As is often the case with artists I grow to collect obsessively, I first heard the music of David Mead when a promo of his sophomore album, 1999′s Mine and Yours, came across my desk when I was an A&E writer for a small Midwestern daily newspaper. It was produced by Adam Schlesinger of Fountains of Wayne, and given my love of that band’s first two albums, I decided it was worth a listen. From the opening notes, I was hooked.

The first thing that struck me was Mead’s voice, a sweet, soaring elastic instrument in the hands (or rather, mouth) of an artist who knows how to use it. A great voice without great songs is simply a wasted talent however, so it was Mead’s crack songwriting that crowded his voice atop the list of winning attributes. The album was slick in the least-pejorative way possible, a crisply produced batch of top-notch pop songs.

The follow-up, 2001′s Indiana, was broader and deeper. The hooks were still there, but the songs seemed more lived in, the work of someone who had enjoyed the fun conveyed in those earlier songs and now had to get up the next day to go into work with his head still a bit fuzzy from the excess. Still, any weariness was leavened by a sweet hook and a bit of wry humor, as in this bit from the title track:

I had a couple of drinks in Cincy
And some drugs in Detroit
Then a guy in Chicago said I sing like a girl
So I bought him a round and thanked him;
What else could I do?

Between those two albums, Mead recorded another with producer Steven Hague. Reorganization at RCA Records left him label-less, and it wasn’t until 2005 that he was able to release some of those songs as the EP Wherever You Are. The title track is among his best compositions, making me wonder if that business snag kept him from being launched into the big time.

Probably not, and as he says below, that’s probably for the best, for he has been able to follow his muse without worry of what the suits will think. That meant 2006′s exquisite Tangerine could be followed by his new, Nilsson-inspired follow-up, Almost and Always. Here, the songs are stripped to their essence with no dilution in power or catchiness. Further proof that his songs require none of the studio frills that adorn their original versions is offered by Live at Eddie’s Attic, a live show from early this year that finds Mead and collaborator Bill DeMain performing acoustically. The show can be downloaded at Mead’s site, and it’s a great listen.

Mead self-released Almost and Always digitally late last year; Cheap Lullaby Records reissues it digitally and on CD on July 28. Check out “Rainy Weather Friend” from the disc here.

TIRBD: This is a quieter album than you have made in the past. Was that borne of necessity because you were funding it yourself, simply the presentation these songs needed or perhaps a bit of both?

DM: bit of both, I guess. I was very influenced by the album Nilsson Sings Newman, which is very sparse, just Harry Nilsson’s vocals and Randy Newman’s piano. I wanted the challenge of seeing if I could do something that powerful and dramatic with little instrumentation. My last album was very elaborately arranged so I wanted to try something different here. And yes, there was no recording budget, so it did turn out to be a good time to try the pared down approach.

You’ve been candid about the state of your life when you were writing these songs — recently separated from your wife, broke and living in your father’s basement. Can you tell an influence from all of that on the music? In your candor, do you hope that it colors the listener’s view of the songs?

I can certainly tell the influence. The failure of a marriage is pretty humbling, and the album sounds like that to me… not really broken or defeated, but a little wiser and less bombastic than some earlier stuff. I don’t really want my ‘candor’ to influence people’s experience with it. I think it’s a drag when a writer attempts to limit work to one particular interpretation. I suppose I could have exercised more discretion, but I don’t Twitter or use drugs, so I thought it might be nice to throw in some sauce for the kids.

It has been a decade since The Luxury of Time was released. Where did you think you’d be in 10 years, and what are your thoughts now about where you are?

If memory serves, I thought I would be dating Jennifer Aniston on and off and doing a lot of kick-boxing workouts. In retrospect, it is easy to see that I could have never handled the pressure and monotony of that lifestyle, however. I think that I would be pretty rudderless by this point if I had already made bags of money. I am very happy that I ended up as a middle class singer/songwriter… It keeps me working a lot and trying new things. I’m not particularly mature or ambitious. Which is probably why Jenny won’t return my calls anymore.

You wrote much of this new material with Bill DeMain. How was it different writing with someone instead of by yourself? You mentioned that in a way these felt like covers because you wrote them with the idea that someone else would sing them. Is that enhanced by the fact that you didn’t solely write them?

In many ways, the album is a kind of canonization of Bill DeMain’s lifestyle. He is a highly unique individual who kind of exists outside of the normal time continuum. His work and his attitude about life have little to do with much that is trendy or whatever passes for ‘modern,’ which is very refreshing for me. He writes pages of great lyrics, many of which are fully formed before I even touch them. This is great for me because I love writing music and hate writing lyrics. Bill has the gift of plu
cking the transcendent from the mundane. He also usually makes a mean lunch when we write together.

You self-released this disc digitally, then signed with a small label to re-release it. Now that you’re not with a larger label, is commerce playing a larger part in what you do? Does that have an affect on the art side of the equation?

Survival is generally a lot more interesting as an independent. There is a lot more friction and fluidity involved, which always makes for more stimulating art. Not being attached to a corporation is helpful, as well. I think that, during my major label years, I was actually fortunate to work with some great people, but the dark ominous cloud of shareholders and bottom lines is inescapable in those kind of situations. Unless you are mentally handicapped or blissfully ignorant, it is impossible to not feel a certain amount of pressure that is not conducive to creativity. These days, I live month to month, which means I have to constantly come up with a new idea in order to eat. This is good, as food has always been a primary motivator for me.

You seem to have some musical kindred spirits in Nashville. Does the city affect that group in any way, or would these same artists be aligned and making this kind of music if they were living in another area?

Every Nashvillain who is worth a damn artistically enjoys the sensation of being a big fish in a little pond. This is good for egos and also means that like-minded people find each other at lightning speed, often getting down to the business of good work a lot more quickly than in other media metropolae. It is cheap to live here, and the humidity tends to strip us of the will to waste time with excessive social niceties. I doubt this would happen in any other city, primarily for the absence of Prince’s Hot Chicken in every other major creative market.

You found real subtle beauty in Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” on Indiana. Do you envision that others might follow suit as people now rediscover his work since his passing? What are your thoughts about losing him from a musical standpoint?

Thank you. I am afraid that we are in for a lot more shitty MJ covers than good ones, but perhaps that’s just the Hot Chicken talking. I think that, barring an act of Buddha, he was probably past the point of doing his best work, so, pragmatically speaking, it is not a terrible loss for me on a personal level. The example he leaves, however, is god-like, absolutely brilliant and wholly unattainable. I am unspeakably thankful to have been alive for it.

In the Hold Steady song “Celebrated Summer,” Craig Finn sings, “raise a toast to St. Joe Strummer, I think he might’ve been our only decent teacher.” A worthy subject, of course, but I think Finn’s list is rather incomplete. Look no further than to Mike Watt for proof.

Over the course of a 30-year music career, Watt has evolved into an improbable leader. He can’t really sing, he plays an instrument typically relegated to support status and is more interested in “jamming econo” than turning a buck. Despite it all, I defy anyone to find me an artist who has been involved with more interesting music that consistently over that length of time. All that with more integrity than you’ll find in almost any artist.

He came to prominence as part of the trio the Minutemen. The group formed in 1980 and disbanded in December 1985 after the death of guitarist and singer D. Boon. In that short time, they recorded four albums and eight EPs, each better and more accomplished than the last. After Boon’s death, Watt and drummer George Hurley formed fIREHOSE with guitarist Ed “from Ohio” Crawford. A major-label contract gave the band, and Watt, considerable visibility. It was a contract he kept until 2005, after the release of his third solo album, The Secondman’s Middle Stand.

Since fIREHOSE split in 1993, Watt has kept busy with an increasing number of projects. In addition to the bass duo Dos that he’s had for years with (now) ex-wife Kira, he has performed with Unknown Instructors, the Stooges, J Mascis, Porno for Pyros, Funanori and Banyan, among others.

