that should have been a sculpture. It was difficult, but it remains a change I welcome. Besides, do you have any idea how expensive canvases and paints and clays are? There’s a reason The Starving Artist is always depicted as a sculptor. As a writer all I have to do is buy a cup of coffee and scribble on the back of the receipt. I can use, and have used, toilet paper in an emergency.

Based on your writing success at Emporia State, you attended the Tin House Writer’s Workshop with novelist Peter Rock. Was this your first workshop experience? How did it unfold? What did you take from this experience, and what, if anything, did it offer you that your literary studies could not?

Lesson one: self congratulating writers—and there are a lot of them—are always the ones with the least amount to say. In a situation like the Tin House Writer’s Workshop (as I assume with all large writer meet-ups; this was my first) most of the people in attendance had to pay their own way in. And these things are not cheap. So what you get is a bunch of wealthy individuals with an inflated sense of self worth and paper to burn. One of the great lessons I took from that week is to never become one of these people. They are boring and hated.

But those few pompous attendees were by far the only detriments to an otherwise perfect week. The experience, even if ESU hadn’t footed the bill, would have been worth every penny. Peter Rock is an amazing author with more to offer than one week’s worth of workshopping could allow (which is why I chose to interview him for issue 9/10 of Flint Hills Review). I met Denis Johnson, Aimee Bender, as well as a slew of people I know will be huge some day. And from each of these people I learned so much about the craft of writing. But the most important benefit, for me, was the general experience of the whole trip. That’s something that a lot of budding writers forget, I think: craft will help you write stories, but experiences are what give you those stories.

And to top everything off my very best friend flew in with me and managed to bleed into the activity without much attention paid. At first. By the end of the week he was a bit famous for being “that guy who snuck in.” Seriously, he took in many of the writing seminars, got drunk every night with the writers, ate food I snuck for him from the university cafeteria, and did it all for the price of a plane ticket. Not a bad vacation for him.

You’ve had work published both online and in print. Do you prefer one over the other? Does the more untraditional outlet of electronic publication afford the writer certain unique opportunities unavailable in print, or does it suffer a certain credibility loss as opposed to traditional print?

Personally, I like holding a book. There’s a tactile legitimacy associated with a bound book that just isn’t there with online publications. Think of it like pornography versus person: both will satisfy, but until someone invents an anatomical magazine a real person is just going to feel a whole lot better.

I am definitely at odds with the electronic medium, but only because the format has not yet been supported like it should be. It is the responsibility of the literary community (writers, readers, critics, distributors, etc.) to legitimize internet publications. But the task won’t be easy. Unfortunately, due to the near-zero costs associated with electronic publications many publishers take the “see what sticks” route rather than to spend the time searching for an exemplary manuscript. This practice then manifests into an epidemic and eventually, as we have now, there exists a tainted response from “serious” writers regarding the clout of online journals.

But then again, the low cost with producing an online journal is the exact reason we are seeing a lot of new things finally gaining academic credibility. For instance, flash fiction probably would not have made much of an impact without easily accessible abundance, and online lit print journals make that easily accessible abundance possible.

But like most things in life, whether fairly or unfairly, money will ultimately continue to decide worth to the public. Because of the high monetary investment required to keep a bound journal alive print will reign as the preferred format for most readers for quite some time. Monetary investment equates substance in the eyes of the buying public. So there will remain a critical importance [maybe self-importance?] with printed publications.

The part we as writers can take in legitimizing online lit mags is to submit only great work. We know that online journals will print our crap, but that doesn’t mean we should let them do so.

What are your favorite books? Why?

My three reigning favorites are House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski, The Stranger by Albert Camus, and Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. Each for unique reasons, but collectively speaking each handles the burden of writerly technique flawlessly. House of Leaves is the best metafiction novel since Jorge Luis Borges in his heyday. The Stranger forces the reader to understand and embrace alternate modes of thought in a very concise and direct manner. And Invisible Man is simply a masterpiece of language, plot, and character unified.

How important is the workshopping process to your work? What would you suggest for those out there who may be too timid or self conscious to get involved in a writing workshop?

If you’re too timid to workshop then you aren’t writing a novel or story; you’re writing a journal entry. Workshopping is an absolute must for a writer, especially a new writer. I’ve had only a few things published, and not surprisingly those published works are the ones that have received the most feedback from fellow writers. An online community like Write Club or here at The Oxy are great places for the timid writer to start. Or in cases like mine, they are the best places to stay. University workshops are great, but they aren’t easily accessible to the public.

