One Sunday wandering through Harry W. Schwartz Bookstore, this caught my eye.
“Davidson…smudges the line between comedy and horror, cruelty and mercy. His remarkable stories are challenging and upsetting… Don’t look for comfort here.” –Chuck Palahniuk
Praise by Palahniuk always gets my attention.
Additional raves by the likes of Bret Easton Ellis, Thom Jones, and Clive Barker made me wonder what the hell I was missing and after reading a few pages of Rust and Bone, I was hooked. The book even turned out to be a signed copy, that much more of a bonus.
At home, browsing the internet I stumbled onto Craig Davidson’s blog. It turns out he was in Milwaukee at that same bookstore to do a reading and nobody turned up. Not one person. Being halfway through the book, it horrified me that a storyteller of Davidson’s caliber made an appearance in my hometown, only for the experience to be on par with a wake. An apologetic email got sent out to Craig, hoping he wouldn’t hold it against my beer-drenched city and I got a jovial response, shrugging off the incident as a funny thing that happens when an a book by an unknown Canadian writer, with no U.S. publications, no reviews begins touring two days after his first book is released.
“I’m appreciative of Norton’s efforts, and Schwartz’s—but yeah, next time I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a better turnout. I’m going to request that Norton send me back into Milwaukee, like a soldier requesting his captain send him back out into the slaughter fields,” Craig wrote back.
While Craig was in the midst of re-editing his new novel The Fighter, he took some time out to discuss via email his writing process, cockfighting, and charitable acts of organ donation even if the recipient is a certain critic who savage his book.
When did you start writing and what kind of things did you write?
I guess I started writing seriously 7 years ago. I started off writing horror stories under a pseudonym. I got a few published, and a novel. I wrote and submitted non-genre stories but never had much success until I lucked into a few sales and got an agent and she — god bless her — got me a book deal for a collection of non-horror stories and a novel.
You’ve written novels and short stories—-do you work from an outline or do steer away from structuring things until the revision process?
That’s changed a bit over the years. I don’t really write stories from outlines, and actually I haven’t written a story in a few years now. Novels I write from notes. My basic deal is I read a whole lot of research related to the book — for The Fighter, I read boxing books and so forth — then I print up all those notes and duct tape them to the walls. So I’ve got notes and maps and I even cut pages out of books and put them up on the wall with highlighted sentences I think are important. Then on top of that I keep a pen in every room of the house — bedroom, bathroom, kitchen — and if an idea pops into my head I write it down wherever I am on whatever I can find. So I’ve got envelopes and old receipts and parking tickets and even a toilet paper roll duct taped to my wall; I’m sure people think it looks like the work of a madman!
When you’re deep in the writing process how much time each day do you spend at it? Do you have any writing rituals or habits? Music or no music? If so, what do you listen to?
Well, lately it’s been pretty much all writing — in retrospect, I would say perhaps too much. I was under contract to write a novel to follow closely on the heels of my collection, Rust and Bone, and I also moved down to Iowa to take part in the writing program here. So between touring for the collection, finishing and editing the novel, re-editing the novel, re-RE-editing the novel (and soon, I’m sure, re-re-RE-editing it), plus starting another novel, plus keeping up with my program obligations, it seems I never leave the computer. I get those twitchy eyeball spasms from staring at the screen so much! But I feel I’m relatively young at 30, one must make hay while the sun shines, and plenty of my friends work long hours at their jobs, so I’m no different.
I’d say lately I’m writing or editing or updating my blog or doing interviews like this 8-9 hours a day. It’s too much, I realize it, and I think I’m wearing myself thin, but I also get the sense it’s something that needs to be done at this point in my life. If not now, maybe never.
Music — yes, I listen to it while writing. I’m an awful LimeWire pirate. I have this rotten tendency to listen to the same song over and over til it sickens me, usually when I’m writing a particular scene.
They say that most creative people have an event in their life that defined them early on, and in their work they revisit it either privately or openly for the rest of their creative lives. Was there an event like that in your life?
You know, I hear that a lot — I know William Vollman is famously motivated by a childhood incident — but if that’s the case with me, I’m unaware of it. Maybe it’s a repressed-memory scenario and someday I’ll be writing a scene and go, “Oh, my god — this actually HAPPENED to me! That Bolivian Tree Spider actually DID crawl out of that crate of bananas and bite me at the supermarket when I was five!” In all seriousness, I, like all writers, am obsessed by certain things, and those things quickly become evident to anyone who reads my stuff. I would say that, in my case, those obsessions have formed over the course of my life, and not as the result of one specific event.
What writers have been the biggest influence on your narrative style?
