An Interview With Edward Bryant
Edward Bryant, multiple winner of the Nebula Award and the American Mystery Award, has published more than a dozen books, including Cinnabar, Wyoming Sun, and (written in collaboration with Harlan Ellison) Phoenix Without Ashes. He has written hundreds of short stories and articles, as well as reviewing extensively for Locus Magazine and Talebones. His stories have been adapted for CBS's The Twilight Zone and Lifetime's The Empty Room. The Baku, a story collection, was recently published by Subterranean Press. Later this year, Cemetery Dance will publish Flirting With Death, a major collection of dark suspense and horror fiction.
Edward Bryant is the author of Wormhole chapbooks A Sad Last Love at the Diner of the Damned andWhile She Was Out.
Wormhole Books: Ed, you're a really diverse guy in terms of what you've done. You've written and won awards for your science fiction, then you moved into horror, but you've also been a prolific media critic, reviewer, teacher, interviewer, editor and avid book collector. In beginning this interview, it's hard for me to know where folks may have seen your work the most often or what they might be the most familiar with. Let's start with science fiction. Why did you leave it and do you have any plans to go back to it?
Edward Bryant: In truth, I've never really left science fiction-neither in my heart nor in terms of what my readers may be seeing on the page. I'll admit I've cut back a lot since that fateful day in, I dunno, about 1980 when editor and agent Kirby McCauley kindly allowed me to submit a story for the Dark Forces original anthology after I cornered him on a long elevator ride in a Hyatt. At that point, for a dozen years, most of my published fiction had been sf. I think I just had a weird epiphany, realizing I'd spent too much time living in my head. SF, all too often, is a purely cerebral literature. Horror, to be fair, is all too often purely visceral. I wanted to find a reasonable balance. To get back to your question directly, I'm desultorily working on a couple of sf stories that I'm actually pretty enthusiastic about. Time and energy have been the problems in finishing them.
WB : New writers are always asking this, so I'll save them the trouble. How did you first break into print?
EB : I was a lucky puppy. I got to hit the ground running. In the summer of 1968 I was trying to ignore grad school while I was spending six weeks at the very first Clarion Writers Workshop. I'd gone there overconfident, figuring I was one of those hot college fiction class stars. Of course I forgot that lots of the attendees would be hot college fiction class stars. After cycling through some manuscripts that I'd packed and brought with me from my college classes, I finally got around to writing something brand new. I submitted it to the teacher of the week, classic writer Fritz Leiber, who gently but firmly let me know he disliked the story a lot. But he was also kind enough to say he thought Harlan Ellison, who was arriving in a few days, might like it. Show it to Harlan, Fritz said. So I did. Came the morning we workshopped my manuscript. Two dozen of us plus Harlan sat in a circle. Harlan started the day by telling us he hoped it wouldn't prejudice anyone's reaction to my story, but he was making me an offer to buy it for his new original anthology, Again, Dangerous Visions . Naturally I was utterly blown away. This was the first professional sale anyone from the Clarion workshop made. To the top in one easy bound. Then came the truer answer to your question. A year or two of writing and rewriting like crazy, collecting endless rejections, and finally starting to sell fiction to few new anthology series and both stories and nonfiction articles to mid-level men's magazines.
WB : I go to conventions and hear people like Gardner Dozois talking about the good old days. Was hanging out with people like Howard and Harlan as much fun as it sounds?
EB : In a word, yes. The '70s was an extraordinary time, post-'60s and pre-AIDS and before Nixon. Howard Waldrop was and is equally extraordinary, both as a personality and as a writer. He was never a role model for me because I know no one could ever emulate him. Knowing Harlan Ellison for three and a half decades has been like having a lifetime backstage pass to the circus. Harlan's been both a close friend and a valued mentor to me. Much of the direction of my career has been because of Harlan. I'll admit it.
WB : Could you share one or two of your favorite stories from this era?