The most recent of these is his work with Unknown Instructors. The group — former Saccharine Trust guitarist Joe Baiza, Watt, Hurley, poet Dan McGuire, Pere Ubu singer David Thomas and artist Raymond Pettibon. The music is odd, with with the trio of Baiza, Watt and Hurley improvising jazz-tinged rock that heads in unexpected directions. McGuire, Thomas and Pettibon (and occasionally Watt himself) then offer spoken word over top . It’s an offbeat but terribly arresting combination. The most recent disc of three from the combo, Funland, is the best yet.

Watt doesn’t often look back, but in this case it’s worthy: He’ll participate in a July 25th event in New York that celebrates the 25th anniversary of the Minutemen’s Double Nickels on the Dime, perhaps the greatest album Watt has been a part of.

TIRBD: It has been said that you and George Hurley considered continuing the Minutemen with Joe Baiza. Is that true? What might the past 20 years have been like if that had been the case, and what is it like now to play with him on a regular basis?

MW: Me and George have always dug playing with Joe Baiza. I tried out for his (and Jack Brewer’s) Saccharine Trust band before we started the Minutemen. The Minutemen though ended when D. Boon was killed. It would be different than Minutemen playing with Joe, it’s only natural. That’s why us playing with Edward was called fIREHOSE. So we did do some jams, but then Edward came from Ohio and we pursued that. Playing with Joe Baiza now is very interesting cuz I love the style he’s developed and try to do my best bass for him, same w/George – two very singular musicians I really appreciate, they really bring their own personalities to our collaborations.

You seem like a natural for something like Unknown Instructors because of the “spiels” you put on records. When do you decide that it’s better to speak something rather than sing it, and why don’t more people use that tactic?

Well, I’ve always thought of the words part of the Unknown Instructors was Dan McGuire and so was taking my cue from him there. I have done spiels with other music though, yes. It seems to fit the mood of the piece of music I put it to, just like using different types of bass lines to anchor a tune. To me it’s kind of like a “thinking out loud” kind of texture to a tune. It’s hard for me to say why others don’t use it but then some of my bass isn’t that conventional either. I learned from being in the Minutemen to try and wrestle your angle on expression in music – it was something D. Boon was never afraid to try.

You mention in the press material for the record that the process was about “putting me into contexts that take risks, which is scary, but being scared can be exciting.” I was surprised to read that, because it seems as if your career has largely been about putting yourself into such risky situations. What made this more so?

You are right, I have done a lot of that, but whole albums made of flying by the seat of your pants with free-form jamming can be a little intimidating still with all the years of whatever kind of experience music has given me. I try and think of this in a positive light though so I don’t coward out in the first place and then attempt some kind of growth by engaging in it, but at the same time, trying to do good for the cats I’m playing with. So I think there’s some kind of responsibility mixed into the idea or attempt to ignite some type of “abandon” from a life of infinite “re-runs” like endless repeats of the “I Love Lucy Show” or something.

In the past few years, it seems as if you’re starting a new group every month or so. Why this restlessness? Do you ever fear stretching yourself too thin?

New groups are about new musical situations, new places to learn from. I think it helps me keep relevant somehow, keeps the bass from being just a machine and a means to help me keep learning. The different musical situations are like different “classrooms” and I sincerely believe everyone has something to teach me. I’m trying to cram as much as I can in the amount of life I have left. It just drives me, I feel driven by opportunity to try different musical things. Some situations are very stable though – like the band dos me and Kira have had for 24 years. Some though, like this gig I got with Devin Hoff next week in San Francisco, last just one performance! Who knows though; we’ve been talking about taking things further – sometimes that’s how it works, and then sometimes I think up the whole concept before choosing the people… sometimes I’m chosen by someone, right out of the blue! I think about my life… I think, “I’m here to learn!” So it’s OK.

You have played with a lot of musicians from different eras — from the Stooges to David Thomas in the Unknown Instructors to younger musicians in your various recent projects. What differences and similarities do you see in their approaches, and particularly their
mindset about music as a career?

Yeah, everyone has their own personal take on this whole music trip, believe me. It’s OK though, cuz different perspectives can bring me something I can learn from. I have learned to maybe not make big judgments on folks and their choices on how they work their angle on music and try to act like the bass in a band, sort of like being grout to set tiles. Everyone has something special about themselves I believe. That can help me be a little special along with them – that’s what I try for. Music is a trippy kind of field where people can transcend age, I think. I’ve been very very lucky to play with folks pretty open-minded, whether they’ve played for a little while or a long time. I try to go with those situations – the technical abilities are kind of secondary to the spirit they bring. To think of music as a career is pretty scary! I was just asked by a dear friend about how to do music for life. Very difficult question! I could only suggest developing a musical identity that’s reflective of the inner voice music lets you express and keep pushing, push! If you stumble – get back up and keep pushing!

Your hootpage is a goldmine of information about your life and music in general. You published a short book a few years back with a French press that gathered some writing, but it seems like you have a memoir in you. Ever have any thoughts about ever doing something like that?

That was published in Quebec where French is spoken lots, by l’oie de craven It’s a book of my Minutemen lyrics plus a short little tour diary from 1983 I did – my first one. I do tour diaries all the time, for the last 10 years, and have them up on my hootpage where anyone can read them. I am a big fan of literature though, it inspires me much to write music. I really need inspiration – lots of times it’s books, lots of time it’s people… without inspiration, music for is too mechanical. I have great respect for writing and yes, it’s something I wish I could do better myself.

How does technology affect the way that you record, distribute and listen to music now compared to when you started playing? Is it better or worse?

The challenge of trying to be creative has never been solved, and I think maybe it should never be. However, it is more econo to record and there’s tools in the recording themselves that can act now like instruments – not just for capturing performances but kind of like “playing” them on another level… sort of like how making films developed. It’s easier now to communicate and all collaborate by using the Internet, same with getting the finished works out there. A lot of projects I do now could not happen in the old days, just couldn’t, so I’m grateful for lots of the new developments. The idea of finished works changed forms somewhat, but they still are works. It’s easier now to share them w/more folks and quicker. I think this is a good thing cuz maybe folks might wanna see you perform live if they have the chance.

Any time I think about Craig McDonald, two things come to mind. First, if you think you know a lot about crime fiction, at best you’re in second place. McDonald is a like a walking encyclopedia of the genre. Second, knowing all of that information doesn’t guarantee that one’s own efforts at writing crime fiction would succeed, but McDonald’s two novels prove it certainly doesn’t hurt.

I first came to McDonald’s work through the book Art in the Blood. The book gathers 20 long interviews McDonald conducted with crime fiction writers like Ken Bruen, George Pelecanos, Michael Connelly, Ian Rankin and Dennis Lehane. It was a fantastic book that revealed new information about these oft-interviewed subjects. McDonald was able to get them to open up because his preparation was so thorough. He reads everything a subject has written — usually more than once — and prepares fastidiously to take the conversation in new directions.

His crime fiction debut, Head Games, followed. It was a treat, a historical fiction that never let the research get in the way of the ripping yarn McDonald unfolded. It was the beginning of a series featuring pulp fiction writer Hector Lassiter. Another interview book was to follow, but the success of that Edgar-nominated novel forced the non-fiction title to the backburner so the Lassiter follow-up, Toros & Torsos, could be issued.

That brings us to the present, when that second interview collection, Rogue Males is now on shelves. It again gathers interviews with crime fiction writers (and two musician-authors: Tom Russell and Kinky Friedman), offering rich profiles of Bruen, James Sallis, Daniel Woodrell, Lee Child and more. The most interesting section is one featuring extended narratives with Sallis and Bruen drawn from a long weekend spent with each (and later, together) in Arizona. McDonald veers from the Q&A format used for the rest of the book here, and the result allows him to inject more of himself into the proceedings.

