Interview with the author

Hey Joe.
Hey, how am I doing?

Eeza good day. You finished writing Popo Wakes Up not long ago.
So did you.

It’s gratifying, isn’t it?
Maybe a little.

Oh come on. A man dances in the lifeless end of a collapsed mine and does it well he ought to feel gratified.
You’re right.

Never been otherwise! To say that and be right, eh?
What’s weird is that for so many people to say that and believe it is enough. Never been able to believe my own bullshit. That there is the title of the next self-help bestseller. Believing Your Own Bullshit.

It needs a colon and a sub-title.
Oh! You’re right again. Believing Your Own Bullshit: Talking out of your ass to the masses.

So, the first draft of Popo Wakes Up wasn’t so good.
The first draft was saliva oozing out of a leech carcass onto the germ of an idea.

Do I still have a diorama of that? Did it get lost in the move?
Oh stop. I can’t even operate scissors. Three lifetimes and a stipend from every beggar on Earth and I couldn’t make a diorama.

Why did you spend so much time revising the book? Why did you write Popo in the first place?
I had a terrible job, that was one reason. I was working at a Korean securities firm and wearing a tie and slippers to work. I used to wander the streets during my lunch break—

Hoping to outrun the immense disappointment in yourself that was tailing you everywhere you went, everywhere?
That’s understating things a bit, but yes.

Well, hopefully you’ll be put at ease by self-publishing a novel to an audience of nob—
Another reason is that the only time I feel completely fulfilled is when the act of trying to express a good thought helps me find a great one. I love to write.

So you write every day.
Um. No. I don’t think I’ve ever even written on nine consecutive days.

How can you close your eyes at night if you haven’t written anything?
Here’s the thing. If I go a day without writing an influential part of me feels like a wet sack of tumors. But the same is true if I miss a day of yoga, or don’t spend hours with my wife and daughter, or think about how I don’t play an instrument, or haven’t hiked in a while, or haven’t traveled in a while, or indulge in any of my countless bad habits. If any one or two of those things were to become my full-time job, I’d have more time to write and then I could fairly be called a disciplined, steady, fanatical, erratic, or lazy writer.

What’s next?
Ah, I’m excited about what’s next. A young girl or maybe a young woman is looking for someone and finds help from a character that’s totally unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered in a book, film, song, or riverbed. He has a very, very interesting ability. Maybe objectively interesting? I think so. I’ll be writing about this on my website,

Okay, thanks for my time.
Any time.

I love you.
Me neither.

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