Another way to look at it is to remember that what you get published will forever carry your name. Would you really want something sub-par out there with your name on it? Let’s say you eventually get famous for a masterpiece novel. Some reporter out there somewhere will dig through your personal catalog and say, “this new novel of yours is great, but I would like to talk about one of your earlier pieces, a story called The Man Who May Have Had Split-Personality Disorder…Or Maybe Not.” I doubt it is an enviable position to have to defend your failures. Workshopping can help curb this sort of trauma.

A number of times throughout your longer work, certain constants emerge. Foremost, that of a distorted landscape of relationships— whether those relationships be that of a parent/child, or a teacher/student. Often, your characters appear to be misled by circumstances into having distorted views of how these relationships ought to function. Is this a conscious effort, or does this unfold naturally? Is there something that draws you to this type of subject matter?

I’ve said it before, but you are one hell of a reader. Just the other day I was looking back through my work, and I came to your exact realization.

No, this examination of relationships was never a conscious goal. I’ve heard a lot of writers talk about how the themes of a novel seem to just materialize, and I’ve always assumed that to be bullshit; just a writer trying to sound self-important. But as I looked back through my works I suddenly realized that I was the asshole. It’s true; themes can just spring up organically without much fostering.

Freudians might say that I am drawn toward this type of subject matter because I never had a father. Maybe that’s true, but I think there is a simple basic interest at work too. Child/parent and teacher/student relationships imply a nice history that, as a writer, I embrace. I don’t have to spend pages describing a character’s history when all I have to say is “William’s child,” or “Knowles’s brother.” From this established relationship I can then embellish upon the situation and create a true story.

In contrast to your longer projects, there is a decidedly different tone in your shorter work. What is Flash Fiction to you? How does it come about? How does it differ?

Flash fiction seems to be a simple response to our increasingly “flash” culture. We’re all CEOs of our own lives and we have intricately itemized agendas. We simply have more to look at and less time to do so. More commercialized industries have adapted– energy bars, fast food salads in plastic cups (cup holder-friendly), popup advertisements– so why shouldn’t the literary community?

Some say our attention span is shrinking and so must all that demands our attention. I don’t know. I think maybe we, as a people, have learned what essentially keeps our attention and we’ve capitalized upon it. Do you really think audiences wanted to see six hour plays in the 1600s? Or is that just all they thought possible so they endured it? Just think if the half-hour sitcom existed to audiences in the days of Shakespeare and Marlowe; today we would miss a plot point if we blinked too long.
All that being said, flash fiction is a way to deliver a whole lot in a little amount of time. From my experience flash fiction offers readers a way to invest in language a bit more than they might otherwise. It’s like story driven poetry in that sense. Every word implies tens more. Every sentence must read like a full paragraph. For this reason I am drawn to flash fiction more than I am drawn to most “trends.” I am an absolute language snob. Plot is important, but language will always be my favorite son. Flash fiction allows me to exploit and utilize language in a way that if I tried doing the same with a novel or short story the reader would give up by page two.

It’s difficult for a writer to “advertise” his writing in a commercial environment, much more so than, say, a musician. Considering that, as a reader, what draws you to read a particular book or story? In a book store that holds thousands of titles, both classic and contemporary, what makes you choose one over another?

Luckily (for me, not the book distributor) the internet has allowed me to gather information on books before I even get to the store. I can’t remember the last time I went to a book store with no idea what I was going to buy. So, store gondolas, colorful book covers, giant posters, all of these things; if they appear only at the bookstore, they don’t affect me at all. Most of my reading choices come from either recommendations, word of mouth, or are titles from authors that I already know. I’m the kind of buyer book publishers hate, I think.

One increasingly rare method of publicity that works on me is the author tour. I will go to see any author whether I’ve heard of him/her or not. Unfortunately, I am the rarity in this case as all publishers will tell you that a book tour doesn’t sell books; a book tour is really just a courtesy to existing fans and micro-economies (I.E the bookstores themselves). To anyone reading this, go to a book event. You might like it. Sure, it’s really just watching someone read out loud, but sometimes they have free beer.

For an aspiring writer, it seems difficult to get started, and often to maintain momentum. Often times, it’s just you and a blank page. With that scary amount of freedom in the medium, how do you approach the matter of getting and keeping momentum, and of motivating yourself? Is there a “formula” for a successful narrative, as some genre writers might suggest, or is the process new each time?