It’s another illuminating collection that whets the appetite for more. Though McDonald says he has plenty of content for future volumes, however, he says it’s unlikely. The Lassiter series is his main focus these days. Here’s hoping he finds the time (and a willing publisher) to balance the two. These collections are indispensable for crime fiction fans.

What follows is McDonald’s third Monday Interview (the others are here and here). He’s the first to hit that mark, and I can’t think of a more fitting subject to do so.

TIRBD: You’re back for round two in terms of interview books. Did you learn anything from the first that you applied to the second?

CM: The interview tactics stayed the same. For me, the crucial difference between Art in the Blood and Rogue Males is my role in the two books. As Ken Bruen sharply seized on in his foreword to Art, my private goal in that book was to disappear, so to speak — to not become a distracting presence. In Rogue Males, I was trying for what Hemingway termed remate. In Rogue Males, I aimed to portray myself and my journey toward fiction writing through something like “ricochet.”

You’re also now a twice-published novelist. Did the process of publishing and being interviewed yourself affect your own interview process or the way you put this book together?

Head Games and Rogue Males were sold as a package deal back in ’06, I think. With the exception of the Elmore Leonard interview, Rogue Males was wrapped before I even finished Head Games. But the awards attention for my first novel made it necessary to put out my second novel ahead of Rogue Males.

Frankly, Rogue Males was actually an outgrowth of the fact that I’d recklessly signed away all my foreign rights to Art in the Blood in my pre-agented days. Suddenly, my agent was getting inquiries about Art for foreign publication, but we couldn’t take advantage of those opportunities. So I put together Rogue Males, drawing largely upon a huge reservoir of interviews with writers who struck me as being of a “type.” At this point, I could easily do a third — perhaps even a fourth — interview collection if there was an opportunity to do so, but my gut instinct is these will be the only two I’ll have out there. I have a version on my hard-drive of a female version of Rogue Males, but so far, nobody’s knocking down my door to acquire that book.

You went back to talk with some authors already covered in the first book. Did you try any new methods to get them to reveal more? Did the passage of time affect the way you viewed them as artists? Did anyone contradict themselves?

There were no contradictions that I can recall. I think in the first interview I conducted with James Ellroy I reached a kind of connection with him that carried us through the subsequent two interviews contained in Rogue Males. I’ve interviewed Lee Child several times and he’s very candid. The author I think I’ve interviewed the most is Michael Connelly. At this point, I could probably do a smallish book just collecting those interviews. I think Michael has spoken on the record with me at least five times, maybe six. A lot of the material from those discussions is still not out there.

So far as changing attitudes go, with the Rogue Males repeats, the authors are there because I think well of them and respect their work. I can’t think of any particular author I’d duck based on past experience. That said, there are several authors I’ve passed on interviewing, mostly based on their reputation for showing themselves. Life’s too short. And in most cases, their work doesn’t speak to me, anyway. And before you ask, sorry, but they’ll remain nameless, and deservedly.

nblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.craigmcdonaldbooks.com/images/toros.jpg">Your backgrounding is so thorough that I wonder if you have time to read anything other than these authors. You mention reading some of their books several times, and seem to read every word they’ve ever written before doing these interviews. How is it possible to fit it all in?

Back in the interviewing days, I could do a ton more reading than I can now. The bulk of my reading now is tied to my own work. I’m mostly writing historical fiction, so that requires a certain investment of reading time directed toward what I write. For various reasons, this year marks the first time in several years I’m reading deeply and widely again in genre. Candidly, I’m finding it a pretty headshaking experience. It would be great to find a new writer who would grab me as Woodrell, Sallis, Bruen, Ellroy or Megan Abbott did, but so far…

I particularly enjoyed the narrative presentation of the Bruen/Sallis section. What led you to take that tack after using the Q&A format up to that point? And while you clearly appreciate the work of the other authors in the book, I know you have a special fondness for these two. What was it like on a personal level to spend time with them?

I think my own reaction to those two comes through pretty strongly and accurately in Rogue Males. Arizona marked the first time I’d actually met Ken, face-to-face. He was frank and funny and although he was exhausted by his book tour at that point when we met up in the desert, he was wonderful and wry. James Sallis I’d been reading and re-reading for some time. James is truly a delight to spend time with and he’s an excellent interview subject and a natural and powerful teacher. I’d learned a lot from him, on the page and in person.

I originally set the Ken and Jim interviews in Q&A format, then decided that format didn’t serve the material well. So I recast it in prose form. I was deep into writing Head Games at the same time, and the voices and terrain and even some of the subtext of those two pieces of writing blended and infiltrated one another. If I ever should find myself interviewing another author, I think I’ll probably go the narrative route.

Where do things stand with the announced graphic novel of Head Games? Any film interest in the books thus far?

Head Games, the graphic novel, is still in the pipeline. It’s with First Second, and now that I’ve moved the Hector Lassiter series to Minotaur Books, Hector is now pretty much contained in the Flat Iron Building in all his various English-language forms.

So far as film interest in Head Games, I’m adapting it to script format now. There was intense and pretty heady Hollywood interest in the novel when the publishing deal was first announced. But as is so often the case with this stuff, it never quite came together. There’s nearly always someone nibbling, but getting a bite…

From the way things sound on your web site, the third book in the series already is in the can and the fourth is under way if not already written. Do you have the entire series mapped out?

Actually, the entire series is finished. By the time Head Games was announced as an Edgar Award finalist, I was writing the last pages of what I then considered the seventh and last novel in the series.

Of course the “finished” books undergo an editing process, but I’ve had the extremely rare opportunity to live with the series for some time and to tweak and polish and tie together the various installments into what I hope functions as a fully-integrated series on a level other crime series can never aspire to attain. Essentially, it’s one big book. I also added an eighth entry that I completed a few weeks ago. That pretty much closes out that enterprise. Now it’s a matter of reader support justifying the publication of the remaining four novels.

If I recall correctly, you also have a few other unpublished novels sitting around. Is it time to bust out a pseudonym?

Funny you should say… I’ve had some inquiries. Unlike some other recent crime novelists who’ve gone down that road, if I did it, I wouldn’t hide in plain sight. In other words, if I should ever do it, I’ll go out there under a cloak of anonymity as the fellas like Cornell Woolrich and others did in the old days. It wouldn’t be a winking, “Craig McDonald writing as” kind of gambit.

But for the moment, my focus is squarely on novel number three, Print the Legend, that Minotaur will publish early next year. I literally just finished going over page proofs and we have the cover, which is very striking. In a few days, we begin edits for number four, Gnashville, Mon Amour, which will likely appear next fall.

Many people probably left the Church behind sometime around the fadeout of “Under the Milky Way.” Given the path the band has taken since, it’s members are probably OK with that. And those fair-weather fans? It’s definitely their loss.

Thirteen albums after the band’s breakthrough with Starfish, the group has issued its best album in a decade or more. That album, Untitled #23, is the band’s 23rd, and it is proof positive that acts with a deep enough creative well can continue to make music for years and years that sounds of a piece with its back catalog while mining new territory.

Untitled #23 makes no compromises. There is no single here, no uptempo rocker to throw radio’s way. These dense soundscapes don’t even necessarily stand out one from another until the orientation afforded by several listens takes hold. But it is a stellar effort despite those challenges. Things begin and end in two places: Steve Kilbey’s one-of-a-kind vocals and the chiming guitar interplay between Marty Wilson-Piper and Peter Koppes. Those are the touchstones that let even the casual listener know that this is a Church record.

These songs glide rather than punch, insinuate rather than declare. Kilbey’s vocal is still the focus, but Koppes and Wilson-Piper are willing to let their sinewy guitar lines wash over the listener in a gauzy tapestry while Tim Powles’ drums nudge things along. Some have stronger hooks than others — you”ll sing along with “Pangea,” for example — while others are more about setting a mood.