Oh, so many. I’m sort of a chameleon, which is a tendency I need to curb in myself. Like I’ve been reading a lot of Douglas Coupland recently, and I look at my novel revisions and see some of them — those I made while reading Miss Wymoning — have a very Coupland-ish feel. But since they’re nowhere else in the book, they stick out and I had to go change them. Some of my main influences (say, top-5) are Bret Easton Ellis, Stephen King, Clive Barker, Thom Jones, and David Adams Richards.
You’re currently studying at the Iowa Writers Workshop, which certainly has had its share of talented writers in attendance. What has the experience been like? What is the environment like amongst faculty and students? How valuable do think MFA creative-writing programs are?
Like I said above, I really haven’t had an opportunity to take as much advantage of it as I would like. I think I bit off more than I could chew this year, with moving down here plus everything to do with the collection coming out plus trying to get the novel done plus the nervousness of dealing with reviews and reaction to the collection, plus sales, plus plus plus. But I came down because obviously any new writer needs to understand that his/her success is not something guaranteed to go on in perpetuity and you need to feather your nest and set yourself up for non-writing opportunities down the line; since the Iowa program is well respected, it seemed like a good choice.
But I’m in a weird position and, quite honestly, I don’t know it’s the best thing for me at this point in my life and career. As you allude to in a question below, I’ve gotten a few nasty reviews lately, so the idea of walking into a workshop and getting hammered there makes me feel like I must be a glutton for punishment. I mean, I’ve been in workshops before and I’ve always gotten hammered, but the hammering was localized to the class, 10 or 12 people; now I have to come home from workshop and open a letter from my publisher with a review (they send on reviews, good or bad) and see I’ve been lit into somewhere else.
I hope this doesn’t sound self-pitying and I really do have a thick hide, and furthermore I’m the one who put myself in this situation so the blame stops at me. Anyway, to answer your question, I think the value of workshops, Iowa or anywhere else, is individual to each participant. Personally it’s not as helpful to me as I’d assumed — that’s nothing to do with the program or instructors or the other writers, all of whom are tops, but more with my own situation — but I know some of the writers I’m here with will be greatly aided by it and will go on to publish wonderful writing.
For many aspiring writers, getting published is one of the main goals. Since you first got published how have your goals changed?
Well, things have changed dramatically. The first thing I ever “published” was on this Internet site, I forget the name. No pay, nothing, and the site chose like, 3 stories or poems or whatever A DAY, and it stayed up there a week and was gone. This was 7 years ago. I remember I CALLED MY PARENTS to tell them about it. To think about it now, I’m baffled. But I practically did a cartwheel, I was so happy.
So the progression went from there. I “sold” stories for a copy of the magazine it appeared in, or for five dollars, or for 1/4 of a cent per word, or for exposure. Then I sold them for 3 cents a word, or 20-30 dollars a page; then 5-7 cents a word, or 10 cents, and won a few contests. Never a really “big” story sale, the New Yorker or Harper’s or anything; maybe never.
Anyway, then I sold a few novellas that were published for copies and royalties and then my horror novel on into my current state. And in between many sleepless nights, dark nights of the soul, antsy trips to the mailbox, pillowcases full of rejection slips, etc, etc. I don’t think my progression is typical, as I think everyone’s progression is different, but I certainly never worry about having not paid my dues.
Now my only goal is to keep publishing. That’s it. Singular. I’ve been lucky to make my living as a writer for a few years now — well, the years before I came to Iowa — and the most I can hope is to keep that ball rolling. Not an easy task. Later, if I ever get a real foothold, I’m sure my objectives will change again. But for now, it’s simply to stay in the game.
The stories in Rust and Bone have a diverse group of characters. From bare-knuckle boxers to a repo man, to a whale trainer, to a married couple involved in the world of dog fighting. Each story has very well drawn, detailed worlds– how did you go about constructing these worlds?
Well, I think it’s a matter of—please excuse the tired rationale—putting yourself in your characters’ shoes. I think I am a character writer; everything starts from the point of a character I can identify with, more so than a plot or setting POV. I guess the one rule I have is that I need to feel that, were I myself put into any of my characters’ lives, had to walk around in their skin, that I would act as they act and do as they do. And I mean me personally—would I, Craig Davidson, do the things my characters do given their circumstances? If the answer is yes, then I write that story. Which may seem odd or chilling when you look at what my characters do. So I’m often a little…dispirited is perhaps the right word, puzzled, when interviewers or critics or readers say the book is populated with dirty and disreputable and unpleasant characters. I’m not sure how to take this: either (a) that I believe myself capable of what others see as acts of deep and abiding awfulness, while still clinging to the idea of my own fundamental goodness as a human being, or (b) some people are unable or unwilling to plumb their own depths and frankly consider what they may or may not be capable of, good or bad, were their backs ever put to the wall.