My suggestion is to never come to a blank page with a blank head. This is one of the many reasons I advocate the outline. Start writing the story without paper: on the bus, on the elevator, in the shower, start getting the characters and plot points sculpted in your head before you even sit down at the computer. Get a loose outline generated (forget the I, 2, C, d outline you might be used to with scholarly writing; just get your thoughts on the paper). Then, start typing your story.

Another potential source of “writer’s block” stems from the idea of a pinnacle medium that I mentioned earlier. Maybe, if you are having a tough time keeping your ass in the chair you just aren’t meant to novelize your idea. Try something else. If you are absolutely sure a novel is the best way to get your idea across then maybe you just aren’t ready to write your current idea. Cough up a few “practice” flash fiction pieces. Read something terrible that has been published (always a great motivator: “this shit got bound, surely mine can too”). Study up on your subject matter for a few more hours.

I’m not saying that days don’t pass in which I write nothing—they do. But I don’t sit in front of a blank screen and force something. I get up, move around, take a shower, all the while elaborating on that outline in my head until I have something worth writing abwout.

What’s the most important thing in your opinion — be it regarding technique, or philosophy— for a budding writer to learn as quickly as possible?

Technique is extremely important. So many learning writers (as I still am, definitely) want to rebel against convention and toss away all established rules (which make up technique). What they often fail to realize is that you have to know the rules before you can break them. Every instance of defiance—defying grammatical rules, defying the conventions of structure, etc.—will cause a reader to question the writer’s motivations for doing so, and a reader will only gloss over so many “mistakes” before he will drop your book for a better one. You’ve got to build a technique using the established jargon, rules, and conventions before you can successfully create (and more importantly, defend under critical scrutiny) your own technique.

The writer’s personal agenda, or philosophies, will develop as stories are written. Actually, the philosophy is probably what originally drove the writer to write, so consciously developing this sort of thing might not be all that important.

With such an array of titles to choose from, what is it that makes a good book? Is success the decider of worth, or the other way around, or neither?

Technique makes a good book, for sure. Character development, story arch, character driven plot, and on and on with the “rules” of good literature all make a good book, definitely. But one factor that a lot of people forget is that the artist must be conscious of, and able to integrate his/her work into, the cultural context. How many stories of “the right place at the right time” do you hear with literature? A lot. Animal Farm, for instance. Would this book have had the impact it did in the 1940s if it were written today? No. Would it have been less of a “good book”? Yeah. Am I unfairly addressing books written with the conscious intent of social commentary? Probably.

Some books are simply well written and entertaining and would have been successful no matter when or where they were published. In these cases a good book, aside from matters of personal taste, are ones that keep a reader on the couch. Good pacing can do this. Vivid imagery can do this. Well rounded characters can do this. I don’t know; maybe the title “good,” though it incorporates all of the above rules, is given to books based a great deal on personal affection. I wouldn’t call most genre novels good, but I know plenty of people who would argue a genre fiction book’s merits to the death.

As far as the decider of worth, I don’t think I can attribute a book’s worth to its commercial success. Publicity comes into play a lot here. Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code is a perfect example. Was this book successful? Of course. Does it have a high worth? Not to me, not to most serious lovers of literature. Then take a book like The Wavering Knife by Brian Evenson. Successful? Not really. Worthy? More than most things I’ve ever read.

The decider of success is usually commercial investment. The decider of commercial investment is definitely not a books potential worth. So, unfortunately, in answer to your question, success is not a universal decider of worth.

Some people might consider that the written word is suffering. The publishing industry is experiencing somewhat of a downturn, pop-culture seems tailored to those with a short attention span, and the persistent popularity of reality television seems to point to a trend of shallowing in the American audience in terms of what it chooses for its free time. Do you agree, or has the role of the written word simply changed in recent times?

I thought for a long time that the written word was doomed. Reality TV had a huge impact on this conclusion. But I’ve noticed a resurgence of television drama and sitcoms within the past few years. Hallelujah! Not that I watch much TV, but at least non-reality TV requires story and character development and, most importantly, writers. If I can’t force people to read books at least they are watching crafted television.

Even so, though I think there is no doubt that the written word is suffering a bit—at least in comparison to the prominence it had in pre-TV-and-radio times—I don’t believe we have the need to fear its extinction. The majority of what the internet offers is text. Though I’m not talking exclusively creative writing here, I am excited by the fact that our culture is demanding literacy more and more. And literacy is step 1 to keeping literature around.