It’s a great time to be a Church fan. Never mind that on an album-by-album basis the band is on a roll (2006′s Uninvited, Like the Clouds was another fantastic album), but the musicians have been particularly prolific of late. The Church itself has added to the 10 tracks on Uninvited #23 with six extra tracks spread over two new EPs. “Pangea” gets its own EP with three non-LP B-sides (including one each by Wilson-Piper and Koppes, as well as an 18-minute bliss-out called “So Love May Find Us”), while the Coffee Hounds EP includes vocal and instrumental versions of “The Coffee Song” as well as a cover of Kate Bush’s “The Hounds of Love.”

Kilbey and Wilson-Piper also each have recent, well-received solo albums: Wilson-Piper’s Nightjar and Kilbey’s Painkiller. In addition, Kilbey is the latest collaborator in Pocket‘s series of digital EPs, contributing vocals to the track “Hear in Noiseville.” The song offers a dancier context than Kilbey usually inhabits, but Pocket’s dense songbed offers a warm seam that Kilbey fills with his distinctive vocal. It’s on Pocket’s forthcoming third EP in the series (the first was with Robyn Hitchcock) and is due July 21.

The band’s “So Love May Find Us” tour continues through the second week of July in the U.S. in Canada. Kilbey took time out from all of that to offer a few enigmatic responses to some straight-forward questions. Anyone seeking more of this type of Kilbey-speak would do well to check out his fascinating blog, where you can find it in abundance. For those seeking a look at the band in performance, the group’s visit to KCRW’s “Morning Becomes Eclectic” show can be found here.

TIRBD: Moving soon into your fourth decade, how are you able to keep things fresh when you approach material that you’ve played for 10, 20 or even 30 years?

SK: good material is always fresh.

By the same token, having created music together for 30 years, do new ideas come from a different place than in the past? Is it an effort to ensure that something that feels new isn’t simply a restatement of something that came before?

we build on the past.
who can tell where ideas come from…?
the heart and the mind as always

Untitled #23 feels like a very cohesive statement with a remarkably consistent tone. Were things left in the studio that didn’t fit that feel, or did everything come together this week organically from the outset?

we recorded a lotta stuff
lotta stuff still in can
we are very random

Your music is cited as an influence on bands whose members weren’t even alive when you formed the band. Do you hear a Church vibe in current music? Are you, in turn, influenced by newer music?

i rarely hear an influence from us in other bands
i doubt a new band would influence me at this stage of the game

You and Marty each have several solo albums to your names, and I wonder how these outlets ultimately affect the work of the Church? Are they a release valve, a way to experiment, or perhaps something else?

my records are what i do on my own
i have no different approach whatever i do
i just do whatever strikes me at the time

You each also excel at the visual arts. Beyond having built-in cover art for releases (Marty’s photos and drawings on Untitled #23 and Nightjar, respectively) and your painting on Painkiller), what does this outlet do for you that making music does not? Does one inform the other in any way?

yes visual n musical art come from a similar methodology but have
different physical applications
you gotta get au fait with the visual world
think shadow instead of echo
think background instead of backing track

As you embark on a U.S. tour in support of the new album, what will the set lists look like? With 23 albums to your credit, is it difficult to fit in everything you want to play — and the fans want to hear — each night?

impossible to play one song from every album even
we just have to figure out a set that hits all bases

J. Robert Lennon has a new novel out, and it’s about time. About time that someone finally stepped up to publish him, that is. You see, he has written books since 2003′s Mailman. Four of them, in fact. But for those of us in the U.S. — you know, his home country — it has been difficult to read any of it.

First came Pieces for the Left Hand, a brilliant collection of 100 very short stories, each written while his child took a 45-minute nap. Granta in the UK saw fit to publish it in 2005, and those of us lucky enough at the time to score an imported copy reveled in its incisive, hilarious prose. Next came Happyland, a novel deemed too dangerous by Lennon’s publisher due to the similarity between its subject and the founder of the American Girl doll company. That was shortened and serialized in Harper’s magazine. I’ve yet to read it, because I want to read the entire book when someone wises up and puts it out. After that came a crime novel that Lennon had yet to publish. Finally, he brought forth Castle, officially his fifth novel, published this spring by Graywolf Press. Graywolf also brought out a U.S. edition of Pieces for the Left Hand, which brings us up to date.

I interviewed Lennon for a piece on CorridorBuzz.com to preview his reading in Iowa City on Tuesday. As usual, I asked about more than could possibly fit in the piece, and planned to run the rest here. But I love Lennon’s work, and wanted to give him as much publicity as possible, so I sent a few more questions his way and turned this into a full-blown Monday Interview.

Before we get to that, however, a bit more from the original interview. We touch on many of these points more fully in the Q&A that follows. For example, I asked him about the idea of self-publishing, particularly the crime novel. He said he has considered it, even considered putting it out as an ebook only. But he said he wants to hold out for the possibility of it coming out in physical form from a real publisher.

“I really like working with a publisher,” he said. “There’s probably some kind of taint to self publishing, if you do that you have succumbed and are perceived as a low-class operation. However, I don’t think most readers give a crap where the book is coming from. They just want it to be good. Still, I want to stay in the good graces of the people I work with in publishing.”

We also talked about politics. His novel, Castle, makes reference to the Iraq war, and he has said that Happyland was his take on “Rovian” politics. I asked if the Obama administration would cool the fires that fueled these works. He said politics isn’t obsessing him the way it once was, but added that “it’s a danger to thinking that the Obama administration is going to be a cure-all. I haven’t totally approved of everything Obama has done, but when I disagreed with Bush, I felt there was a maliciousness, I felt like they were sticking it to me, felt there was malicious intent. With Obama, I really do think he’s trying to act in the best interest of the citizens he’s serving.”

Castle is set in upstate New York, where Lennon lives. So was Mailman. Other of his books were set in Montana, where he earned his MFA. I asked if setting books in the places he has lived was a matter of convenience, or if the stories he wanted to tell needed to be set there.

“It’s not so much a convenience, but I enjoy finding inspiration in the place that I’m at. Upstate New York is not not remote, but it is fairly isolated. If you go for a walk in the woods and you feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere, but you’ll find the remains of a barn foundation. There was someone there before you.”

That led to a discussion of the way he proscribes a world for his stories, and whether that makes it easier or more difficult to then tell the tale. He said he loves to create worlds in his work, and mentioned the subculture he created in The Funnies. His second novel was about the son of a famous cartoonist who inherits his father’s strip after his death. Lennon said he did some research, but the subculture he writes about was largely invented. “I kind of like that. You narrow the possibilities. It’s like writing a sonnet. The fact that you’ve hemmed yourself in a little, you’re free in that space.”

Lastly, I asked a question I’ve never seen asked of Lennon. His name, as it is probably not too difficult to guess is John, meaning he grew up with the name of one of pop culture’s most revered artists. I asked if it was difficult to be an artist (and, as we talk about below, a musician) with such an iconic name.

“Not anymore really. The worst thing was that I really liked him and liked the Beatles. I used to have little round glasses. I told myself it had nothing to do with John Lennon, I just liked the glasses.” he said. “For the most part I just caught a lot of crap from other kids when I was growing up. I don’t think it’s made any difference at all.”

I asked if his parents every talked about giving him such a charged name. He was born in 1970, at the height of Lennon’s fame. He was named, he said, for his grandfather, also named John Lennon. Another grandfather was Robert, which means his pen name allows him to honor that grandfather in the same way the name everyone calls him, John, does.

“Later they told me they thought it might be kind of fun for me, which was a sad miscalculation,” he said. “But I’m proud to be named after my grandfather.”

