Scott Phillips Interview

Here’s a chat I had with Scott Phillips back in 2010 over at Do Some Damage. It was an interesting conversation, so I wanted to give it another airing. 

JS-What’s your favorite swear word?

Hobotaint! Or Hobo Taint, if you prefer

JS-Lets go back to the beginning. What started you off reading crime fiction?

I got interested in crime movies long before I started reading crime fiction. I used to work at a revival theater where we were always showing Bogart movies–”Maltese Falcon,” “Sierra Madre,” Big Sleep”–but for some reason I wasn’t motivated to seek out the books. The first one I remember reading was Jim Crumley’s “The Wrong Case,” which I took with me one summer on a working trip to Europe. That’s the one that got me started. I also remember reading Jim Burke’s first Robicheaux novels before I was really heavily into the genre, mainly because I knew him. I had him for Freshman comp at Wichita State, and his very serious attitude toward writing made a big impression on me. Then I discovered the original Black Lizard series, back before Random House bought the name, and started on Thompson, Helen Neilsen, Harry Whittington and that group. I got to be friends with Crumley about twenty years ago and he turned me on to a lot of good writers–Kent Anderson, Jon Jackson, Rick DeMarinis Robert Sims Reid and that whole Missoula crowd. I also met Dennis McMillan and Chas Hansen around that time and they got me reading Willeford.

JS-Any particular favorites?

Too many to name, though Willeford was obviously major influence, as was Crumley. I just did three excellent books in a row by friends of mine: “Last Known Address,” by Theresa Schwegel, a cop novelist worthy of Anderson or Price; Ken Bruen’s “Once Were Cops,” which is maybe the darkest thing he’s written; and “Bury Me Deep,” by Megan Abbot, which is the best of her four so far, and that’s saying something. Lots of others, though. I’m reading a lot of short stories by writers like Jedidiah Ayres, who I’m writing screenplays with, and Frank Bill and Tom Franklin. I could go on for days in that vein.

 JS-Interesting that you were a fan of the movies before the books. You have a very lean and economic writing style, would you say this was influenced by films at all?

I don’t think so. I do tend to imagine scenes visually as I write them. I worry sometimes that screenwriting affected my style by stripping it down. Typically I write spare prose and then go back and liven it up. Cottonwood was written in a more florid, 19th-century style than the others.

JS-Cottonwood is the one I haven’t read yet. I look forward to it. When did you start writing?

As a child. I used to write short stories and plays in school. My first real attempt at a novel came in my late twenties, an un-publishable piece of shit that nonetheless proved to me that I could write a big stack of finished pages.

JS -Did you go straight from that unpublished novel to THE ICE HARVEST?

No, I stopped writing fiction for a while, though I made some attempts. Wrote the beginning of a science fiction novel then abandoned it. Mostly I was writing scripts at the urging of an actor friend who was quite well known in France at the time and wanted us to make a movie together. That didn’t happen, but I ended up in LA where I co-wrote a movie called Crosscut. I found the finished product dispiriting and decided to go back to fiction for a while, which is when I wrote Ice Harvest.

JS-What took you to France, and did it change the way you see or write about your home country?

I went over as a teenager as part of a sister cities program and ended up going back year after year working for various University exchange programs. In my twenties I moved there full time. I suppose it gave me the luxury of seeing the place I grew up from a distance, culturally, but it also instilled a sense of foreignness in me. I don’t really feel completely at home in either place.

JS-The first Chapter of ICE HARVEST has an almost short story feel, which I think helps suck the reader into the book.

That was an incident I’d seen one afternoon, a drunk getting his hair caught on fire and the bartender taking away his cigarettes and lighter and then pouring him another drink. I wrote it and rewrote it, always intending it to b the start of a novel, but it didn’t gel until I put it into the third person. In first person it sounded like a poor imitation of Crumley, which of course it was.

