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An Interview with Paul Shepherd
Jorri Heil and Schareane Elzinga conducted this interview via e-mail with Paul Shepherd from February to March of 2006. He is a writer in residence at Florida State University and published his first novel More Like Not Running Away in 2005 with Sarabande Books.
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UpInMichigan.org: How are you connected to Michigan? What does this connection mean to you?
Paul Shepherd: I have a Michigan gray in my heart. I spent about six years of my childhood shivering and looking at cloudy skies outside Grand Rapids. My grandmother knit our mittens—we were lucky to have thumbs in them—and as you might imagine, the problem with knit mittens is that they're like sponges. Wet, all the time. My mom's family all came over 'on the boat,' from Holland, and so I've also always associated Michigan with a Dutch orderliness—I envied that, actually, my friends who lived in tidy neighborhoods in brick ranches—given that I couldn't see any order in my own life.
UIM: Why did you choose Michigan as one of the settings in your novel?
PS: The family in this novel moves constantly, and I wanted to start with cold and move to hot. Like I did in my real life (I'm in Florida now—and can't imagine why everyone else in Michigan hasn't realized it's sunny down here). There's also something really working-class about Michigan—at least the way I think of it, which is how I experienced it—the farms, the craftsmen, even the factory guys were about all I ever saw there. My grandfather owned a small trucking company and when Jimmy Hoffa came to lean on him about unionizing, the story goes my grandpa knocked Hoffa down the steps of his office. That's my kind of Michigan—knuckles.
UIM: What sparked your idea for More Like Not Running Away?
PS: It wasn't an idea as much as a memory—of being in a pickup with my dad, going after somebody. I had that a number of times growing up, all that anger and seething violence ready to come apart in the truck, and I remember when it was turned toward my mother. As far as the 'spark,' I thank Max Steele, when I was a Chapel Hill, who one day in class had us write for five minutes without lifting our pencils from the paper. That broke something loose in me.
UIM: Levi and Everest are two very detailed characters. Where did you get the ideas for these characters? Are they based after people you know or have observed?
PS: No—nobody real at all! Any resemblances to me, or my family are pure coincidence. I can't help it that the book might be more factual than A Million Little Pieces.
UIM: How do you want readers to react to the voices Levi hears? How do you think most readers understand this suffering/miracle?
PS: The voices he hears—which when he's young he believes are God speaking through him—are his way of trying to know the world, I think. Especially when sounds and voices begin coming to him through his skin—he's almost too close to the world, he can't keep it out. Sound can be like that—oppressive, even maddening—think of how they use noise to torture people.
UIM: You have said the story is "a kind of Christian existential problem." What more can you say about the book's connection to God, Christianity, and morality?
PS: The inscription (is that what it's called?) is from Isaiah, where God is saying "I was only angry for a moment—I only turned away for a moment!" Really? How long is one of God's moments, and what on earth could happen to someone when God decides to "turn away?" The father in the book, Everest, is kind of an Old Testament father, in his sense of struggling with God, his anger, and the expectations he has of his family. When Levi, the son, begins falling apart, and questioning if the voices he hears are from God—or a lack of God—in order to survive, he has to think of God as more than just a rousing subject for a sermon.
UIM: How did you start the novel? What process did you use for drafting the piece?
PS: I'll draft any way I can, since I hate drafting. Part of this I wrote while commuting on a motorcycle. I mean, using a tape recorder. One hand driving, one hand taping, eyes on the road, mind on the murders, and I'm still here. Then of course, there was a lot of heart-numbing, hand-wringing questioning—of the book, my abilities, and of life in general. That, I think, is my process.
UIM: How fully do you plot out a novel?
PS: So fully that I plot it in the beginning, scene by scene, then throughout the process, then even when I thought it was over. I have no gift for plot, but very badly wanted a book that readers wouldn't quit reading. And I don't know if I can say this without kind of bragging, but "I couldn't put it down" is one thing I've heard repeatedly, and every time my heart soars. I tried very hard, and with little talent, to make that so.
UIM: Regarding writing a book with a plot readers cannot let go of you said, "I tried very hard, and with little talent, to make that so." Do you believe that pure practice can produce a successful writer?