On to the Q&A…

TIRBD: We talked a bit about self-publishing before. You have self-released a handful of CDs of your music. Has that experience made you more or less likely to do the same with your writing at some point?

JRL: Perhaps someday, but I prefer working with a publisher. Promotion and distribution are hard, and I would rather spend my time writing. I did put a bunch of obscure writing up on my website recently — quite a lot of articles and stories, few of which are likely to ever find their way into book form. Maybe I should gin up an e-book. But the last thing I need right now is another geeky project.

You said that you were not very politically active before the Bush administration, but that you’ve since addressed it, however obliquely at times, in your writing.
How else has that activism manifested itself?

The usual ways – -donating money, complaining on the Internet, getting into tense conversations with relatives. I’ve had to find a way to channel my anger and dismay into useful activities, and writing has been the main thing. I’m a little more comfortable now that Obama’s at the helm, though, so perhaps I can relax a bit.

You wrote the pieces in Pieces for the Left Hand during your child’s short naps, a lemonade-from-lemons endeavor if ever there was one. Now that your kids are older and presumably have indentured you, how has that affected your writing schedule? Does having kids affect the way you look at the world through your writing?

Oh, sure, the world is very different once you’ve had kids, or gone through any major life change, for that matter. My kids don’t disrupt my writing schedule at all anymore — they go to school, and are pretty self-sufficient, and have their own interests to work on. Luckily we share some interests, otherwise we’d never see each other! Our family is rather preoccupied most of the time.

How has it been working with a smaller publisher like Graywolf Press as opposed to a larger publisher like W.W. Norton?

Great! They publish fewer books and so have the luxury of caring more about each. Graywolf has been extremely attentive to me, my editor is a superb reader, and the books have gotten more attention than anything I’ve written in years — I like this situation a lot.

You clearly get into music recording on a micro level, from creating your own instruments to writing about recording techniques in Tape Op magazine. Is there a parallel between that and the micro level of looking at writing afforded by the teaching you do at Cornell?

Absolutely — I am a major nerd in all respects, both in my hobbies and of course my writing and teaching. I love getting a new stack of manuscripts and digging in, discovering what kind of conversations I’m going to get to have the next day. I can be a little too proscriptive with my advice, though, as a result — I have to learn to hint! There aren’t many bad student stories that can’t be turned into something good; it’s like trying to solve a puzzle with the class.

Do you write short fiction at the same time you’re immersed in a novel, or do you need to complete one thing before starting another?

Usually I keep them separate, but sometimes I get a story idea when I’m in novel mode and I have to put everything aside and go for it. This just happened recently. It’s a good feeling, actually finishing something when you’re in the middle of a two-year project… I should probably do it more often.

When Paul Ingram from Prairie Lights Books in Iowa City places a book in my hands and says, “This is one of the best things I read last year,” I usually walk from there to the counter, exchange money for the book, head home and crack it open. He did so a couple of weeks ago with Castle Freeman Jr.’s third novel, Go With Me, recommending Freeman’s new novel, All That I Have in the process.

Reading both books in quick succession, I was struck by a sentiment felt too infrequently when it comes to literature: Castle Freeman Jr., where have you been all my life? It’s as if Freeman and I had discussed books for an hour and he then went off to write something that would particularly appeal to me.

The books, like all of Freeman’s work, take place in rural Vermont. Unlike his two previous novels, however, they are very short and spare. In story and tone, they call to mind Southern writers like Cormac McCarthy, Larry Brown and Daniel Woodrell. Go With Me tells of Lorraine, a young woman tormented by the town black sheep. She goes to the sheriff, who suggests she look to an old mill owner for relief. The miller, Whizzer, in turn suggests that two people who work for him, the old Lester and the young’un Nate the Great, take on the task. All of the action takes place in a day, with Freeman putting just enough words on the page to get his story across.

All That I Have is more involved, though it, too, is a short novel. Here, another sheriff, Lucien Wing, deals with a seemingly simple situation: One of the county’s misguided young men (nicknamed Superboy) has broken into a home and stolen something. But the home is owned by Russian mobsters who are eager to get this item back and make the offender pay. Wing’s deputy seems to want to wade into the mess with guns blazing, but Wing’s philosophy is to hang back and let things develop. Better to give someone a little line and let them find their way back onto the path than to lock them up and send them down another, likely unswerving path.

Freeman is a typical overnight sensation, one who has been toiling away for decades. His first book was 1987′s short story collection, The Bride of Ambrose (based on the stories I’ve read so far, this is also highly recommended). That was followed by two novels: 1997′s Judgment Hill and 2002′s My Life and Adventures. Freeman has been an essaying for The Old Farmer’s Almanac since 1982 and contributes to other magazines.

Unfortunately, it seems the quick pace that might promise more books about Sheriff Wing and the other folks in this fictional nook of Vermont was a fluke. Freeman says he doesn’t expect — or want — to keep such a schedule. Here’s hoping the warm reception to these books will lead him to revisit this fertile storytelling ground, no matter how long we’re made to wait.

TIRBD: After just three books between 1987 and 2002, you suddenly have books in back to back years. What changed to allow this more rapid pace, and does the difference in tone and book length have anything to do with it?

CF: The quick succession of All That I Have and Go With Me is mainly from chance. I started writing All That I Have a couple of months after finishing Go With Me, partly so I wouldn’t be making myself nuts by waiting by the phone as my agent tried to find a publisher for the latter, a process I expected to be difficult and prolonged. Then in fact, Go With Me was taken by Steerforth Press in fairly short order. By the time it was published, All That I Have was finished, hence the fast pace of their appearance, which is uncharacteristic of me, to say the least.

Given the quick turnaround between these two most recent books, do you anticipate continuing that pace or was that just a quirk of scheduling and perhaps some unique motivation?

No, that pace was an anomaly. I don’t want to get into a spot where I’m expected, by myself or anybody else, to publish a new book every year or two. Certainly, I hope to write more novels, but I don’t have one in the works at present, and I don’t expect to in the near future.

You had a big publisher for the paperback version of Go With Me, but are back with Steerforth for All That I Have. Was that because you had a multiple-book contract with Steerforth? Did you see greater exposure from the Harper edition?

I didn’t have a multibook deal with Steerforth. They did a superb job with Go With Me and accepted All That I Have, planning to publish it as a hardcover book and then to seek a paperback deal, just as with the first title. Then the economy went south, however, taking the hardcover fiction market with it; so it was decided to publish All That I Have as a paperback original. Certainly Harper Perennial have done very well in promoting their paperback edition.

Much has been made about the length of these two most recent books, and you’ve said that you essentially wrote them until they were done. Still, you obviously tackled stories that took less to tell. Was that a conscious decision, to get closer to the end of the story before you started?

I was looking for clear, simple, highly focused narratives in both cases, not because I had made up my mind to write short, but more because I wanted to attract and hold the reader without adding a lot of fictive baggage about the characters’ histories and motivations. For me, the big interest is always in the narrative: what information does the reader need to know to follow and understand the story, and how does the author give the reader that information? But also, I have always been mainly a writer of short stories and essays (see below), and so I guess it is natural with me to keep written work concise.

You have s
ome interesting thoughts about the role of a sheriff in All That I Have. Are those your own, the results of research or perhaps a hybrid?

All made up. The extent of my real knowledge of rural law enforcement is a couple of parking tickets. To be sure, I have read a lifetime’s worth of books and watched a lifetime’s worth of movies and TV shows about characters more or less like these and so imbibed a good deal that way — but that’s experience, not research.

I never got a sense that we weren’t in the present with Go With Me, yet its clear from All That I Have that we were in the past given that Sheriff Wingate has been retired for some time when the events of All That I Have take place. Were you trying for a sort of timelessness with that book? By extension, All That I Have does feel more fixed in one place timewise. Was your approach to these two different in that regard?

