Interview with author Thomas C Turbeville

Thomas, I’d like to highlight your book, The Firefly King, what is the significance of the title?

The title has multiple meanings. There is of course the more obvious connection: the character of Casey and his relationship to actual fireflies i.e. Casey’s twin sister, Joletta, suggests that there is something abnormal (or perhaps even supernatural) about how, from her perspective, fireflies seem far more drawn to Casey than any of the other children, and that this means there is something “special” about Casey. Casey of course dismisses this outright, regarding it as total nonsense. But what is perhaps not so obvious is what this relationship represents, as well as its connection to the subsequent conversation, as this is not merely a whimsical plot element haphazardly thrown in for amusement alone. Casey’s story is in essence about a young man who—like practically all of humanity throughout history, except for a few special circumstances perhaps—grew up in a society where it was standard procedure to work as hard as possible to mold the youth of the group into replications of the elders—which one could say from a certain point of view is perfectly understandable, and could simply call this “guidance” maybe, the passing of acquired wisdom and all that—but what Casey notices is how so many of the things he’s been taught in his upbringing seem to be poorly understood by his mentors, and scarcely questioned, if at all. We see the birth of a skeptic.

Casey has come to the conclusion that he will seek truth, reserving belief for when there is adequate evidence, and so he sees his relationship to the fireflies, even if Joletta is correct about their behavior, just as likely to be merely coincidental, if not more so, this being the simplest explanation (see Occam’s razor, a rational predilection toward natural explanations as opposed to supernatural ones, as a natural explanation will always be less complex, requiring fewer active variables— and in the case of the supernatural specifically, fewer contradictions in regard to proven tenets of science and epistemology—and consequently fewer opportunities for failure, thus being more likely), or at least without meaning or significance until he is shown otherwise, not unlike the lessons he’s been fed thus far.

He sees the firefly’s strange behavior as evidence of that and nothing more: strange behavior. Refusing to intuit or imbue any further meaning or relevance beyond that. We see the dawn of a scientific mind, blossoming, blooming, waking, and refusing to compromise its intellectual processes for something he sees so comparatively trivial as acceptance, or even in the face of rejection, or punishment. (Which one should note, Casey does not at all dismiss the possibility of Joletta’s assertions, just what he sees as her baseless assumption of their validity i.e. he is not claiming her ideas are impossible, just that he is not yet convinced of them, and does not see why she should be, faith alone not proving to be a substantial enough basis for belief in his mind.)

There are also some more personal connotations to the title that I will not go into at this time, aside from simply noting their existence and that the title does in fact go even deeper than the brief explanation I am providing here.

The reason I used the title of the first story as the title for the entire book, aside from this simply being common practice—is a) admittedly, there is a nice “pop” to it I would say, a sort of rolls-right-off-
the-tongue quality about it, as well as having a sort of cryptic, peculiar, provocative edge and allure, which I obviously don’t mind at all, but more importantly, b) this idea—the skeptic that, in light of some newfound epiphany, is faced with the choice of either denying their intuitions and findings and beliefs and convictions, or facing great change and possible isolation and pain as a result of their unyielding desire to stay true to themselves and honest about how they feel and what they think—is a perpetual thread throughout the book, a running motif, and some variation or element of this can be found within each tale. And so, there was an intention for that story in particular to set the tone for the rest, which is the second of three reasons why it was positioned first of the six. (The third reason being that there is a sort of representation of the progression through the various stages of life itself throughout the entire book i.e. story #1 represents birth and awakening, story #2 represents adolescence, story #3 represents young adulthood and the process of entering into the world proper and finding one’s self and figuring out who you are, story # 4 represents true adulthood and the unavoidable pitfalls and mundanity and repetitive nature of it, as well as exploring the possibility that no one really knows who they are, and that who you are may even be beyond your powers of control, story # 5 represents even later stages of life wherein one struggles to maintain convictions and motivations, having been beaten down into an apprehensive submission and all but numbed by life’s trials: poverty, illness, loneliness, indignity, being misunderstood, etc., and has to find something to hold on to and a way to climb back out from the dark pit of despair and create purpose where there isn’t one if they wish to go on, and story # 6 of course represents the inevitable end of it all, and the indifference of the universe in regard to human life.)

Tell me a bit about the book and the inspiration behind it.

For years I have focused on writing long pieces—novels specifically, and the occasional feature-length screenplay (none of which have been released to the public as of this interview)—in my quest to hone my craft, but had never spent much time on short stories (aside from when I was a small child maybe, so long ago I can’t really remember the details of them). I’ve read many shorts over the years of course, being an avid reader since childhood, but had never really tried my hand at them since I became serious about writing. No real reason, I guess. It just never happened. From the moment I moved to longform prose from my teenage years of writing bad poetry and such, I had always thought of stories in novel form, but over these past few years have rediscovered an appreciation for short story collections. I read Dubliners in preparation for reading James Joyce’s masterpiece, Ulysses, and thoroughly enjoyed both. I also exhausted all of David Foster Wallace’s novels and had to move on to reading his essays, articles, and short stories if I wanted to continue reading his stuff at all, and now I can honestly say that his collections are often every bit as engaging and hilarious and sad and wonderful and masterful as any of his novels, and I can think of specific pieces from that work that is in my opinion some of the greatest writing ever put to page.