JS-The setting is interesting. Firstly it’s not set in the present, but then it also doesn’t go back to the 30′s-50′s era that period Noir so often does. And it’s also set in Wichita. What was it about the story that lead you to 1979 in Wichita, and did this make it a harder sell to publishers?

1979 was just a very vivid year for me. It was the year I turned eighteen, the first time I really fell in love, two of my grandparents died, I made my first trip to France. It was also the year I started going to strip clubs with my pals, so I had a good feel for the era. As far as it being Wichita, that was never a problem. I also wanted to have a lot of snow and ice on the ground, not for any sort of metaphoric reasons but because it presents so many interesting problems and offers up so many ways to describe the look and feel of things. It only became metaphor after my good friend Chas Hansen suggested the title. Actually, Wichita’s winters tend to be mild, but in ’78-’79 (rather than ’79-’80, as in the novel) we had a really cold wet winter with snow constantly on the ground and ice constantly on the road.

JS- The book has a real lack of moralizing, there’s never a moment when you as the author appear to be judging anybody. Is this in there right from the first draft, or do you remove your own voice during the editing?

That’s interesting. If I write a character who’s nasty I often find myself getting fond of him or her. I’m very sorry I killed off Wayne Ogden in the Walkaway, because I’ve now gone back and written about him three times, and each time I had to go back into his past, since he dies in 1952. I intended him to be a character Willeford might have written, but I think he’s also got some kinship to Ken Bruen’s Brant. That said, I’m not there to judge, just describe.

JS-Along the same lines, the book is very trusting of the reader. You never stop the story to explain characters motives, and you don’t give an explanation of the crime that Charlie and Vic committed just before chapter one. Was this an approach you learned as you went along?

I hate obvious exposition. Drives me nuts. And sometimes I don’t know the answer myself. I have to keep myself curious or I lose interest. Jim Crumley once told me that he’d written the beginnings of any number of novels that he abandoned after a hundred pages or so because he realized he knew the ending and just wasn’t interested any more.

JS -I’d like to ask a couple of questions about the film. Did you learn anything from watching the adaptation process that you’ve taken with you into your own writing?

It affected my screenwriting more than my fiction writing. Just adapted William Gay’s book the Long Home along with Jedidiah Ayres, and I always felt I was betraying the author when I made even the most necessary changes. That’s a strictly visceral reaction, though, not a realistic one.

JS-Were there elements of the story that would work on paper but not on film, or vice versa?

Not necessarily. In retrospect I think we all agree that the change in the ending was a mistake, but the test audiences hated the original ending so much we all–myself included–at the time thought it was the thing to do. And of course it was shot in May, so the snowstorm was out. We settled for some fake snow on the ground in patches and a cold, nasty rain.

JS-I think the only choice that I had to stop and think about was Charlie himself. In the film there is more of an attempt to portray him with the dreaded word ‘sympathy’, and to lessen his culpability in what happens. Do you think this was necessary to make the film work as a 90-minute story?

I think it’s purely and simply the fact that John Cusack is a likeable onscreen presence. I always found Charlie likeable; in fact my theory was that Charlie skated by on his charm.

JS-It was ICE HARVEST that secured you an agent, right?

It was indeed.

JS-There are people reading DoSomeDamage who are still looking for that magic person. Do you have any advice for them?

My advice right now would be to get published on one of the better-known internet sites–Plots with Guns, Thuglit, etc.–and then start approaching agents. It’s a really good way to raise your profile, and before long others know your name and work, and soon enough the agents will, too.

JS- THE WALKAWAY blew me away. Where did this story start for you, had you got a scene or a plot you’d been carrying around for awhile?

I thought I might write about Charlie Arglist’s kids, ten or fifteen years on, but that didn’t gel. Then I thought about writing about Dot and Gunther from the end of the Ice Harvest, which would allow me to bring back many of the characters in the first book. And then I remembered a day when I was driving up the inramp onto the 405 freeway in Los Angeles and saw a man, eighty years old or more, in a suit, hitchhiking. It struck me as odd, and then later I wondered if he hadn’t just escaped from the Veteran’s Hospital just up the road (where, incidentally, my grandfather used to work as a barber).