And though it may seem like pop-culture is tailored to those with a short attention span I argue that this is the very role of pop-culture. Remember, The Rolling Stones were considered “the devil” at one time. They were just some pop-culture phenomenon contributing to the delinquency of England and America’s youth. Now they are highly respected music innovators. It seems like we are at a time when the written word is having less and less impact on society, but I think in twenty years when we have the ability to look back we will understand this fallacy. I think it was Shakespeare (though I’m no Shakespeare expert, or fan really) who made a comment regarding the myth of a time period’s uniqueness; that we all believe the time we are living in is somehow more devastating and immoral than all others, but we will, in the future, always refer to past generations as “the good ol’ days.” This being said, it may seem like the written word is dying out, that our culture is suffering the reign of Reality TV, and that we are all doomed to a future that accommodates illiteracy, as opposed to correcting it, I don’t think we are headed toward a future depicted in Mike Judge’s hilarious Idiocracy.

Aside from that, have you heard about Sony Reader? I’m not sure how I feel about this invention as far as its potential for making the physical book obsolete, but just look what the iPod did to bring music to entirely new audiences. Maybe I should just embrace the time.

What do you hope to achieve with your writing?

I just want to give people something to do with their time that might change their perspectives a bit. I think of my favorite books and how my life may have never changed for the better had I not read them.

On a bit of a selfish note, I wouldn’t mind being able to make enough money to write full time. I’ve got quite a few ideas still driving me insane, and sometimes I fear I might get hit by a train or caught in gang crossfire before I’m able to empty them out onto paper.

“Come for the breasts. Stay for the heart.”

That’s the tagline to Katie West’s website. Find yourself exploring the site one minute, and an hour later, eyes all bloodshot, mouth still ajar, you’ll see the tagline fitting. West, a photographer from Windsor, Canada is not only not afraid to show either—her breasts or her heart—she’s adept at intertwining the two with an ease that is equally admirable as it is poetic. Through an extensive—and impressive—collection of self-portraits (though not her sole focus, self-portraits are her specialty) you see a gamut of emotions and inspirations. West uses a camera the way a mirror uses people. She is both vulnerable and strong in her pictures, shy and savage. If a picture is worth a thousand words Katie West writes a novel each time the shutter closes. On top of that, West can write. From time to time her blog features passages written as if they were cut at random with scissors, most of them in medias res, conversations about experiences, either fictional or true, that ring like chimes on a windy winter day. They sting. They make you remember you’re alive. Like her photographs West’s writing has the innate gift of being honest. Recently that honesty carried over into West answering a few questions ranging from how she came into photography, to whom are some of her inspirations, to the power the Internet has in helping spread the word on the individuals behind the viewfinder.

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The seeds of creativity had to be planted somewhere along the way. Do you remember your early creative moment(s)? Did they involve photography/taking pictures? If so/not, when did you first get bit by the photography bug?

I always wanted to be a writer. From as soon as I could write, I wanted to be a writer. But I guess continually getting rejected from creative writing classes (but really, who needs them?) took its toll and I focused mainly on my photography. As far as the first memories I have of photography, they all come from modeling for friends. My friends in high school were all very artistic and all went on to attend art school. I can’t draw or paint of sculpt, but I still believed I had an artistic view that I could offer. So I weaseled my way into an advanced photography class and just jumped in. Because I hadn’t taken the first class, I had no idea about technique or the technical aspect of developing film or anything, but I knew I liked it. And then it just went from there. And I still don’t know anything about the technical side of photography.

In your biography it mentions that you’re going to school for a BA in English and Literature. In your various online journals/blogs your writing is part the revealing of everyday stuff with a witty twist, and part poetic snippets that compliment the pictures featured. Is that a cognicent thing, and if so, what comes first, the writing or the photo? Also, why English and Literature and why not Photography?

Well, English Literature because I always thought I was going to be a writer, but I realized I can’t hold a coherent thought after about 2 paragraphs, so I had to switch my focus. And these last five years getting my English degree have been awful; I wish I had taken photography. But I think no one around me really believed that I was serious about photography, I don’t even think I knew. So I just graduated high school, went on to university, did what I thought I was supposed to do. But truth be told, I think it’s ridiculous to have someone decide what they want to do with their life at 18. I also think university is mainly only good for people who want to be a professor, a teacher, a lawyer or go to med school. But that’s just me.