But what really got me in the headspace where I finally wanted to take a serious crack at shorts was a shift that occurred while reading Haruki Murakami’s brilliant collection, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. I had just finished writing a novel (which I will hopefully one day be ready to publish) and was looking for the next thing I wanted to work on while I take a break in between edits, and just so happened to be reading Murakami’s book at this time and was absolutely spellbound by the beauty of these simple, yet absolutely captivating little stories.

There was, like most of his writing, several elements of magical realism, and a constant teetering just on the edge of reality and madness, which I love, as well as a healthy balance of both humor and tragedy, and mystery and insight, all within this cryptic web of highly addictive tales; all things that I try to incorporate in my own work, but that in this particular collection he was able to pen with such grace and delicacy, really capturing my imagination and provoking areas of my mind as I read that gave me the literary-equivalent sensation of eating a good baklava, and to be executed in such a short span of words was even more impressive. And not to imply that it is at all easy to write like he does, but again, the stories in BW,SW are not exactly Shakespeare, in the sense that they are usually very modern and use simple language, which I actually think it is quite the accomplishment to write this way and create such mesmerizing work all the same, and commend him for it, but still, one cannot help but feel inspired when reading this type of material, not unlike Hemingway, for example, thinking, “maybe I could do that”, or something along those lines. Then of course only to find out just how hard it really is to be so concise, yet so poignant and inspiring and thought-provoking and impactful in that brevity.

If I ever meet him, I plan to thank Mr. Murakami, if nothing else, for this one book alone. Incidentally, I also can recall a time when I was a boy, probably eight or nine, when while attending summer camp for one of the two years I did so, we were visited by an old man, a gentle country boy grown gray, who had spent his entire life in the hills of eastern NC, and who had written a book which he had come to share with us. It was a short story collection of his own titled The Pink Pencil. Most of the other kids couldn’t care less as we were all gathered under the massive log hut one evening to hear the old man read from his stories, all taken from moments in his own life and carefully articulated and put to page and surely self-published in a time long before the internet and “print-on-demand” option. They were much more excited to see the camp counselors (the other children were) get on with their sketch comedy bit that was to follow. But I sat quietly and listened and was amazed, seeing for the first time a real-life author, reading from his own book, directly to me. It was really something to me then. I’ve tried to look up that book recently but couldn’t find it. I might still own the copy he signed and gave to me but have yet to come across it in my things. I imagine that the author has since passed, but I would certainly like to see that book again someday before I go, if only for selfish, nostalgic purposes.

The Firefly King is a compilation of six short stories. Which was the most challenging to write and
why?

Honestly, most of these were not particularly challenging, relatively speaking. It was strange, once I decided I wanted to do a short story collection and sat down to do it, I couldn’t stop. I flew through them with relative ease, as if possessed, working every day, and had them done in a few months. The novel I had been writing before that took years, but these stories came out more rounded and balanced and refined than that work of over 100,000 words, which was (and still is) kind of a mess. I remember reading something about how you have to write at least 1,000,000 words before you finally hit your stride and find your voice and style and skills and really start writing something worthwhile without such a struggle. I’ve found that to have some truth, at least in the since that I don’t totally hate what I’m writing now, though I still have an endless path ahead and am in no way comparable to the great writers of our past that I adore. But I guess the only one of these stories you could say caused any more trouble than the rest may have been The Tree of Hearts, if only because I sort of shot myself in the foot by basing the trail in which the father and son are hiking on a trail near my house and feeling the inexplicable urge to incorporate every detail I could and have the two characters traverse the entirety of the trail and back again, which ended up being a bit tedious, as silly as that may sound. Otherwise, the writing process went rather smoothly, though it may be worth mentioning that a couple of these stories had already been started and I in fact picked them back up from where they had rested once I decided to really make a go at this project, though everything that was already there was given an extreme rewrite.

I also think it helped me after years to change things up and force myself to write differently i.e. sum up the entire story in under 15,000 words. I strongly believe that great art can come out of limiting yourself, and in fact lots of other artists have shared this insight as well. I often find that pieces I’ve made where I apply some limitation on myself, arbitrary or necessary, whether it be in writing or music or a painting or a film project or anything at all that involves creative expression, the result often ends up being one of my favorite creations I’ve ever made, and incidentally, some of the most fun I’ve ever had working on a project. So, if you are an artist of any kind reading this, and you’ve never tried working under limitations (painting a picture with an extremely limited color pallet, shooting a film with only one character or location, writing a song with only two uncommon instruments, writing a story without using any words with more than six letters, or writing a scene with nothing but dialogue, etc.), please, give it a try. You may be pleasantly surprised at what comes out of it, and it may just end up being your favorite thing ever.