EB : The world will never see the like of Howard Waldrop's panel at the 1981 Worldcon in Denver in which he used simple props and sheer weirdness of will to spend an hour recreating the best scenes of all the classic sf movies for an appreciative audience. His friend Leigh Kennedy ushered the audience into the panel room and seated them. Howard was nowhere to be seen until Leigh introduced the show by asking everyone to don provided 3-D glasses. Then Howard rose from hiding behind the table and pelted the audience with crumpled balls of paper. It was the 3-D classic, It Came From Outer Space . And then it all got stranger and even more wonderful.
In the early '70s I spent a lot of time staying at Harlan's home in Sherman Oaks. I vividly remember a Friday night when I accompanied him as he transported a friend who was going through withdrawal from downers to the UCLA Medical Center ER. It was my first lesson in the reality that anyone going into the hospital needs a gladiator to fight for them against the bureaucracy. Harlan spent hours arguing, cajoling, threatening, until our friend got the care she needed. Over the years, I've seen this kind of behavior over and over. For every critic taking him to task for whatever reason, there have been a hundred times when Harlan's acted as a force for good-an enormously effective and unstintingly generous force for good. He's a man of extremely strong ego-and a man who's accomplished endless miracles without caring to take public credit.
WB : Why did you choose horror? Did it have anything to do with the landscape of Wyoming, where you grew up?
EB : I mentioned earlier in this that I used horror to try to dig into my heart and gut instead of mining my head. For most of us writers, I think, the landscapes in which we grow up are critical to the stories we write when we're at our best. Wyoming's a physical and a psychological landscape of unsurpassed bleak, stark, beauty. The human population density is low. It's a landscape that can easily trigger loneliness. It did so for me as a boy, and that's pretty much what pushed me to read voraciously, particularly sf. I was looking for escape. When I started to write, I was still looking for escape. As a child, I hated and feared Wyoming. It was only as an adult I could admit I loved and respected the place.
WB : Wyoming is one of the more isolated states I've ever been to. By that I mean, it has a lot of land, some of it quite rough, a rough climate, and not many people. Movie theaters, bookstores seem few and far between. What was it like to grow up in a place like that with the dream of being a writer? Did you even dream of being a writer then?
EB : Actually I didn't dare to dream of being a writer until I was well into my 'twenties. Professional writing wasn't a part of any recognized reality for most of my childhood. Bright guys might dream of going to college and becoming an engineer. Bright women dreamed of going to college and becoming nurses or teachers. As a boy, I fantasized about being a cowboy, and then a train engineer, and then an airline pilot. When my mind really took off, I dreamed of being a crewman on the first interstellar expedition. In high school, when my family had moved off the ranch and lived in a small town, I knew that the nice lady a few houses down the block from us had published two novels with Doubleday. It didn't seem like the sort of thing I could ever do.
WB : How do you feel about being labeled a horror writer? What do you think horror is?
EB : Labeling me a horror writer is like labeling me a science fiction writer or a book reviewer or a credit to my race or species. Sure, I write horror. I also write many other things. But it's a hopeless task, trying to get the publishing industry just to think of me as a writer. Period. As to what I think horror is, I think Steve Rasnic Tem pegged it correctly. He feels that horror isn't a list of set ingredients. The supernatural may be present; or it may not be. Horror is really a tone, a feeling. I think horror can be serious, or it can be funny. Or both at once. I tried to do that in A Sad Last Love .
WB : I forgot to mention up above that you have also been involved in film and done some screen writing. What was it like to move to L.A. after Wheatland, Wyoming?
EB : Well, the traffic was worse. And there was a whole lot more obvious sin and debauchery. Actually I spent close to four years in L.A. before I returned to the Rocky Mountain West. Much of that time I spent watching and listening as Harlan Ellison gave me show-and-tell demonstrations of how the film industry worked. In truth, it was more discouraging than inspirational in terms of my own career. It was not until I had moved away from L.A. that I finally started some flirtations with TV and movies. I've made a few Hollywood sales and seen a few of my stories adapted for the screen by others. I worked for Disney and for CBS; the story of the latter, a script for the revival of The Twilight Zone , can be found in all its sordid glory in the introduction to my recent Subterranean Press collection, The Baku .
