I WROTE IT ONLY FOR YOU: An Interview with Joshua Mohr
At its essence, this story is about existential amnesia. What do we need to remember? What do we want to remember? And what’s the difference between them?
At its essence, this story is about existential amnesia. What do we need to remember? What do we want to remember? And what’s the difference between them?
In retrospect, it’s obvious to me that I’m writing about my desire to feel a part of something greater than myself. I know that’s an impossibility, however.
Everyone believes there’s something more out there. And if we were just braver, had more time/money/whatever, we’d Don Quixote it up.
Where neighbors handed warm zucchini bread over fences, a 10-year-old drove me around a farm in a rusty truck, and I most likely met a serial killer.
I’m still thinking through and discovering all Seinfeld has, and will, teach me about creative writing, particularly poetic movement, and/or MacGuffins as a narrative technique.
I just kept doing it until I had over three dozen paradoxes saved on my computer. Some of them allowed themselves to be shaped into publishable stories.
What’s the relationship between reality/life/history and stories? When do stories productively enrich our lives, and when do they overtake them to a troubling degree?
I enjoy the wish fulfillment of making up a controlling, overbearing asshole and then torturing him by making everything go wrong no matter what he does.
Kyle experimented with ChatGPT once: “What are twenty-five short story ideas?” The answers it puked out were uniformly terrible, except for one.
I knew I was going to love it when the head started to vomit guns. The tone felt like a Monty Python film. Is that a common comparison?