JS-Gunther was just a cameo character in THE ICE HARVEST and I honestly wasn’t expecting to like him as much as I did. By the end of the book I just wanted to keep reading about him. He seems like a real throwback to the stoic good guy which plays off well against the charm of Wayne Ogden, did you intend for them to work that way?

I didn’t expect to like him that much either. I knew from the end of the Ice Harvest that he was kind of a taciturn, grumpy guy, but as I wrote it, and as his fragmentary memories came back to him it occurred to me that he might just be one of those guys who’s not very good at showing his emotions. Wayne, on the other hand, was pure id. The clash of personalities between him and Wayne wasn’t thought out from the beginning, in fact Wayne was going to be an offstage presence, someone from the past whose actions would have been alluded to and remembered, but not experienced firsthand.

JS- I’ve seen you blog about a project called Smut Sarge, is this a Wayne story?

It’s “Supply Sarge,” actually, but I like “Smut Sarge.” Yeah, I had written two short stories about Wayne as a teenager, and he really stuck with me. My agent at the time I started it was having trouble selling a novel I’d written and told me that editors kept telling her they wanted another one just like the Ice Harvest, short and pulpy. So I thought I’d write about the year Wayne came home from WWII and tried to be a civilian and failed, utterly.

(JS- The book was released as THE ADJUSTMENT)

JS-Part of the structure of THE WALKAWAY seems to play with the conventions of a mystery novel, except that instead of a detective we have an old man and the puzzle he’s trying to solve is his own memory. Am I reading too much into that?

I think that’s right, though again it wasn’t conscious on my part. There are characters who know quite a bit–Dot, for one, and Sally. But there’s no mystery in the traditional sense. My editor at the time, Dan Smetanka, called it “more of a ‘novel novel.’”

JS-Another element that slowly reveals itself through the book is just how much this is a simple love story, and has an emotional core to it that I don’t often see in Noir or crime. Was it hard to get the balance right between the darkness and the love story?

For Gunther the love story–mostly for his wife, but also for his unacknowledged son and grandchildren–is what makes the darkness he’s seen worth living through.

JS-Again I’m curious about the process. The story takes place over two different time periods, and they seem to be written in different voices. Did you write them separately?

I was a third or so of the way through the novel, set entirely in the late eighties, when I started worrying about all the people who were going to be buying it expecting another Ice Harvest. And around that time I realized that the 1952 story was getting short shrift, getting mentioned in that cursory “he remembered the time he….” or “she thought back to that night at the cabin” manner. It wasn’t reading very well. So just for the hell of it I started writing that second chapter in Wayne’s voice, starting with his arrival at the train station, and I thought, yeah, that’s what this needs. So I shoehorned that in as the second chapter and set every second chapter in 1952, in the first person, and tried to get a good Fawcett Gold Medal, Lion Books feel to it. In fact you can read those even-numbered chapters separately, and they make perfect sense as a really short novel (the odd chapters, set in the eighties, require their other half to be intelligible, however.) “Supply Sarge” is very much in the vein of the Wayne chapters of the Walkaway.

JS-What drew you to the 1950′s for THE WALKAWAY? And why does crime fiction still fit so well in that era?

That whole postwar period works well for crime fiction, whether in the US, Europe or Japan, because things had been turned on their heads for a while and suddenly there was this other upheaval of returning vets, occupation, etc. It was a great time to be crooked, I imagine.

JS-Lets pretend, for a second, that I was the sort of idiot who would interview you without having read COTTONWOOD. How would you describe the book to me?

It’s the story of the first few violent years of a Kansas town as seen through the eyes of a randy photographer/saloonkeeper. It works in the story of the Bloody Benders, a family of killers who lived in Kansas in 1872-73 and killed upwards of fifteen travelers, drained their blood and buried them in their orchard.

