An Interview With John Klima
An Interview with John Klima and Tom Thrush.
John Klima is the editor of Electric Velocipede, a blogger for Tor Books at Tor.com and a fiction writer.
Q: When you sent me this story you sent it under the name of Tom Thrush. Thrush is a word with many meanings, but as a father of four the word immediately conjures the image of a breast fed infant and a woman in pain. What sent you toward the word Thrush, were you thinking of a bird or a yeast?
A: Neither. I had recently fought a bout of the sore throat, and was self-diagnosing instead of seeking medical help. Now, the only medical texts I have around the house are a series of hand-bound Scandinavian texts from the 18th century. By employing a Swedish to Spanish dictionary, a Spanish to German dictionary, and finally a German to English dictionary, I was able to translate what I needed out of the books.
Of course, I used the drawings to determine which sections to translate, otherwise the whole endeavor would have been just too time-consuming. I was several hours into my translations when I discovered that text was written in Norwegian, but I think I had the gist of it.
It was clear I had the disease: thrush. What else could I interpret out of “Clearly, both in the integrity of the devil or another illegal document since Thursday, is full of drink, with size with the mouth, throat and nose”?
While I was beset with this affliction, I had decided to write while I could do little else. The word thrush sounded so smooth and poetic compared to the raging fire and irritation that was in my throat. I thought this contradiction in thoughts perfect as a pseudonym with which to unleash my writing on the world.
I sipped honey tea while I translated and planned devious machinations for becoming one of the literary elite. Much to my surprise, my sickness was nothing more than having slept with the window open and a little lubrication sorted out the problems straight away.
I decided to keep the name regardless.
Q: Before I had ever been published I had a series of dreams that involved meeting up with various editors of small press magazines in the parking lot of the medical building where my father practiced in Colorado Springs. The editors had found a story I’d written in a pile marked 1987 and now wanted to publish the work. These dreams must have occurred in the late nineties, perhaps a full decade after the indicated year. I did not remember having written the stories the editors found. Respond.
A: I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up. I am a fan of “You Can’t Keep Infinity in Your Pocket,” “Butterside Up,” and “It’s Snowing Down in Memphis” while Gavin Grant has shown a preference for “Polyamory and the Five-Fingered Sea of Jealousy” with Patrick Swenson wanted to acquire “One Gun, Two Fingers of Whiskey.”
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Q: In Ernest Becker’s Denial of Death he writes:
“The key to the creative type is that he is separated out of the common pool of shared meanings. There is something in his life experience that makes him take in the world as a problem; as a result he has to make personal sense out of it.” Becker concludes, however, that the artist is doomed to a partial and ultimately neurotic type of success. Why do you think this type of heroic project is dysfunctional, or do you disagree?
A: I have to agree. For me, reading Denial of Death was akin to suffering from nyctophobia and moving to Barrow, Alaska during the Winter. But you never get stronger if you don’t eventually face up to your fears. That said, it is extraordinarily difficult to look at the world differently from those around, but want to be accepted by them, i.e., to find readers among the masses.
The conundrum is to find a way in which the creative types’ world view reads both unique and familiar. People like to ingest stories filled with things that remind them of their own life. However, if they are already living their own life, and therefore do not need or want to read a book or see a movie that mirrors their own.
So the artist is forced to take normal everyday situations and make them seem fantastic or unreal. This can lead to a stringing together of unlikely circumstances that has no point of reference for your average reader, and by proxy, your average editor. The artist has then failed in getting their message out to the people. The work of the artist is rejected by the editor or by the public since it’s not seen as reflecting reality.
If the artist has success, on the other hand, and creates enough parallels to the reality of the masses to have the work be palatable for intellectual consumption, it’s not known, since the artist’s perception of reality is not the same as the general public, if this was truly through hitting on the pulse of the people, or through some random set of circumstances that can’t be repeated.
The artist is unfortunately left to a frustrating, unfulfilled existence.
Q: My wife points out that I ought to ask you a question about the story you wrote and that we’ve published here at “How to Write Stories About Writers.” Here goes: Why did you choose to submit this story under an assumed name, and why did you pose as a fledgling writer when the story itself was about the struggle of a fledgling writer? Did you want to convince me of the story’s authenticity? Please show your work in your answer.
A: I feel that nothing worthy can be accomplished except through hard work. Therefore, I try to set as many obstacles in my way as possible. In my estimation, the more obstacles, the harder you have to work, the more worthy the final outcome it.
I could have parlayed my ‘fame’ as a World Fantasy Award-nominated editor into my writing, but I wanted the writing to stand on its own. My story then, is about me. About wanting to be a writer, but not being sure how to go about in a way that I’d find fulfilling. Of wanting the writing to be accepted on its own merit, but wanting wild success at the same time.
I thought that using my real name would give me an unfair advantage over other unpublished writers who may be more deserving than me in getting published. I also didn’t want other editors/writers to be put in the potentially awkward position of rejecting my work.
But, since I’ve rejected my fair share of editorial authors, I finally decided that I should use my real name. If it gives me an advantage, that’s the editor’s decision, not mine. And besides, why put so much effort into making my magazine if it doesn’t benefit me in some ways?
Q: Thank you, John.