Interview with Author Patrick Ball

When the WLM editors first read Patrick Ball's piece "A True Vore Story," we all took a collective sigh. "Finally," one of us said, remarking on how much his piece stood out from the batch of stories we'd just finished. "Something really weird." But as the author himself asks below, and as we find again and again when a weird story taps into something deeper—maybe the weirdness is that this work isn't. We'll let that discomfort sit as you reread his story (you should) and through our interview with the author below.

What was the inspiration for your story?

The origin that’s kind of archly given in the story itself is true: it grew out of a pedantic argument about the difference between cannibalism and vore. I don’t know if my interpretation of the debate is supported by the most reputable vore scholars though, and I’ve never eaten anyone. 

What makes you keep writing, even when it's hard?

Nothing admirable—I’m just cruel to myself when I’m not writing. 

Advice on creating that you’ve learned by trial and error.

It’s usually better than you think it is at first. 

What's your favorite underappreciated novel or short story (a work you never hear anyone else talking about)?

It’s not really unknown, because the translation’s put out by NYRB Classics, but I don’t think Notes of a Crocodile by Qiu Miaojin gets the constant wall-to-wall adulation that it obviously deserves—at least not in the English-reading world. 

Do you have a favorite book on writing or creating that's been a helpful resource?

Not a book on writing at all, but the thing I return to most often is the parable of the useless tree in the Zhuangzi. If everything is really being swallowed by the market or the state then being indigestible has value. I think maybe that holds for art as well. It won’t make you any money, but then neither will anything else. 

Planes, trains, boats, or automobiles?

Trains. I’m one of those guys. 

What is your writing strategy? Do you write every day with a rigid schedule, or are you more flexible with your practice?

I agonize over an idea or voice for a very long time without writing anything and then one day write the whole thing in one go. It’s not a practice I’d recommend. 

When did you realize you were weird?

I don’t think I’m any weirder than most people. As far as I can tell we’re all experiencing some spooky disconnection between ourselves and the world, which is another reason weird art is valuable. Maybe certain presidents or CEOs or conmen or whatever aren’t. I was once called “an aberration” in a philosophy seminar because of my views on the legitimacy of the state, which I remember with a degree of useless pride. 

What is your favorite museum or gallery?

The Goya Black Paintings in the Prado in Madrid are really as shocking as everyone says, I think. The Grant Museum of Zoology at University College London now sells fridge magnets of its jar of preserved moles—no judgement here, that’s just sound business sense, and it’s not like I didn’t buy one—but if you happen to be nearby, the jar is still something to see. They have jars of other stuff as well, though none of them have the same sheer quantity as the jar of moles. 

Most triumphant thing you did as a teenager?

Oh God. Nothing. 

What is weird?

I suppose what is obstinately beyond our control. In this respect maybe my story about control is anti-weird. 

What do you hope readers experience from your work?

I hope that they too learn to long for liberation from the tyranny of the individualized form and to return to the singular soup of being. 

How do you combat loneliness?

See above. 

Thoughts about artichokes?

Underrated if anything. 

What’s the point of all this, really?

Probably to reach a state together where our essential pointlessness isn’t felt so sharply. 

Patrick Ball is a writer from Sheffield, UK. As well as writing, he studied philosophy in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, taught English in Kyoto, Japan, and now lives in Lilongwe, Malawi.