JS-I noticed a lot of references to the town Cottonwood in THE WALKAWAY. I’ve also heard you mention somewhere that Wayne made passing references to classical literature because his grandfather was a scholar, but you didn’t write about his grandfather until later on. Do characters come to you fully formed, or do you go back and work in little details like that later?

They don’t come fully formed, generally. Usually I’ll come up with a detail like that and go back. And it’s Wayne’s father he’s thinking of as a scholar, but it’s passed on from the grandfather. It doesn’t last, though–neither Wayne’s daughter nor his grandson follow in the tradition.

JS-I’d like to take another look at your writing process. You’ve written stories set in a number of different time periods now. Do you approach the writing differently for each era?

Not really, except when I’m writing a period piece I try and immerse myself in the culture of the era as much as I can. I read a lot of old newspapers.

JS-What’s your technique to writing and editing dialogue, do you read it aloud? Do you steal from real conversations ? I often lift whole conversations from my work commute.

I just make it up, mostly, but if I hear something that’s too good not to use I’ll put it in. I just heard a story from my Mom about a guy who was in trouble wit his wife for sleeping around, and he said, “Honey, if I could un-fuck her I would.” You’d better believe that’s going in there somewhere. And I’m a great believer in reading aloud, though I often do it sotto voce, just to see if the rhythm’s right. One thing I learned early on from James Lee Burke was that it has to scan, just like a poem.

JS-Had any problems with writers block, or any tips for readers of our site who might have?

I’ve had periods where I was just writing badly. I’m a great believer in Charles Willeford’s formula: Just write something down, anything, and then you have something to revise, and if you revise enough you can conquer anything.

JS-I think one of the things I notice most about your work is a sense of mundanity, but I mean that in a good way. It’s as if you look for the normal element buried away in a lewd story, and the lewd element buried away in something normal. Do you set out to do that?

I do. It’s when the everyday cracks open and a little bit of weirdness spills out that I find my stories. Or vice versa, where the mundane flows into the bizarre, like when Bill Gerard in “Ice Harvest” says he’d rather be home in Kansas City watching his grandchildren open presents instead of torturing information out of Renata the strip club owner. I really did think that that was a believable motivation for him: Goddamnit, this really fucks up my nice Christmas I had planned.

JS-Okay, we’re into the home stretch now and then we can let you out of the DoSomeDamage basement. James Ellroy recently said that writing was going to be ‘survival of the fittest’ and down to ‘how bad do you want it?’ What are your thoughts on the state of the publishing industry?

It’s a huge fucking disaster, so much worse now than when I started off. I no longer count on making a living writing books, but books have given me enough exposure that I get a little action with comic books and TV and movies. I now look at writing books the way I used to look at writing short stories: something I do for pleasure and exposure and if I make some money at the same time, great.

JS-If you could change one thing about the whole industry, what would it be?

Demolish the big chain bookstores and the blockbuster mentality that they bring with them.

JS-I’ve always found there’s very little transparency, and a lot of people not getting credit for the work they do. Is there anyone you’d like to mention or thank from behind the scenes?

My agents, past and present, including David Hale Smith, Nicole Aragi, Sylvie Rabineau, Abner Stein, and the late Paul Marsh; my editors, especially Dan Smetanka, Maria Rejt, Dennis McMillan and Patrick Raynal; and any number of anthology and magazine editors, not to mention the people working with and for all the above. I owe each of them more than I can say.

JS-Who would win in a fight between Daredevil and Spiderman?

I’d have to know why they were fighting. Did Spiderman find out about Foggy Nelson fucking Aunt May?

 

 

Since the interview Scott has also released a novel called RAKE, which is set in Paris. Amazon sells it thusly;

 

Rake is the latest noir classic from the author of The Ice Harvest. It features a charming, despicable anti-hero and a funny, satiric take on modern entertainment culture. Phillips turns his gimlet eye on the lush life of an actor who, on his destructive tour through Paris, crosses the line from garden variety narcissism into full-fledged psycopathy.