This guy made me do it: http://realtruestories.wordpress.com/
Irving Dalrymple takes on Trent Lewin in a interview about his latest work, his life, aspirations for future writings, and a certain incident of notoriety that has placed the elusive writer in some hot water with critics and fans alike.
ID: Trent. Welcome. Great to meet you.
TL: You too.
ID: So tell me a bit about yourself. Are you married?
ID: Any kids?
ID: Great. This is the first time we’ve met, so I’m happy to have a look at you at last. Quite the strapping lad I must say. May I ask about your background?
TL: I come from a family of gypsies. Next question.
ID: But I can’t help but notice a certain olive complexion…
TL: It’s the lighting in here.
ID: Oh right, sorry. I’ll have that fixed. So, you are a writer?
TL: Your word, not mine.
ID: Okay. What do you generally like to write about? I see that you have some poetry and prose to your credit.
TL: Susan Daniels (http://susandanielseden.wordpress.com/) made me do the poetry. An incident with a rusty bike post and a berm in New Orleans did the rest.
ID: That sounds painful.
TL: Oh, exceptionally. When rust enters you anally, it entrenches in your flesh. When you try to pull it out, it acts like an arrow. From a bow and arrow.
ID: I see. What do you do for fun, Trent? I hear that you enjoy various watersports.
TL: The wetter the better. I enjoy slippery reptiles, bogs, cedar groves intended for the effluent of wastewater treatment plants, and occasionally I like showers.
ID: There is a certain aroma in here…
TL: It’s the lighting, I already told you that.
ID: Okay, well, I’m sure your legion of fans would like to hear a bit about your writing endeavors. I understand you have completed a fairly large work that will soon be published. Can you tell us something about it?
TL: Like what?
ID: Perhaps the name?
TL: Um. Not sure.
ID (laughs): Well, that is a delight! A major author who has completed a novel but doesn’t have a title yet! How completely eccentric!
TL: Who told you I’ve completed a novel?
ID (puzzled): Why, your agent of course.
TL: I don’t have an agent.
ID: But… that woman on the phone said you had signed a multi-year book deal…
TL: Yes, Mr. Lewin would be happy to do an interview with you.
ID: But… But that is the voice on the phone! Was it a ruse?
TL: What’s a “ruse”? I think you made that up.
ID: No, it’s in the dictionary.
TL: What’s a “dictionary”? Did you make that up too?
ID (grumbles, sighs): Well Mr. Lewin, it appears that I have been duped, but in the interests of our viewers, perhaps we can carry on. Can you tell us why you write?
TL: It’s better than scratching myself.
ID: Okay. But what motivates you to put pen to paper?
TL: Usually hatred. Often despair and anger too. Sometimes, it’s because I want to blow the earth to pieces and sell off the chunks to a circle of happy aliens who will bioconvert the matter into rainbow poo. They will shit out some super novas. I think that would be nice.
ID: It really does sound nice, yes. Okay, well, I have heard about these “Bursts” that you write, can you tell us a bit about them.
TL: Yes. A Burst is a piece that has been written and edited only once. It is not intended for publication or any other such thing, it is only meant for sharing with friends and the like. Bursts are meant to refute the idea of “flash fiction”, which infers external intervention, like lighting, to help in the creative process. A Burst is an internalized voice given life by expulsion into a liquid form of writing. It comes from within. Honestly, Irving, it is a lot like the facehugger-comes-alive scene from Alien. Imagine that, but instead of an alien coming out of John Hurt, think of a pea being ejaculated from an old, wrinkled penis.
ID: That sounds horrible.
TL: Yes, writing often is.
ID: Okay, perhaps another topic. Do you like music?
TL: Yes, very much.
ID: What do you like about it?
TL: Mostly the songs.
ID: And how about politics? Are you interested in the debate tonight between Mr. Obama and Mr. Romney?