Through out the course of your career writing for smaller press and for a major publisher, how have the editorial processes differed? How closely are you working with your editor on your new book and how much input does your editor have in shaping the book?
I think it is quite different. The small presses I’ve worked with are largely 1 or 2 man operations; most small genre presses are. So that one guy buys the book, edits, designs the covers and illustrations or contracts for them, works out distribution, etc. In big presses, of course those areas are all separate. My editor at Penguin, Norton, wherever, are mainly JUST editors. So yes, they give a lot of input, and since I trust my editor implicitly, I take her suggestions to heart. Also my agent’s. In the end, of course, the choice is mine which direction I go with things, but I’ve seen too many writers disregard their editor’s opinions, with disastrous results, to ever do it myself. That’s not to say my novel may not end up a disaster; it’s just it won’t be for lack of me taking my editor’s suggestions.
You’ve also written under a pseudonym, what benefits have you found from doing that?
Not any at all, really. The only reason I did so was because I was staying at my folks’ place years ago an my Mom read part of a story I’d left on my computer and she was like, “You shall NOT drag the good Davidson name though the muck with tales such as that!” And I was eating their food and drinking my Pop’s beer at the time so I thought what the hell, I’ll go with a pen name for my horror stuff.
How much do you pay attention to reviews of your work? While your work has gotten pretty decent reviews by in large, do brutal thrashings like Lizzie Skurnick’s in the New York Times stick with you or have you developed thick skin to criticism?
Yes, Missus Skurnick. I still hold true to my vow that I would give her one of my kidneys if she was dying of renal failure and I was the only suitable donor on earth, but man, that was not all that nice. But whatever — I’m up where the big boys and girls play, so I need to put on my big boy face and not run away and hide when someone kicks sand in my face. And I’ve got the sort of temperament that thrives on being disrespected, taken for granted, told I suck serious ass (which is good, because I’ve been told I suck ass a fair bit), so reviews like that only harden my resolve. I mean, yes, there’s a certain point where if enough people say I stink and don’t buy my books, no amount of resolve will do any good, but until then I just keep plugging away with the feeling that good things are bound to happen.
You’ve received high praise from the likes of Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, Thom Jones, and Clive Barker to a name a few. Are you big fans of their work and have you had any chance to interact with any of them?
Huge fans of all their work, and obviously heartened by their kind words. Had quite a few emails with Thom Jones, and received a phone call from Clive Barker at my home in Calgary. Met Chuck Palahniuk at a book signing, but never crossed paths with Bret Ellis. Would love to, though.
This last fall you toured to promote Rust and Bone. What was the experience like overall? To my complete horror and embarrassment your blog details your experience in Milwaukee (which will not happen the next time), but did you enjoy touring and the additional PR stuff that goes with promoting your book?
Yes, Milwaukee. And Minneapolis, where the only people who showed were 5 or 6 very enthusiastic students from the local university whose assignment was to go to a book reading — ANY book reading — and report their findings, and mine was the only one going on that night. But I’m sure every writer has stories like that, and they certainly have the potential to be funny later on — providing, of course, I meet with a certain level of success that I can look fondly upon those early experiences.
But yes, overall, it is a fun experience. It’s something that I guess you dream of as an aspiring writer — going on tour, getting a media guide to show you around town, reading to an audience, signing books, getting drunk in a foreign city and finding yourself at an illegal cockfight at 4 am … okay, so not that last bit. My publishers were great with promoting me and sending me about, and I’ll always appreciate their efforts regardless of the end results.
You’re a Canadian, other than the challenges of buying beer without an ID and the lack of hockey in Iowa what are your impressions of the Midwest?
I enjoy the Midwest. As I said, I’ve been too housebound to enjoy it properly, perhaps, but I’m glad I came and the people are wonderful and let Canadians get away with murder! I went down to Austin recently and thought that was a great town, too. I enjoyed Milwaukee and Minneapolis, too, though I wasn’t in either place too long.
You recently sat on a panel “Are We There Yet? Arriving at the End in Postmodern Short Stories”, how did that go? What can you tell us about the End and the Postmodern Short Story?
I can tell you that I know very little about post modernism, as it turns out, much to the disappointment of the 60 or so people who showed up to the panel. Thankfully my fellow panelists DID know their asses from a hole in the ground, so all was not lost!
What’s the last good book you’ve read?
I read House of Leaves, which blew me away. If He Hollars Let Him Go, by Chester Himes, was also a killer.
Craig, you’ve been selected to be one of the judges of a pretty esteemed panel for ChiZine’s 12th annual story contest. What do you look for in great fiction? What qualities get you excited about a story?