You could say both books are set in a kind of “timeless present.” I never thought of the second book as a follow-up to the first. You’re right that if we look at what All That I Have says of Sheriff Wingate’s career, some years must have elapsed between the two books, but I didn’t pay much attention to that. Wingate functions very differently in the two books, which for me are independent stories except for him.

Reading Go With Me and All That I Have back to back, I got the feeling that Nate the Great and Superboy could be considered two sides of the same coin, their stories a commentary on the way a certain type of young American male can turn out depending on nature and nurture. Thoughts?

In my mind, these two kind of represent the physical, impulsive, aggressive side of life in contrast with the reflective and experienced side. I have written about similar figures in other fiction, going back years. Clearly, I have disorderly, rebellious, born-to-hang young men on the brain. Why that should be I have no idea; probably it’s from some deep, dark psychopathology of my own — but what the hell?

You have done considerable non-fiction writing for magazines and The Old Farmer’s Almanac. Does that inform your fiction in any way, either good or bad?

Well, as I said above, I suppose it predisposes me to brevity; but beyond that, because my subject matter has always been rural Vermont in one way or another, writing nonfiction on that topic has required me to immerse myself in that setting, which is also of the first importance to me as a fiction writer. So there’s a certain amount of cross-fertilization, I guess.

Your last two books could easily be shelved as crime fiction, though they are not. Do you read much or anything from that genre? What about Southern Gothic authors like Cormac McCarthy, Larry Brown or Daniel Woodrell to whom you have been (or ought to be) compared?

I haven’t read a lot of crime fiction — none, really, apart from classics like Raymond Chandler, Ross Macdonald, Elmore Leonard. For the Southerners, I like Cormac McCarthy a lot and have read him attentively and always with pleasure, but the other two you name I know nothing about.

I first came across Wondermark thanks to a link from the Perry Bible Fellowship site, one great webcomic linking to another. I then spent several minutes perusing the many wonderful strips created by David Malki ! (he requires the space and exclamation point, and I’ll indulge him here on first reference) that involve images from Victorian-era publications scanned, rejuxtaposed and captioned for maximum comedic effect.

What I stumbled upon was a one-man assault on our collective free time. While the main thrust of Wondermark is the twice-weekly comic strip, Malki also offers videos, greeting cards, spoof Victorian novels, incisive analysis of the comics medium and more. You could spend hours – if not days – at Malki’s web site.

For those of us who spend too much time in front of a computer screen already, Malki has branched out. The third print collection of his strips, Clever Tricks to Stave Off Death, begins shipping this week. It follows Beards of Our Forefathers and Annotated Wondermark onto bookshelves.

The creator of all of this hilarity and mayhem was a professional film trailer editor before deciding that he could fully jump into the world of webcomics. The film world’s loss is our gain.

New to Wondermark? Check out Malki’s favorite strips here.
Curious about his process? Watch it here.
Want to read the longest, most jam-packed interview in TIRBD history? Scroll down for much more Malki.

TIRBD: Assuming you characterize yourself as such, at what point did you consider yourself a comic artist rather than a movie trailer editor, and what marked that defining moment?

DM !: Oh man, this is a tough question to answer,because I was still calling myself a movie trailer editor even when I was spending 85 percent of my time working on comics.It’s such a fun thing to call oneself!

I think it was late 2007 or early 2008 when I realized that more often than not, I was turning down work in trailers to work on comics. In the “webcomics community” or whatever, I think there is a subtle pressure to go full-time — it’s almost a status symbol to be a Professional Webcomics Person. So I was trying to make that work, but then taking a two-month gig working on TV spots for a horrible movie and getting totally demoralized.

For a while I tried to build a makeshift career out of doing both — earning money at trailer work that I could use to delegate some tasks in my Comics Empire, so both could progress simultaneously. But that was hard to maintain, because working in advertising can be very draining — you’re asked to be very creative and to manufacture an interest or an investment in a product that you usually do not have a legitimate interest in, and which in many cases is not deserving of that interest. And I found that the more I worked on comics and found some measure of success, the less and less I wanted to go back to work for someone else and submit my creative energy to their agenda.

It all came to a head earlier this year at the first New England Webcomics Weekend, which was a wonderfully fun and invigorating gathering of friends, colleagues and fans in western Massachusetts. NEWW provided me with the golden moments that everything else was intended to enable. Any purely mercenary work I had done was to finance experiences like NEWW. It was the payoff!

So I knew that I had to make a choice. Coincidentally, I was working a trailer gig at the time (I took a few days off in the middle to go to NEWW) and to be honest, it was a great gig — nice people, an interesting movie to work on, a fun environment. But when I got back to work the day after NEWW, I knew it wasn’t for me anymore.

It sounds a bit silly, but I’m getting older. I spent years racing from hare-brained scheme to hare-brained scheme, and in the process I discovered what pays, what doesn’t, what I enjoy, and what I don’t. It was the week of Wondermark’s sixth anniversary when I told my producer at the ad agency that while I enjoyed working for him, I was done with trailers and that he should take me out of his Rolodex.

That specific moment was just a few months ago — though it was a long time coming, and a long time building to the point where it was possible financially. Since then, I’ve taken on new responsibilities as the director of marketing and business development for TopatoCo, the company that handles merchandise production and fulfillment for Wondermark and several dozen other webcomics and fine artists. In the coming year I hope to be able to help many other artists find their ability to become financially secure through their art. That is a cause I am personally invested in, and have no problem being passionate about.

I should also mention, at the end of this long-winded spiel, that for some, trailer editing is a wonderfully fulfilling artform. I have many, many good friends in the business, all smart and creative people, some of whom tried many other things before landing on trailers as the art that they wanted to perfect. But for me, I’d sort of fallen into it by accident — my first job out of film school was at an ad agency, and I just worked my way up — and I knew I never wanted to be a career trailer editor.

Still, it was a really fun thing to brag about at parties. But I’ve found that “cartoonist” is just as good.

From the sketches on your web site, it’s clear you have talent as an artist. Why not follow more traditional formats and draw cartoons yourself rather than use clip art?

I find myself asking the same question every time it’s three in the morning and I still haven’t found the perfect image to match some concept in my head! The short answer is that when I started the strip, I didn’t have the patience or, I felt, the skill to draw cartoons. I’ve always been a doodler, but have had trouble sitting down and drawing consistently for long periods. (That’s actually why I went to film school — because you could tell stories with REAL PEOPLE instead of having to draw every single danged panel.) And Wondermark really started as a lark, and only became something more complicated over a long period of time.

Over the past few years, thanks to encouragement (and some peer pressure) from colleagues in comics whose work I greatly respect, I’ve been doing more drawing and getting closer to a place where I feel confident with my skill level. So there may be more hand-drawn stuff forthcoming. But I also like Wondermark as it is, because any cartoon strip I do will only ever be the millionth-best cartoon strip in the world, whereas I can be the absolute best at my own little (highly distinctive) artform.

What is your process like? Do you scan old images into a computer and manipulate from there?

That’s exactly right. I have a huge collection of books from the late 19th century, and I’ll scan in the woodcuts and engravings that they contain. I use entire images, backgrounds, props, characters or sometimes even just shapes or textures as building blocks to assemble each comic in Photoshop. I try to keep each comic looking stylistically consistent (there are a lot of different art styles among the eras and volumes in my collection) as if it could actually be a Victorian illustration — the verisimilitude is part of the fun.

Sometimes I’ll think of a concept and find (or build) images to match it; other times I start by building the image and then see what scenario it suggests. I’ve found that this “write it as (or after) you do it” technique is pretty unusual among comic artists, and maybe that’s why I never had the patience for drawing traditional comics that usually have to be scripted out beforehand. With most projects I find I never know quite what I’m doing until I’m half done, so I usually just barge in, start messing around and almost passively watch what happens.