Back to the point! My pictures and writings are usually always separate. Conceived at different moments in time and not usually related in any way. Sometimes the words will come first and I’ll fit a photo with the words, or I’ll look at a picture and remember something from the week it was taken and write about that. People have commented that the way I write reminds them of my photography; short exposures into a life, something they can relate to and something they can appreciate. So perhaps the writing is there to help some people relate to the experience while the photo will help bring the other half of the people into the same experience.

You’ve stated online that you haven’t had any formal training in the art of photography. How would you say you’ve learned along the way? Was it a trial and error thing by shooting your way to feeling comfortable? Was it advice from other photographers? Did you maybe find help/advice/tips by reading photography instructional books?

I’ve taken a photography class, but as I mentioned earlier, it was the second class and I skipped all the technical stuff, so mostly I’ve learned by trial and error, but I also know a lot of very talented photographers. So when I’m stuck on something I can call them up and bother them with questions. I’ve also learned by looking at a LOT of photographers online and thinking to myself, “Wow, I really like how they did that in this photo here, I wonder if I can do it?” And then experiment until I get something I like.
When taking pictures are you a planner–i.e. Are you one to plan out/set up a shoot in advance–or are you more the type to just grab your camera and go?

I definitely do not plan my photos. All of them are shot on a whim and all stem from something I’ve been thinking about and something I’ve been feeling; photography as therapy. Every time I try to plan a photo, it’s always so outrageous and grand that I wouldn’t even know from where to start to shoot it, plus they usually involve things I can’t have, like hundreds of stuffed crows, or Chinese restaurants filled to the brim with fetish models, stuff like that. Haha.

In your self-portraits a lot of different looks come across. One shot can feel very Audrey Hepburn while the next is very Shirley Manson or Fairuza Balk. Are these extremes intended, and if so/not, do you see your self-portraits as a role-playing of sorts, where you can be anyone you want to be in the name of art?

I say you can be anyone you want to be in the name of…well just because you can. You don’t need art to justify it. These extremes come across in my photography because they exist inside me. Some days I feel like a sex vixen, other days I feel very alone and vulnerable. But everyday I feel honest, and want to share what I’m feeling with total strangers!

Not so long ago most people probably heard the word ‘photography’ and thought of Ansel Adams or Anne Geddes, something they’d find mass marketed in a mall department store. But that’s changed in large part because of the advancement of the Internet. How has the Internet changed the way you approach/market/spread your photography?

I think it’s ridiculous for someone attempting to promote themselves, whether as an artist, a business, whatever, and not have a web presence of some kind in today’s world of e-commerce and Google. People become famous from having a video on YouTube. People become rich by selling used underwear on eBay. People get lucrative ad deals by posting photos on Flickr. Today’s world basically lives online, and that works out well for me, because in real life, I’m very very shy. I know, hard to believe while looking at pictures of me naked on my kitchen table, but trust me, I don’t do social well. So for me, the Internet is integral to my photography; without it, I would not be answering these questions, because you would not know who I am and you wouldn’t care. I like how the Internet gives those who wouldn’t necessarily get exposure into situations where they can, and how that can lead to real life success. The Internet is basically the only tool I use to spread the good word, as it were. I spend many hours updating livejournal, myspace, deviant art, journals on suicidegirls, gods girls, deviant nation, updating profiles at model mayhem and retro kitten, adding photos to flickr. It’s a lot of work, but worth it.

To pick up on the last question regarding the internet, do you think that it’s completely a good thing, or is there a danger, and a watering down element out there where too many people have too much exposure, and basically everyone has a camera? Does that maybe make it harder to get noticed or be taken seriously?

It might, but maybe it also makes people work harder, because a photographer who is used to having gallery shows and what not might realize that there are people on the internet who are doing things infinitely cooler than what they’re doing, and they think, “Oh shit, I better kick it up a notch.” So maybe it makes for more boundaries being pushed and more creativity being squeezed out of people’s brains. It is true that everyone and their grandma has a digital camera and can upload photos and call themselves a photographer and act super awesome, but I’m sure the majority of people can tell the difference between someone like Holly Bynoe, who is an amazing photographer and someone who is uploading pictures of their feet to post on MySpace.

That old cliché about how sex sells, there are a fair amount of your pictures that have nudity in them. Is the nudity strictly an intimate expression of your art, and possibly yourself, or is it at least in part a way to pull people in and get them to look around at your other stuff?