PS: No. Not pure practice—but lack of practice means that a lot of writers better than me don't stick around. I've found this, for instance, with my kids and sports. When they're eight, there's some kid on the soccer team who blows you away—you're just sure he's headed for the big time. But then by the time high school rolls around, you wonder 'where did that kid go?' and you find out, surprisingly often, that the kid never liked to practice, or never had his heart in it...and then less talented kids step in. I never thought I had much talent, and to be honest I wasn't sure I was putting enough practice either. I just haven't quit—yet. And for the record, I think I meant little talent as far as plot—not necessarily as a writer generally. However, if someone did say I had little talent, I probably wouldn't argue—I'd just hope I had enough.
UIM: Did research play a role in writing this novel? How important was research to your writing?
PS: I shot some guns. And talked to gun nuts. I didn't go to Seattle, or Fort Huachuca—I just totally made all that up. I wanted to go, but my wife, who runs our financial show, wouldn't give me the money. But revenge is mine—my next book takes place in the British Virgin Islands. I must go.
UIM: Since you have never been to Seattle, did you research it or was the material completely made up?
PS: I was actually born just outside Seattle, but what a mash my infant memories are. I did a bit of research, and then mainly went with the rumors I'd heard for so many years about the place. What was interesting is that I actually did go there after the book came out—for a reading at Elliot Bay and Pacific Lutheran University—and the sun shone the whole time!
UIM: Your writing is very poetic in More Like Not Running Away. Have you ever written poetry or do you plan to in the future?
PS: I've written and published a good bit of poetry. My friends who are also poets have always encouraged me—to write more fiction. But I persist. The poems are edgy and easy to read. I have a manuscript I'm sending out now, actually. It's called "Reasons Like Birds," and I'll take two hundred dollars for it. Or, one hundred and five solid compliments. And publication, of course.
UIM: How else might you describe your writing style?
PS: I believe in short strong words and I despise cleverness. The book is honest if nothing else, and I hope the language reflects that.
UIM: Where did you get this style from?
PS: My main guy is Dostoevsky, and one thing I like is that his style is pretty straightforward—and honest. Including that he has some clunkers, some weak points (he allows tedium), and I hope, actually, that my book has that kind of looseness.
UIM: Since this is your first novel, how did you get it published?
PS: I tried putting my head in a vice, but even that didn't help. So I have contacts—people on the inside. That didn't help either. One editor at a major New York house had it for almost a year and a half, kept saying we were close. Another had it nine months, same thing. I finally sent it myself to Sarabande. And they have been the best thing that could have happened to me. One thing I never did do, and still can't bring myself to do is send my work to one of these small presses with a name like "Frog Face Books." Why do publishers do that? My mom never heard of Sarabande, but the name itself sounded intelligent. Can you imagine telling your mother that your book came out with the No Shit Shirley press?
UIM: How did you choose to write fiction as opposed to other genres?
PS: I do write other genres, remember? It's just that my poet friends steer me toward fiction. As did my wife, who asked me how much I could earn from a good book of poetry, versus a good novel. She's very smart that way.
UIM: Who are your favorite authors or what type of books are you most likely to read and why?
PS: Dostoevsky, I mentioned above, because I think he had convictions—he believed that things really matter. He laid his heart bare. My other favorite is Bulgakov, who wrote Master and Margarita, living under Stalin—an epic story of love, hardship, and faith. As far as 'smart' writers, it's hard to beat Calvino. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, but they never called attention to themselves. Mainly, now, I read nonfiction—books about science, and history, and stuff like that. I'm concerned about memoir—there are some really fine ones, but it's been like an explosion of people with pretty ordinary lives writing about themselves in ways that try to dress that up a bit much.
UIM: So, you have been reading a lot of nonfiction. Do you plan on writing any yourself?
PS: I've always envied writers like Sandburg who had the brains to write a great biography, or my friend Geoff Brock, a poet and one of the best Italian translators in the US. I'd love to write a biography of Bulgakov. I also had one particular year in my life that might be worth a book, but so many people are writing about that so well—I'd probably wind up telling lies about that year to make it as good as the big writers, and then, well, what if Oprah found out?
UIM: Would you have traveled to Florida with Everest like Levi or would you have gone with Mrs. Revel to Seattle?