WB : How did screen writing compare to short story writing in terms of satisfaction? Were you happy with what you did? Do you plan to do any more? One hears a lot of horror stories.
EB : All the horror stories are true, of course. Go rent a copy of Robert Altman's 1992 film adaptation of Michael Tolkin's novel, The Player . It's wonderful-and it's all too conservative in its scathing view of Hollywood. Studios and various officious autocrats use the whole notion of "team playing" to justify a multitude of sins when it comes to translating megabucks into film and TV footage. So why do so many of us play the game? Well, sanity is easier to keep if one thinks of the whole process as a game. The money's good. But more than that, there's always the chance that the translation from printed page to visual image, whether on the small or the large screen, will be splendid. It's a great feeling to see the words you've entered as little black squiggles on a screen or page suddenly transformed into larger than life imagery. I'm not saying that pictures on a giant 70mm screen are any better than the images in your head when you read evocative prose. They're different. And they can both work terrifically well.
WB : You've had a lot of story collections published over the years, but only one novel, which was an adaption of a script. Why is that? Do you prefer the shorter form?
EB : I've written one entire novel from scratch, and it's terrible, a learning experience. Along with the one you mention, Phoenix Without Ashes , based on a Harlan Ellison series pilot teleplay, I've also published Cinnabar , a "fix-up" novel stitched together from a series of stories related by a common background, characters, and a continuing plot. Actually I do prefer short-form fiction, partly for the more immediate gratification it brings; and partly because I love the form. Good short fiction is harder to write than good long fiction. Every word counts. Hardly anything is forgiven. I'll also admit that after building a pretty decent reputation as a short fiction writer, I was a little wary about starting over in a new form. Was I chicken? Yep. These days I'm not so concerned with performance anxiety, with flop sweat. I expect I'll write a novel or two in the next few years.
WB : Do you have any particular writing rituals or habits? Any particular time of day you prefer to write?
EB : Nothing too elaborate such as lucky socks or pacing widdershins around my desk for five minutes before writing. I tend not to write in front of window, because I'm easily distracted. While I may use music to get myself in the mood to write, I turn it off when I actually sit down at the keyboard. I can't concentrate on music and writing both. Actually most of my writing routines are pretty lousy. I should write regularly in the mornings when my mind and body are fresher. Instead I often write at night when I'm exhausted. Of course maybe that exhaustion helps in some ways. My tendency is to write carefully, even cautiously. Exhaustion short circuits some of the inner censors.
WB : You've already given us some writing advice, which readers can find on the Writers On Writing page of this web site. Do you have anything else you'd like to add on the subject of writing?
EB : Do as I say; not as I usually do. I urge people to write regularly, developing it as a habit. I think writing's hard work. I love seeing the result. I hate most of the process. It'd be really tempting to set a saucer of single malt Scotch out on the back step at midnight and just collect the heap of manuscript pages left in trade by the fairies in the morning. But I've got to be realistic. So that's why I tell people the sad truth-you've got to put some hard work into the process or your writing will likely languish on some imaginary vine in your frontal lobe. The other things are also hardly new and novel, but they bear repeating until everyone gets it. First, be fearless in your writing. Don't shy away from the difficult stuff. Even if you're not ready to write it successfully, you'll learn from the experience. And second, don't neglect passion. Readers tend to respond to passionate writing.
WB : What about being a critic, has it changed the way you write? What influence has it had on your writing?
EB : Reviewing books and movies and events has done a variety of good things for me. First, it's obliged me to read a lot of material I might not have gotten to otherwise. Second, it's kept me writing when I've been stalled on fiction projects. Third, evaluating other people's works makes me constantly reevaluate my own work. I learn from what other writers do or don't do. I hope I can feed the benefits back into my own writing.
WB : As a writer, what made you decide to become a reviewer and critic as well?