TL: Yes, very much so. I am expecting a rousing discourse followed by a vat of olive oil and the two coming to some agreement on the main points as they rub each other to completion…
ID: Mr. Lewin, this is a family show!
TL: My apologies. Is there anything else you would like to know?
ID (pauses): Do you have a favorite place to write?
TL: On the can.
ID: Do you mean the bathroom?
ID: How does that work exactly?
TL: Do you really want to know?
ID: Right. Mr. Lewin, I’m not sure where exactly to take this. Perhaps you can give some writing advice to our viewers? Some helpful hints for the aspiring writer?
TL: Yes. Stay celibate. Abstinence makes the words grow longer. Eat green foods. Befriend a Pakistani before he/she turns on you. Visit a hemp emporium and make yourself a sweater that you can wear in a ratty coffeeshop. Talk a lot about your depressed nature and fear of failure, as this is exactly what readers want to hear about: how bad you are and always will be, they eat that stuff up. Knit. Stuff snowballs in your freezer and chisel them out in spring. Practice safe agronomy, and set up some renewable energies to power your laptop battery. When you are rich enough and finally have the will, bomb the New York Mets out of existence.
ID: My god.
TL: Yes, you should keep up a correspondence with Her at all times.
ID: Mr. Lewin. Please. I’ve just been looking at your blog, can you tell us about this Mabel person?
TL: Mabel is an old lady I like to write about. She sees monsters but had a car accident. I like old ladies. They are delicious.
ID (laughs nervously): Figuratively speaking, of course. Well, Mr. Lewin, I’m afraid our time is up…
TL: I haven’t told you about why I started writing.
ID: Is that really necessary? I’ve just been on the internet here, and I can’t determine what if anything you have ever published…
TL: It started in a room painted indigo and white. I was given lizards to eat, mostly fried, some baked. I wore paper products held together by staples, and thus did not do well in the wind. I had my tongue pierced with a nail at the age of eight; by twelve, I had managed to darken my skin to a light peach. When I learned my first spell, I had a feeling that people would ostracize me for my sorcery, but common folks are actually quite accepting of my magic now. I have visited Buffalo, New York and found it wanting. I have dressed like the Pope and blessed a dog. I have…
ID: But Mr. Lewin, the writing! Please, the writing! Why do you do it? Why?
TL: I read a poem once about a boy named Jack and a girl named Jill. They went up this hill to get some water, but something stupid happened to them. Jack broke his head. Jill fell down too. They didn’t get their water. All they got was pain. But the story didn’t say why, didn’t tell what nefarious intercedent was at work in the background, plotting their demise. We can only imagine what it might be, what dark shade lurks on the periphery of our tales and stories, ever wanting to partition off our souls until we are dust motes. I determined from that moment to never, ever let the shade sneak up on my soul. I determined to answer the story, to fill in the blanks, to make it possible that the mysteries are a part of us, not a black devil that warns us into silence whenever we look at it. You know, the same reason any writer writes.
ID: I hear a lot of passion in your voice, Mr. Lewin. But I have to ask. What is the baseball bat for?
TL: Let me show you.
ID: Mr. Lewin. Please sit down.
TL: It’s always best to swing with a slight uppercut. (Turns to viewers) It’s best to write when you feel something. If that’s all the time, so be it. Tough luck for you. And likely the rest of us too.
ID: Mr. Lewin, no!
TL (swings, sings): There once was a whore in Bangalore, who found a nerd in a bird, a computer in an eatery where she wrote the first words I saw and that you will ever read…
(At the conclusion of this interview, Mr. Trent Lewin was arrested and sent to jail for attempted murder. He currently resides in a state of arrested development in Blackstool Castle, where he has been denied all implements commonly used for the propagation of writing works. Sources on the inside say that he has, however, found a way to inscribe his thoughts onto toilet paper, which he funnels through the bars of his window to the swirling mass of fans that has set up permanent residence at the base of the Castle. Good luck Mr. Lewin!)