PS: Please, call her Nora. Florida with Everest was the only real choice, I think. Levi (the boy) realizes that his dad is becoming dangerous, and he has a duty. I think he actually does the right thing. Even if it's hard for him.
UIM: One author said in an interview that he hated his work because it was never right. How do you feel about your work?
PS: I feel anxiety. I worry about disappearing. I'm thankful for the chance I've been given. I wonder if the book will live. Much confusion, much mixed.
UIM: You have said that you like to "turn off the road" whenever you feel like it. Does this "free spirit" influence the characters in More Like Not Running Away, especially Everest who is continually moving his family?
PS: Yes. Everest is a free spirit—he ran away to join the Army, and he's always in search of something he's missing. To this day, when I pass some roads I can't help it—I turn. I've never known what I'm looking for. It might not be anything more than a nudist colony—aren't they hidden like that?
UIM: What was your training in writing and when did you realize you wanted to be involved in writing through teaching as well as being an author?
PS: I did go to school to write. And I do teach. I love talking with students about their work—and their lives. One of my favorite parts of our course is when we talk about how making decisions in stories mirrors the way we make decisions in life—knowing the expected, allowing that, and knowing too that for the best meaning to emerge, we have to go beyond the expected—into the unknown, the deep, the choices we haven't imagined—and go there with some discipline.
UIM: Was your work with family ministries and Rainbow Rehab part of the reason for Everest's career in construction and Levi's interest in church and preaching?
PS: Not really. I would say, rather, it comes from the same places: I grew up in construction, swinging hammers and I like the work. As far as the work in churches, I've struggled my share with issues of faith, but I think a pastor put it best a few years ago: he said if he were to be shown that in fact, there was no God—for certain—he still would have rather lived a life that called for faith than one that did not.
UIM: How does teaching influence your writing?
PS: I learn! Every semester, I'm reminded of the pitfalls, the promise, the fact that my struggle with the page is not only mine.
UIM: What other types of work have you written and published?
PS: I wrote articles for Omni magazine (a now defunct sci-fi and futuristic magazine); I've written advertising copy for everything from industrial conveyer belts to reproduction furniture and Volkswagen dealers; dozens of poems; and now I'm writing a blog (you can access through my website, morelikenotrunnningaway.com) on the out-of-the-way colleges I'm visiting as part of the book tour.
UIM: Do you see blogs and other online publications as becoming more of a respectable way for writers to publish and share their work?
PS: Wait a minute—isn't this an online publication? I argued vehemently in graduate school that the internet/web thing was essentially no different than print media—that is was a difference of degree, not type. I was wrong. Watching my fifteen-year-old son IMing eight different people at once, realizing how many of them he's IMing that he otherwise wouldn't interact with, seeing how differently he processes information, on and on—you have to know it's changing. Right now, I think a lot of online publications are still mirroring print—that's natural—but I don't think we really have any idea how much this is going to change our art. A lot of writers are book freaks—me too—I could talk for days about being lost in libraries—and books will survive—but the language, the interactivity, the idea of authorship—that will change. Right now my blogs are still 'unreleased' till I'm further into the tour, and right now they are very much like print things, but maybe I'll learn something here.
UIM: You have taught creative, magazine, and newspaper writing. Which of these styles do you prefer writing in? Why?
PS: I like them all, of course, as any parent should. I miss writing for magazines; I loved going to factories, interviewing scientists, etc. I left that just as I think something was coming together with Smithsonian, and that would be my dream magazine assignment. But freelance magazine work is a scramble.
UIM: Is there anything coming up that we should be looking forward to?
PS: This question was put to Albert Schweitzer, who said "oh no—one must never ask a woman if she is pregnant." That said, please do look for a book of poetry, and I've got about four novels in the pipes—two pretty close to done.
UIM: What is your advice for aspiring authors?
PS: Send everything to The New Yorker first. They have the best rejection notes, and you know they'll reject it. Just work hard. That goes in just about any field. Oh, and never complain that you don't have time to write. People who do write usually have less time than those who don't—just check their calendars. Graduate students complaining about not having time to write is like skinny girls who order salads. I'd go into more detail, but unfortunately, I have to go. To WRITE.
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