EB : I think most writers would benefit from taking a flyer either at editing or reviewing, or, preferably, both. It's a great horizon expander.
WB : Is it difficult to give an honest review? Do you ever fear reprisals or making enemies?
EB : It's not so much difficult being honest as a reviewer as it is being blunt. I don't like hurting people's feelings, but I want to say something truthful, even if that truth isn't exactly flattering. So I've tried to develop a reviewing style that uses fictive technique along with occasional forays into, god have mercy on my soul, nuance. Sometimes it's important to read between the lines in my reviews, or note what I haven't said. One problem of both writing and reviewing sf or horror is that this is a very small pond. Most of us in the profession know each other socially, sometimes quite well. I don't worry about reprisals or enemies. I figure most of the people whose work I review will know that I'm generally trying to be constructive and conscientious. Sometimes people hate me regardless. Egos in the arts make for a mighty fragile carton of eggs. Can't help it.
WB : I can see that one of the advantages of being a reviewer and doing all the required reading is that it makes you an extremely well-read guy. Next to Ellen Datlow, who reads everything, you're one of the best-read people I know. Has all of this reading helped you as a teacher?
EB : And to be honest, I don't think I'm well-read at all. I guess it's all a matter of perspective. Somehow I find time to read for pure pleasure as well as business, though most of what I read for review are titles I'd happily read for enjoyment. As a teacher...well, the same holds for being a writer-reading is almost as important as the writing itself. It's all a growth process ultimately. Paying attention to what other people do, and trying to understand how they do it or else how they screw up, is critical. The act of writing is magical, but the magic doesn't evaporate when you closely scrutinize how the tricks were staged. You just develop a finer appreciation for how the magician carries it all off.
WB : For people who might be interested in taking one of your classes or having you come speak at their conference, can you tell us something about how your classes and workshops are structured?
EB : Most of my teaching spins off of my experience at the Clarion and the Milford Writing Conferences. The former is for new writers; the latter was the granddaddy of workshops in the field of the fantastic, an annual event held by Damon Knight and Kate Wilhelm, designed to bring together a group of professionals and pressure-cook them into discussing and critiquing new, unpublished work. So I generally use the workshop approach. Most of us need a diverse spectrum of critical response about our own work; and most of us can benefit from bringing to bear an honest and unflinching critical eye on the work of others.
WB : With all the experience you have and being a well-known book collector yourself, you're probably one of the best people to ask about the future of books. What are your predictions about ebooks and paper books? Have you tried electronic books?
EB : I'm no more prescient than other observers, and most of us prophets are going to be proved wrong! In the short term I don't think paper books are going to vanish. Particularly not fiction. No matter how high the hysterical whine of Net-o-philes, the world's still got a large store of readers who want to continue appreciating the bulk, the feel, the efficiency of print on paper. Nonfiction books, reference works-those are the first places large changes will affect. It's too bad, I think, because browsing online is a very different process from browsing an encyclopedia for a shelf of diverse reference works. One thing ebooks can sell is sheer convenience-so long as the reader hardware continues to fall toward the magical $100 mark, so long as the electronic readability continues to get ever crisper. People want to read in the bright sun on a beach or in a hammock; they'd love back-lit pages for reading at night. They want something light and portable, an e-doohickey that'll fit in a pocket. It's coming. I've had a variety of flirtations with e-publishers. Since no one really knows which technology will dominate the near future, and since everyone's convinced that the potential stakes are in the billions, all manner of old-line corporations and new-style entrepreneurs are trying to position themselves by tying up every conceivable communicative right. In terms of information and entertainment, it's a Wild West frontier.
WB : Horror had a terrible falling out a few years ago when a lot of mainstream publishers quit carrying specific horror lines, yet we continue to see horror books on the market. Did you ever have a shortage of horror books to review? Is horror making a comeback now? And how does the genre today compare to the way it was when the falling out occurred? Is it improved?