More often than not I end up figuring something out, and to be honest the hardest part of the whole process isn’t the actual work by a long shot — it’s getting up the courage to sit down and start working on something even if you have no idea what it’s going to be, what it’ll look like or how it’ll turn out.

Do you have a file full of great art just waiting for the right strip? Do some strips yield numerous gags that leave you questioning which one to use?

There’s lots of stuff I’ve scanned that I haven’t worked into anything yet. Usually if I happen across something particularly weird or interesting I’m able to incorporate it into something without much difficulty, because those strips usually write themselves! And while I do a lot of revision to each strip in the writing process, I’ll usually keep going until I’m happy, then stop and be done with it. The only times I’ve waffled over multiple versions have been when there are questions about the best way to make the story clear, or something pushes possibly beyond the comic’s established bounds of taste (which are admittedly a bit flexible).

But I am often surprised by what certain illustrations yield. Sergei Eisenstein did a famous experiment in the early days of cinema where he edited the exact same footage of an actor’s neutral expression into sequences involving food, people, spaces, etc. Viewers were asked to describe the character’s feelings, and depending on the context, they said he was hungry, lonely, awestruck, etc.

So what I am saying is that who knew that angry-looking soldier in an 1887 engraving was actually mad at a tiny mischievous triceratops that only he could see?

There is a democratizing, punk rock element to webcomics, but the quality and care you put into the products you sell seems to run counter to that. I’d guess, however, that the freedom allowed by web publishing actually makes that quality control easier. Thoughts?

Hmm. Well, there are a few things at work here. First is the idea that on the web, because it is more or less a level playing field, work lives or dies on its quality. So, punk rock or no, it still has to be good work.

I’m also really, really picky about the things I make. It’s ballsy to ask strangers to care about anything you do, much less actually hand over their hard-earned money, and the only way it’s palatable for me to do so is to ensure that every product is absolutely as good as it can be. I can only be an enthusiastic seller if I have 100% confidence in the product.

That’s a rule that’s sort of drawn a circle around the all the various things that I produce and sell. I don’t sell “information products” like a lot of people who make a lot of money on the Internet, I don’t offer “free reports” as a means to collect email addresses that I can hit with a concussive sales pitch later. I only want to sell products to people who appreciate the specific thing that I do, and once I have that relatively intelligent, relatively literate audience’s attention, the standard to meet is things that they will like. So it forces me to stay on top of my game.

As far as the freedom of webcomics, sure. I am my own editor, which means my own standards are the only standards I have to meet. Luckily Dark Horse (who’s published my last few strip collections) has seen things my way, and has sat back and allowed me to micromanage every element of my books, down to the finish of the specialty ink on the cover, down to making sure a single period in a block of text was in the correct font size. There are few better feelings than being proud of one’s work.

Are we nearing a point where the distinction between comic strip and webcomic is unnecessary? Other than delivery method, is there a fundamental difference between what you and folks like Nicholas Gurewitch are doing and what Stephan Pastis and Darby Conley are doing?

I think I sense the kernel of your question, but let me digress on a semantic note. To me, a “comic strip” is a creative product but the word “webcomic” is a weird way of talking about a delivery medium. Sort of like saying “sitcom” and “TV channel.” Sitcoms can be on more than one channel — or on Hulu, etc — and TV channels can have more than just sitcoms on them. So I see them as apples-to-kumquats.

I think that distinction is important is because the traits common to “webcomics” — i.e. what makes a webcomic a webcomic — are mechanical characteristics, not content or style or appearance. Webcomics are, first and foremost, web sites — a breed of entertainment website just like a blog or any site. And that influences everything: the subject matter, the relationship of the author to the audience, the nuts-and-bolts of how the strip is posted online and shared and promoted, the business model that the artist adopts. These things all come from the essential nature of a webcomic as an entertainment website — most webcomics, even those that look just like newspaper comics or graphic novels, typically do not share business models with comic book companies or newspaper syndicates. And thank goodness!

Insofar as those considerations affect the content of the comic, there can be distinctions drawn between a strip like mine or Nick’s (which is a very traditional newspaper-style strip) and Stephan’s or Darby’s. At a level of craft, there’s certainly a lot of similarities, but to be honest I think we’re talking about car radios vs. iPods. Both play music, you know?

Finally, “webcomic” is probably not a great word because it encompasses my strip, Nick’s, and also Aaron Diaz’s Dresden Codak. You can draw lines connecting The Perry Bible Fellowship with Get Fuzzy if you want to discuss the similarities be
tween syndicated comics and webcomics, but then when you swap out the “webcomic” in the expression with Dresden Codak (as much of a webcomic, and arguably more, than PBF) the equation doesn’t balance anymore. The word “webcomic” says next to nothing about content.

This didn’t start as a business for you, but it has evolved into one. Do you approach the work differently as a result? Is the (non-monetary) reward for you different now?

I think the growth of the business has been directly geared to my ability to take the whole endeavor more and more seriously. In other words, approaching the work like a professional has made it into a profession — the attitude always comes first. In that way I think I approach the work on whatever terms I’m able or feel is appropriate for the time, and the business concerns sort of rise or fall to match that level.

There is a lot of inherent business potential in webcomics, depending on the merits of the comic itself of course, and I think it’s always incumbent upon the artist to figure out what’s possible at whatever level they’re comfortable with. Webcomics that are wildly popular can never develop into businesses if the artist doesn’t choose to go that route. No artist will make a dollar until they create their first product, unveil their first ad space or request their first donation. And some artists prefer it that way! Their comic is a fun exercise and nothing more, and God bless ‘em.

But as far as the reward goes — the reward is always doing good work and having people enjoy it. Money can be one measure of how effective that is (book sales = people liking the book) as well as the means that allows an artist to spend time working on their art. And a comic that is a well-oiled business machine will usually have a lot of promotion, reader participation, and activity surrounding it — so a monetarily successful comic can definitely reach more people by virtue of the business considerations.

But money is always only a tool. The non-monetary reward is the only reward that matters.

You’ve said you’re ‘interested in making things that people enjoy,’ and have branched into various areas such as greeting cards and film in pursuit of that goal. What other formats might you explore in the future with that goal in mind, and what will that mean for things you’re already doing?

As I said before about getting older, I’ve started to narrow down what exactly it is I’m good at and interested in. I think I’ll probably be making fewer films, for example, but whatever skill and experience I have in that field will surely inform other projects in the future. I’ve written a series of parody Victorian novels (the ‘Dispatches from Wondermark Manor’ trilogy) and those have proved both fun and popular, so I’ll definitely be doing more prose writing and storytelling in that vein. I’ll be experimenting with audiobooks this year, as well as issuing new editions of some books that have fallen into the public domain, and I’m interested to see how those ventures go — a certain amount of experimentation I think is always necessary to keep things fresh. With Ryan North and Matthew Bennardo, I’ve edited an anthology of illustrated short stories that we hope to bring out soon (Machine of Death). And I’m working closely with TopatoCo to develop new products and new creative concepts both for Wondermark and also other artists. So there are always new and exciting ventures.

I think you hit on a good point when you ask, what will that mean for the things that’re already going on? There are only so many hours in the day. I’m thankful that my greeting card line, for example, has been quite popular, but there comes a point where it becomes a hindrance to spend all day fulfilling orders. So the process has to adapt — how can the mechanics of that be delegated or outsourced? Or should we take a closer look at whether the whole thing is worthwhile considering the labor involved? Everything has to evolve over time; we have to continually recalibrate our goals and our priorities in response to what’s working, what isn’t, and how we feel.

That’s another great thing about doing this oneself — You’re the boss. No idea is too crazy if you think it’s cool, and no idea is too precious if you think it’s run its course. It’s tough work, because when the inevitable failures arrive, they’re YOUR fault. But that means you get to claim the successes too.