I think it comes in many different forms. I would say I like fiction with a bite, that’s edgy and troublesome and toothy. I’m sure there will be plenty of great stories to choose from in that contest.
With what you’ve learned and experienced thus far what would be your advice to struggling writers?
I guess I would say, treat it as a job. As soon as you’re able to, set yourself to a discipline, a schedule, and stick to it. No need to make it a huge thing, either. 100 words a day, or 2-300 if you can. Or an hour a day, or 2 or 3. It builds and grows and, just by constant application, you will see results. I met Joe R. Lansdale down in Austin, a wonderful — and prolific — writer, and he only writes 3 hours a day, 5 days a week. He’s written, like, 30 books! So if you can weather that, plus the existential dread and angst and Lizzie Skurnick’s of this world, you’ll do just fine.
V For Vendetta opens this weekend and it looks awesome. Alan Moore, however, isn’t too keen on it, or really any of the other shitty adaptations of his work, which doesn’t come as shock. In fact, there seems to be very few people Alan Moore isn’t pissed at these days. Guess that’s to be expected if you’re a reclusive pioneer in your field.
From The New York Times
In Mr. Moore’s account of his career, the villains are clearly defined: they are the mainstream comics industry — particularly DC Comics, the American publisher of “Watchmen” and “V for Vendetta” — which he believes has hijacked the properties he created, and the American film business, which has distorted his writing beyond recognition. To him, the movie adaptation of “V for Vendetta,” which opens on Friday, is not the biggest platform yet for his ideas: it is further proof that Hollywood should be avoided at all costs. “I’ve read the screenplay,” Mr. Moore said. “It’s rubbish.”
On consulting for the V For Vendetta film:
“I explained to [Larry Wachowski] that I’d had some bad experiences in Hollywood,” Mr. Moore said. “I didn’t want any input in it, didn’t want to see it and didn’t want to meet him to have coffee and talk about ideas for the film.”
But at a press conference on March 4, 2005, to announce the start of production on the “V for Vendetta” film, the producer Joel Silver said Mr. Moore was “very excited about what Larry had to say and Larry sent the script, so we hope to see him sometime before we’re in the U.K.” This, Mr. Moore said, “was a flat lie.”
“Given that I’d already published statements saying I wasn’t interested in the film, it actually made me look duplicitous,” he said.
Through his editors at DC Comics (like Warner Brothers, a subsidiary of Time Warner), Mr. Moore insisted that the studio publicly retract Mr. Silver’s remarks. When no retraction was made, Mr. Moore once again quit his association with DC (and Wildstorm along with it), and demanded that his name be removed from the “V for Vendetta” film, as well as from any of his work that DC might reprint in the future.
The producers of “V for Vendetta” reluctantly agreed to strip Mr. Moore’s name from the film’s credits, a move that saddened Mr. Lloyd, who still endorses the film. “Alan and I were like Laurel and Hardy when we worked on that,” Mr. Lloyd said. “We clicked. I felt bad about not seeing a credit for that team preserved, but there you go.”
David Lloyd, V for Vendetta’s co-creator and artist likes the movie adaptation. He talks more over at Suicide Girls.com about what the experience has been like seeing his work on the big screen. Here’s a spoiler: he’s bit more into it than Moore.
DRE: I know you and Alan Moore haven’t spoken in a long time. When I spoke to him he said to me “If it’s worth reacting to, it’s worth overreacting to.” I realized that informs nearly everything he does. V is certainly a reaction, not only is it an allegory but it’s not 1984. The government doesn’t win. V blows up everything. Were you full of piss and vinegar when you started this book?
Lloyd: When we started the book there was the Margaret Thatcher regime in Britain at that time. She’d only just been in power for a couple of years and she was getting her stride. Then as things progressed, we saw that she was quite ruthless. From a political point of view, we were interested in saying those things that we said in V, but we weren’t actually politically active. Alan was always interested in politics in a major way. He actually believes that anarchy is a politically viable system, but I don’t. I was always interested in putting forward the ideas that represented my viewpoint. I feel the same about anything I’m doing. I’m in a privileged position as an artist because if I’ve got something to say, I can say it. But you don’t want to preach. That’s terrible. But if you have a point of view and you’re an artist or a writer, it’s kind of crazy to not take advantage of that, especially if you can do something that’s entertaining as well. I’ve done a number of things like that over the years.
On a slightly related note, check out Rolling Stone’s The Mystery of Larry Wachowski for a little insight into some reported changes going on amongst the dynamic Wachowski duo. Let’s just say a quote like: “My greatest accomplishment in some ways,” she once said, “[was] putting 333 needles into a single penis,” from a dominatrix Larry’s been close with may explain why the last two Matrix movies suck so much. With that kind of pain who could think about much of anything.