Haha, no! I don’t use sex to seduce people into my work! Never! Well, I don’t, not really. If I used sex to pull people in to look at my other stuff, they’d be thinking, “Okay, what other stuff?” I think many people look at my work and consider me to be an erotica photographer, and that’s fine with me. Everything I do, I do because I like it, and I like sex, and I like being a woman, so that often appears in my photography. But some of my favourite pictures of mine have no nudity in them, well I’m not usually wearing pants, but pants are overrated anyway.

On the nudity angle, do you find that at least on some level that the nudity puts you in a vulnerable position considering that complete strangers see that much of you? It is ever a double-edged sword, where at times it leads to’creep’ mail/email/advances/etc? If so, how do you/would you react to messages like that?

I think the majority of my nude photos don’t really represent a vulnerable Katie. I find that my strongest photos are usually the ones in which I’m naked. Usually when I’m mad or frustrated I take nude photos, I think because I find it to be my most honest and liberating means of expression. I don’t think it’s the nudity or the clothing that makes someone vulnerable or what have you, I think it’s their expression, their body language, their surroundings and how they’re reacting to them. In regards to creep emails, I’ve only honestly received 3 or 4. Most of the time, it seems like the sender doesn’t even realize how creepy they’re being. I understand people have fetishes and if someone asks me for already chewed food or hair or urine, I just say, “I’m sorry, but I don’t sell that sort of product. Sorry about that, thanks for the interest though!”

With programs like Photoshop out there that allow so much manipulation to any given picture is it ever an issue of artistic integrity to leave the picture(s) as untouched as much as possible? Or is it maybe just the opposite, and those programs allow you to enhance a picture as much as possible?

There’s always people who are anti-Photoshop and other such programs, but I like the freedom Photoshop gives me. The words ‘artistic integrity’ to me have more to do with not stealing other artists’ work and claiming it as your own than not manipulating your own work.

Who/what are some of your influences? Who are some of your favorite photographers? What is your favorite photograph of someone else’s?

My main influences and favourite photographers are mainly photographers I’ve found online through sites like Flickr, and I also like fashion photographers: Miles Aldridge is a favourite; I really like high concept photography, though I don’t usually attempt any in my own work.

I like finding photographers through Flickr because I like the interaction that’s possible on a site like that. I can favourite photos I like, I can add people to my contact list and keep track of what they’re doing, I can talk to the artist and discuss their art, I think that’s awesome. Some of my favourite photographers on Flickr are Rose and Olive, Jack Scoresby, Holly Bynoe, Dr. Joanne, Rebekka, Unscene, Nardell, Kristmas Klousch oh god, I could go on and on and on. I’m also influenced by artistic people I’ve met online, like Warren Ellis, J.R. Blackwell and Jhayne Holmes. People who ooze creativity.

In pitting photography against the other arts–writing, music, painting, etc–how do you think that photography is different?

Photography is good for people like me who can’t actually draw or paint or sculpt. It’s good for people who have an artistic mind but have trouble expressing it. Art is so subjective so I’m not even going to argue why photography is or is not an art, but like writing or painting or music, there’s good photography and there’s bad photography. That’s all.

What is the hardest part about being a photographer?

I don’t think there is anything hard about being a photographer. I get to express myself how I can, how I want, whenever I want, whenever I can. I make money doing what I love doing. I guess the hardest part is not making enough money to just take photos all the time and not have to have another job. I think I am very lucky that I do what I do and people respond to it so well. I don’t take any email or comment for granted. When someone takes the time to write me, or to comment on a picture, then I feel very lucky that I was able to create something that they like just as much as I do.

A hypothetical: Someone comes across your personal site, or one of your blog/photo posting sites, what do you want them to get from your photography?

I want them to think, “Yeah, I totally get that. I’ve been there, felt that and I love this because you get it too.” After I post a picture online, it’s not really mine anymore; it can belong to whoever’s looking at it. And they can interpret it however they want to suit their own needs. I don’t like to explain my photography or the things I write, I’d much rather people be able to see themselves and their experiences reflected in my work. I just want people to be affected by my work; whether they’re pissed at all the boobs, happy at all the boobs, empathize with my loneliness, uncomfortable with my honesty, or turned on by it. I want people to “come for the breasts, stay for the heart.”

What does success mean to you in terms of being a photographer?

I would love to be able to do photography and live off of the income it generates. That’s not necessarily success, but it sure would be nice.