EB : To belabor the obvious, horror won't die unless no one cares to read it. And it's clear there's a vigorous audience now, just as there was a decade ago, just as there was since Poe and Hawthorne and Shelley and Stoker. Horror "died" as a genre because most publishers figured that if a comparatively small number of titles were very successful, then why not maximize income by publishing an ever larger number of books with embossed skeleton cheerleaders on mass market covers? The readership isn't nearly so stupid as many markets seemingly think. The audience knows bad writing when they encounter it. Rather than picketing the publishers, most disappointed readers, burned enough times, will just go off and find another enthusiasm. Now in the first years of the new millennium, there's plenty of ambitious and scary fiction being published-and usually not under a horror rubric. Sometimes you've just got to get clues from friends and reviewers, then go out and track down certain titles from Stewart O'Nan and Stephen Dobyns, Kathe Koja and Melanie Tem. The good stuff's out there. It just takes a little more initiative to find.
WB : Would you care to comment on the science fiction and fantasy genres? Are they becoming repetitious or repeating any of the problems that plagued horror? What about mystery? Where do you see each of these lines going?
EB : All genres cycle around from boom to bust, and then back again. Right now much of the problem for all of us mid-list writers is increasing bottom-line thought at major publishers. In the old days, pre-vertical integration and multinational conglomeration, publishers would give a new writer time and help in terms of finding and building an audience from the debut book to the second, to the third, so on. In modern times, you, as a writer, have one chance to make it big. Or else. I know more than one writer who's felt obliged to change his or her name and start over as a debut novelist with a new byline. All to kickstart a new career.
WB : In this age of technology, is it harder to write science fiction? Is it harder to keep ahead of the curve?
EB : The truth of writing science fiction is still that old Puritan virtue of doing one's homework. None of us has to be a true scientist or engineer to write good sf (though a solid number of achievers in the field have day jobs at places like JPL). But what each of us does need is a curious mind and a willingness to ask questions of the world's ubiquitous experts. The salient virtue for so much contemporary sf is plausibility. Most good sf treats the universe as a metaphor, not as a wiring diagram. I'll admit, though, that a major problem for all of us who want to write convincing sf, is there's simply such a sweeping floor of information. A new crucial skill is the ability to skim large amounts of information and to latch on without fuss to the few bits and factoids that will give a story and its characters a sense of life.
WB : Finally, maybe I should've asked this first, can you tell us anything more about A Sad Last Love at the Diner of the Damned , the new chapbook you have coming out from Wormhole Books?
EB : I love what Wormhole's done with the chapbook. The story's one thing, and I'll leave the ultimate decisions up to the readers. What I appreciated enormously was the care that went into designing and producing the actual copies. I got a major kick out of cover artist David Martin's askew take on Edward Hopper. Ditto art director Joanna Erbach's all-over design approach, integrating various elements of David Martin's work into all manner of appropriate venues in the book. Then I laughed and blushed when I read S.P. Somtow's introduction. I got my own chance in the afterword to offer some history and commentary about the story. But all that's frosting, of course. Gravy. For me the crucial thing was the story itself. I wanted to use both humor and graphic grue to talk about growing up in a small town and a tight community. Frankly I had no idea, when I started, that the story would come out as tough as it ultimately did. I was appalled with myself for a brief time when I finished the final sentence on the final page. Then I just went on. Sometimes that's just the logical design of anyone's writing career. You try to write better than you think you can possibly write at this stage of your career, then you go on from there and start on something even more difficult.
WB : And I gotta ask, is it tough being a media critic and having to go see all those movies? Where do you find the time to balance this busy life?
EB : Yeah, it's hell eating all that stale popcorn and flat Diet Coke and worrying about the urban myth of contaminated needles being planted in theatre seats as I plunk myself down in the darkness. But hey, it gives me something to talk about at stuffy cocktail parties! Where to find the time? Cake. Just resign yourself to having no real relationships and no chance of a fulfilling career.
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While She Was Out
Edward Bryant
This classic horror tale by a Nebula award winning author pits an ordinary woman on a late night shopping trip against the terrors of the night.
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Shipping and Returns 