Finding Robert Goolrick‘s debut novel, A Reliable Wife, was serendipitous. I was fairly new to Twitter, found a feed for Algonquin Books, and decided to follow it. The person updating the feed offered free ARCs of the book to anyone who responded. I did, he sent it, and I put it on my shelf. Several weeks later, looking for something new to read, I picked it up. Save for sleeping and working, I didn’t put it down until I was done.

It’s a fantastic, a turn of the (last) century tale of lust, longing, deceit and abuse set in the brutal winter of rural Wisconsin. It’s the kind of book you recommend to a friend. Little did I know that my discovery was already widely known as one of the best books of the young year, a well-reviewed debut from a bestselling memoirist.

Much as the characters in A Reliable Wife learn more about each other as the story progresses, so, too, did I learn more about Goolrick. He was a long-time ad man in New York. He was abused as a boy, and told the tale of that abuse in his first book, The End of the World As We Know It. He actually wrote the memoir second, but sold it first.

There wasn’t as much intrigue to be found as I unraveled that tale as there is in A Reliable Wife. There, Ralph Truitt, the scion of a rich Wisconsin family awaits arrival of a mail-order bride, Catherine Land. She had responded to his ad for “a reliable wife.” She arrives, but is not what he expected. As the two dance around each other, slowly revealing themselves — intentionally and not — to one another, what began as a quaint tale of chaste love in the upper Midwest quickly escalates into a gripping story about the abandon and oppression wrought by privilege told against the backdrop of a bitter cold winter that leads to desperation and despair.

Added to the mix is Antonio, Truitt’s estranged son; Truitt dispatches Catherine to lure him home, with surprising results. To describe any more is to give too much away. In short, read this book.

TIRBD: This is your first novel after 2007′s memoir, The End of the World as We Know It, which was your first book. Have you dabbled with fiction for very long, and if so, did the experience of completing the memoir give you the push you needed to realize you could write a novel?

RG: Actually the novel was written first. I wrote a novel in my twenties, another in my thirties, neither one published. I had been thinking of this one for years, even started it two or three times. I had just been fired from my job, and I had infinite time in which I was constantly being told what an over-the-hill loser I was, and I needed something to take myself out of my own torpor, a vivid, sensual fiction to replace the rather grim realities of my life. The memoir was an afterthought. I thought, if I was going to attempt to create a truthful fiction, I should go ahead and tell a truthful truth, like writing a long, honest letter to a trusted friend. It just happened that the memoir was sold first. It seems it’s easier now to sell a book about child rape than it is to sell a first novel; this one was rejected by over 25 five publishers, some of whom, I hope, are feeling a slight twinge of remorse these days.

You worked in advertising for 30 years, and are certainly not alone in having made the jump from that to fiction. Why does that seem to be such a fertile training ground?

Advertising is a trivial but very compelling profession. A co-worker of mine said, “All my friends in advertising want to be artists, but all my artist friends want to be in advertising.” It’s extraordinarily powerful and subtle in its manipulations of the culture, and you reach millions of people in 30 seconds. And it does teach you to write a decent short sentence, to pack a lot into a little, to take massive amounts of information and reduce it to a single paragraph or the 65 words that make up a normal commercial. And it teaches you to write very, very quickly and revise without getting all imperialistic about it. The difference is in the product. In advertising, you tend to enjoy the process of writing, you get off on your own infinite cleverness, but you don’t feel much respect for the final product. A novel, when you write THE END, gives you a sense of real satisfaction. You don’t get grossly overpaid the way you do in advertising, but you don’t feel dirty at the end of the day.

I’ve read that the novel’s setting was inspired by the book Wisconsin Death Trip. To capture the bleakness and despair of the Wisconsin winter, did you do further research? Did you visit Wisconsin and experience the winters there firsthand?

Michael Lesy’s Wisconsin Death Trip is an overwhelmingly brilliant book. It has also inspired a heavy metal band and a movie. There’s something about the agony of everyday life in a bleak climate that fires up your brain and your heart. Everybody should read it. I used to have a client in Wisconsin, and I visited there a lot. My client was a man named Kohler, he owned the company of the same name, and there was something intriguing about his position, living in a town named after him, owning all its businesses, employing nearly all its citizens, just like Ralph Truitt in my novel. Truitt in no way resembles Kohler, about whom I know very little, but that position of omniscience and power in the frozen middle of frozen nowhere, certainly helped form Ralph’s character.

The reaction to your memoir was strong, and I would imagine you continue to hear from abuse victims who want to connect with you. Do you find you must set that aside in some ways to move on with your novel and whatever else your writing career may hold in store? Is that difficult to do?

Child rape is something that can never be set aside, never. It affects everything that happens to you the rest of your life. It infects everything I write. In A Reliable Wife, although it is not a novel about child abuse, each of the characters has, in fact, been abused as a child, and lives with the scars. There is an epidemic of child abuse in this country. I recently read a study that estimated that 30 percent of all men have been sexually abused by the time they’re 16. That’s a lot of people, and that’s just men. I hear from them. I hear their stories. They go on, but they do not recover. Their voices and their stories haunt me all the time. I believe the rape of a child should carry the same penalty as first degree murder, since the effect is the same, except the victim has to live with it forever. Psychiatrists call it “soul murder.”

The secrets people keep are a key component of the novel, but you’ve made it so the secrets these characters keep from themselves are just as powerful, if not more so. T
hat’s a delicate balance to walk as a writer. How did that work for you as you plotted the story and chose what to reveal and when?

Most of life is a complete mystery to me. There is very little I understand. I thought that if I could set this story in a remote, frozen landscape and distance the characters both in space and in time, maybe I could reach some clarity about what makes even the most damaged and enraged of us yearn for goodness as plants lean toward the light. I get letters from men and women in which they tell me their secrets, many of which they’ve never told to anyone else. Generally, they have little or no grasp on what the meaning of the secrets is; all they can do is try to cope with the effects. The characters in my novel are just trying blindly to cope with the effects of the past, and create some life for themselves in which love and simplicity and comfort are possible. Some sense of worth, of goodness and redemption and forgiveness. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, even temporarily, it’s like getting into clean, crisp, white sheets on a freshly made bed.

Thanks to the occasional noir tone of the book, an open-minded clerk could find reason to shelve this with crime fiction or thrillers in the book store. Are you a fan of those genres? If so, what are some favorites?

I’m not a fan of thrillers or murder mysteries; I’m a lover of good writing and good stories. Raymond Chandler wrote fantastic prose uniquely pitched to deal with darkness and murder. Graham Greene put words together in such a way that he brought clarity out of murk, and even the structure of his sentences, ambiguous, enthralling, create real suspense. The Heart of the Matter, while not exactly a thriller, is a brilliant and compelling book by Greene. I’ve read it over and over. And Chandler wrote this sentence, about the malevolent Santa Ana wind, “It was the kind of wind that made men look at the carving knife and contemplate their wives’ throats.” It doesn’t get any more chilling than that.

You’re now working on a second novel. Is there any urgency there? Do you feel like you’re making up for lost time, or did it simply take this long to be ready to tell these stories?

I couldn’t have written these books 20 or 30 years ago. I was too distracted by the hustle of it all — advertising, power, business class, cocaine and Armani, money — the whole madness of the late 20th century. I now enjoy a tiny piece, just enough, of the tranquility to recollect the passion, to transpose Coleridge’s phrase. The new novel is an exact retelling of true story I heard 30 years ago, a story which has haunted me ever since. It begins, “It was a small town in which no crime had ever been committed.” I don’t have anything I’m trying to prove, there are no records to break, but, yes, there is tremendous urgency. I think we need, now, to be told good stories that fire out minds and touch our hearts. I’m 60 years old. Not old. Not young. I’m a late starter. I better be a good closer.