Coronaviews, Interviews In The New Meat Cannery #1- The enigmatic road mammal Tory Seller

I first met Seller is San Francisco when we were both working on a hippy commune television pilot wherein we spent our nights sleeping in the lobby of a recording studio, no shit the kind of thing that could only happen to me. Or so I thought. By night number two I realized that Tory was on a lifelong adventure as well. Let’s check in on him now and see what he’s up to, here in Coronaviews #1– Tory Seller

JJ- What up my dog mammal! Where are you?

TS- I’m ah, in Colorado Springs, pretty close to the Garden of the Gods. I’m in a weekly motel. Really nice view of Pike’s Peak. Check this out- I have a phone line in the motel. I might have a better connection. I never used it but hang on. (BEAT- phone rings) Okay. So I kinda have a suite. I met the owner on my book tour a few years ago. Thing is, he looks just like my step brother. So it’s a suite. Super peaceful. If things do get rough, I’m close to weed and good water. Personal use drugs aren’t a felony here anymore. If I’m gonna get quarantined, I mean, I got what I want. I’m a complete wax head. Clones are gonna be hard to keep alive. I mean, I think of myself as a modern day hunter gatherer anyway. This fits into my plan.

JJ- Very positive. Tell us a little bit about your emergency go bag/supply box. What’s in your survival kit?

TS_ Aw man no man. Mostly weed. Dabs. I can’t take it seriously enough yet but I’m gonna work on it. My dream is to eat brown trout in my little Honda Element. Fishing. I think maybe ibuprofen. Wax. Big bags of weed. I’m kinda in the moment. This has just made me even more in the moment. I work W-TH-FR. My plan is kinda the same as it was. Man, the Keto chocolate shake. That’s in there, until I learn to fish good enough (laughs) man that’s so fuckin stupid. This is gonna be a good year.

JJ- Gnarly. Getting’ any? Include hos.

TS- Well, okay, so I was seeing this married chick, I dunno, not good corona. Highest exposure. Tinder’s been dry, I haven’t put in the effort. Everybody is polly. Totally big now. But-

JJ- Creepy.

TS- That’s gonna be clamped down pretty hard. I moved out here to have some really big acid blow outs in the woods. It’s gonna be really good to just get healthy like that and minimize, you know?

JJ- Wicked do, homie. Okay then. What kind of ride?

TS- Hahah! The Honda Element! Its ready to go. Airbag sign is on but we all have problems.

JJ- Smooth. Plans for today?

TS-Oh man! You know, I may or may not have already microdosed. I talked to this bipolar friend in Holland. She’s in a little ‘place’ right now. Maybe play some piano. I eat a lot. Then do some fasting. I may go out to get something eat I don’t know. I’m a wild man.

JJ- Who else is hiding out at the motel?

TS- These lesbians. They park their car right in front of my place. That’s people. Gina next door. Knocked on my door at 3 AM. Gary- he has Asperger’s. Black dude, Gulf Storm kinda guy, he has a motorcycle. But I’m the crazy dude. I dressed up on day and shit, Carl borrowed two bucks never to be seen again. I wear a shirt or pants and Gina wants me to take her to the grocery store. I guess it’s time to go. But I like the stability. Now that I hear all this it’s kinda depressing, but I’m having a good time.

JJ- People freaking out in Colorado Springs?

TS- No man, but I feel the vibe. It’s what you don’t see. So many less people on the streets.

JJ- So the news. What news do you watch?

TS- I flip through. Mainly CNN. Its just entertaining. I don’t get too caught up in it. Hannity, Tucker Carlson, man, it’s so fuckin’ far out there. I mean… those dudes are outer limits.

Voices from the edge! Here below is the forward I wrote to Micro Novels, Tory’s fine book, available at many bookstores now and also on Amazon.

An Introduction to The Micro Novel, by Tory Seller

What is a micro novel, you ask? A poem? Another exercise in avante garde dipshittery? 

nov·el1

ˈnävəl/

noun

a fictitious prose narrative of book length, typically representing character and action with some degree of realism.

So a micro novel would be what?? Let’s turn to another word before we begin the exploration.

ko·an

ˈkōän/

noun

a paradoxical anecdote or riddle, used in Zen Buddhism to demonstrate the inadequacy of logical reasoning and to provoke enlightenment.

Bob Seager, Zen Buddhism, The Easter Bunny, well, we’re still lost. Let’s take a look at the mind behind the micro novel. Without further adieu, an introduction to the enigmatic Tory Seller himself.

I met Tory in San Francisco a few years ago. I’d been invited down for an all expenses paid writing gig. A script was coming together for HBO about a hippy commune, and while it wasn’t exactly my genre, it was close enough. Tory was one of the other writers, a bearded, quiet, very stoned guy, but friendly enough. We got to work.

By day two it became apparent that this was not, in fact, an all expenses paid gig, nor was it going to HBO. Unfortunately, this coincided with other bad news. My agent at the time was an absolute cretin. He lost my new novel and I had to use Tory’s computer to rescue a copy from my sent email. I then had to use his computer to finish it a second time. The novel was Deadbomb Bingo Ray. I did this in Tory’s car as we rolled around late night San Francisco, working night after night in the halo of weed he surrounded himself with. He waxed on and on about the local hookers, parakeets, experimental music, Australia, glue, what have you, and we became friends. My then agent went on to misplace the publisher’s contract, so I was stranded for another week. It was then, while we were living off Tory’s food stamps and sleeping on couches in the lobby of a recording studio, that I was first introduced to the micro novel.

Each segment was crafted, and not in a pedantic, fussy way. Tory was not operating in the quiet of his home at night after he’d worked all day in a bookstore or an office. This was not engineered in a cafe workshop or his mother’s basement either. He was in motion, a strange hybrid of outlaw and surfer, with a generous helping of The Dude in his character profile. The snips, the condensed microsities, had been streamlined in a Beat fashion, shorn of verbiage, adjectives, dead weight, live action, conjecture, structure, all of it. They were encapsulations distilled by momentum, sculpted by roads, delivered through spiritual digestion.

Another week passed while my agent fumbled the money for the novel. I was stranded for one more week before I finally bypassed him with the help of the publisher and the accounting department at my agent’s agency. Amazing! In that week, I watched Tory create, and I’m glad I did. It was an amazingly involved process, and unique in my experience. A novelist sits. Thinks. Writes for hours. Repeats. A micro novelist does something very different, something magnificent.

Creating the micro novel, any of them, involved driving. Tory talks to himself, even when you’re in the car with him. He stops and stares at things. He writes on napkins. He takes notes on his phone. The micro novel is alive because of it.

Read these in the car. Read them on the toilet. Read them on a train. Mutter the words under your breath as you do, and consider them from various angles. Memorize your favorites and repeat them to people at awkward times. Leave your copy at the airport when you’re done, or give it to your boss for Christmas. Because that’s what this is. It’s a gift from a stranger to a stranger. Quickly now! Turn to the next page and- 

Jeff Johnson

Portland, Oregon