anby the
author of
During the first six weeks of 1981
I have already been interviewed five times.
Two interviews were conducted by long
distance telephone and lasted two and a half
hours apiece. A third phone interview was
mercifully terminated after a mere thirty-five
minutes. The two in-person exchanges of queries
and replies ran close to three hours each. Based
on the latest researches into quantum mathematics,
this adds up to roughly eleven and a half hours
of time frittered away in this questionable and
answerable activity. To make matters worse,
I've no use for frittering to begin with, and haven't
eaten a fritter in the last thirty years.
In another week or so I'm slated for yet a
sixth interview -- this confrontation to be
accompanied by picture-taking, which is
even worse. Several other recent photography
sessions deepened my dislike of the procedure;
in recent years no one, to my knowledge, has
ever voluntarily taken a proper photo of me.
Every camera freak seems to have a thing about
candid shots; none of them are happy unless
they can catch you off-guard with your mouth
or fly open -- preferably both.
The same interviewing problem is bound
to crop up again in the mail, which regularly
brings requests for written replies to lengthy
questionnaires. And it will certainly surface in
April, when I'm scheduled to appear as GoH
at the Cinecon in Australia. Far be it for me
to complain about the trip; I feel it's my duty
to go, if only to heal the breach in international
relations caused by Tucker's visit some years
ago. But there will be fan interviews and press
interviews and -- if Tucker did as much damage
as I suspect -- there may even be questions asked
in Parliament.
Questions.
That's the real problem. I'm not so ungrateful
as to complain about interviews per se; after
all these years it's really remarkable that anyone
would still care about me or my efforts. Remarkable
and rewarding. Show me a writer who doesn't
like to talk about himself and I'll show you a
terminal case of lockjaw.
(Note to feminists who object to the use of the term "himself": I can't add "herself" without spoiling the gagline, and if that's what you're bitching about, go stuff yourself.)
Where were we? Oh, yes, you're up there reading and I'm down here on the paper. And I was telling you about questions being the real problem.
Dumb questions? Not necessarily. It's actually a matter of the same questions asked over and over, by every interviewer who comes along. And sick as one gets while hearing them repeated, the nausea is nothing compared to that of listening to one's own voice droning out the same old answers. It's reached a point where I often stick my fingers in my ears before replying, and when forced to write down such responses, I close my eyes.
But there's one sure solution to the whole problem. Instead of giving interviews in the future, I will give an outerview.
What is an outerview?
Well might you ask, because if you don't, this whole thing is going to go down the tube right now.
An outerview is an all-purpose series of questions most commonly asked by interviewers, coupled with the proper answers from the interviewee.
(Another note to feminists: "Interviewee" is not a bit sexist, so maybe that will hold you for a while. If not, I once again recommend auto-taxidermy.)
So be it. As the French say, let us proceed to the outerview immediately, without further adieu.
The following queries are the ones I get hit with time after time, and the rejoinders are those I most frequently give. Once you have read this brief exchange you will know more about me than I know myself. Or care to.
Q. WHERE DO YOU GET THE IDEAS FOR YOUR STORIES?
A. Nowhere. When I started writing I realized this might be a problem so I came up with the only sensible solution. If you read my stories carefully you will realize that they contain no ideas at all.
Q. IS IT TRUE THAT YOU USED TO CORRESPOND WITH H. P. LOVECRAFT?
A. That's a damnable lie. Lovecraft lived in Providence. I lived in Milwaukee. He was a well known fantasy writer; I was a beginner. Lovecraft had already reached middle-age when I was still a teenager. Just compare a photo of Lovecraft and a photo of me and you'll see for yourself that we didn't correspond in any way.
Q. YOU HAVE WRITTEN FANTASY, HORROR STORIES, SCIENCE FICTION AND MYSTERY-SUSPENSE. DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL PREFERENCES?
A. Scotch on the rocks.
Q. ALL RIGHT, LET'S PUT IT ANOTHER WAY. YOU HAVE WORKED IN PRINTED MEDIA, RADIO, TELEVISION AND MOTION PICTURES. WHICH IS YOUR FAVORITE?
A. Get off my case.
Q. SPEAKING OF CASES, I'M TOLD THAT YOUR MOVIE PSYCHO WAS BASED ON A REAL-LIFE MURDER.
A. Psycho was originally a novel, not a film. And it was not "based" on a real-life murder, merely on the circumstances under which such a murder had occurred.
Q. THEN WHO WAS YOUR INSPIRATION FOR THE CHARACTER OF NORMAN BATES?
A. Alfred Hitchcock.
Q. MANY PEOPLE SEEM TO BE UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT PSYCHO WAS WRITTEN BY HITCHCOCK.
A. Then they're going to have quite a time when Psycho II appears next year. Unless, of course, they figure out that Hitchcock is my ghost-writer.
Q. DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR YOUNG PEOPLE WHO ARE INTERESTED IN MAKING A WRITING CAREER?
A. Yes, by all means. Don't.
Q. WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON NOW?
A. A way to get out of answering any more damn fool questions. Then I can go back to sleep for another five years.
-- Robert Bloch
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I will eat no fritter before it's time!
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Data entry by Judy Bemis
Hard copy provided by Geri Sullivan
Data entry by Judy Bemis
Updated October 19, 2002. If you have a comment about these web pages please send a note to the Fanac Webmaster. Thank you.