Is there one story that holds more significance to you personally, and if so, tell me about that.

It is difficult to pinpoint one. I suppose they all are significant, only in different ways. Some are drawn more from personal experience, albeit with notable changes to the events and characters and some details, but nonetheless faithful enough that I have to acknowledge that they were to some degree taken directly from memory, and as such are undeniably meaningful to me in that I put at least a part of my actual life into those pieces, more than I normally do in my work. For example, the story titled The Poor Soul Next Door is something like 90% historically accurate. Though I will say that even when I’m writing a scene taken from life, I have this natural tendency/ability to disconnect myself from the protagonist, an intuition to do so, and even though it is technically me, I am still able to think of the character as having their own autonomy, almost as if what was taken from memory suddenly becomes as fictional as anything else I’m writing once I decide to pursue it as a serious project.

Not that I think this gives me any sort “edge” necessarily, but I do think it makes it easier for me to discuss personal things without such struggle, to not get bogged down by accuracy or whatever dog I may have in the fight or how hard it may be to express or whatever, for which I am grateful. Whereas other stories, The Brothers of La Isla Viva or The Primacy of Symmetry for instance, of course did not actually happen, but are deeply personal on another level because of what I am trying to express, which usually at its core is a deeply held view or belief or fear or similar experience or the like, or some amalgamation of those elements, which to me is every part of my “self” as anything that “actually transpired”.

What or who has influenced your writing?

I have since a very young age been attracted to the avant-garde, though it took me a while to figure out that this is my addiction. I have a natural affinity for any artist that is truly themselves, totally disconnected from the currently established art world (aside from avoiding mimicry), uncaring about whether their work is accepted or how it fits into the cultural flow or how “marketable” it is, etc., just that it is novel and honest and inventive and thought-provoking and comes from somewhere deep and almost-if-not-completely unexplainable within them. The more the work seems like it was pulled from an entirely different universe, the better. And there are those who say, “So what, anyone could just put something weird on the page or screen or canvas and call it great art.” And to this I say, have you tried it? I think it’s harder than people think to come up with something completely original. Anything at all. Even if it’s completely chaotic and nonsensical. Even that which is “meaningless” (though I’m not sure I would concede that any creative work is without some meaning, even if that meaning was unintentional and the artist themselves may not be privy). Something bizarre and almost-if-not-entirely void of influence from the exterior.

Having said that, I will also note that the artists that I’m truly drawn to and mesmerized by their work are the ones who not only achieve this feat, but also tap into some part of the psyche that I had hitherto yet to discover and that no one seems to have access to but them, and that express something about the human condition or the world or nature or society or whatever in some uncompromisingly unique way. That not only are artistic anomalies, but that actually have intentionality and something real and powerful to say. I have a place in my heart for those that are more direct or analytical or succinct or traditional— Toni Morrison, Hemmingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Mark Twain—but the writers that really inspire me to write are those one-of-a-kind innovative weirdos who consistently produce work that feels almost beyond what we thought was possible with words (or ideas for that matter), challenging norms, defying traditions, breaking entirely new ground, thinking outside the box. Some examples include Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (though his prose are often simplistic in essence, the ideas and execution and blend of unique humor and razor sharp wit and a broad imagination are undeniably brilliant), Philip K. Dick (who taught me that sometimes it is an appropriate response to reality to go insane, and that the perceived world is malleable at best, almost as if it’s not real at all sometimes), Hunter S. Thompson (say what you will about his political and sociological views, but his ability to bend the English language to his will and invent an entirely new journalistic style that arguably to this day no one can quite duplicate, and that is as entertaining as it is completely his own, not to mention totally mad in the most endearing way, lands him firmly among my top literary influences), Williams S. Burroughs, Albert Camus (who I share an awful lot of philosophical views with that I also try to explore in my own work), James Joyce (an outright god of letters), Franz Kafka (if you haven’t read it, The Trial really is that good), and the late Cormac McCarthy (which, by the way, there is also a film that is adapted from a play that McCarthy wrote called The Sunset Limited, which is one of my favorite films of all time, though it is a little unfair considering not only is it written by one of the greatest authors of the twentieth/twenty-first century, but is also a “bottle” film, meaning the entire thing was shot in one interior location, for which I have a peculiar-yet-nonetheless-potent obsession with), to name a few. But the two authors that have really spoken to me the most have to be David Foster Wallace and Thomas Pynchon.

David is the son of both an accomplished Philosophy professor and an English professor, and it shows. His writing is incredibly insightful and introspective and human in a way that I have yet to see to that degree and executed in such an intriguing and uncompromisingly strange-but-effective way elsewhere. He has this unnatural ability to balance some of the most intelligent post-(possibly even post-post-)modern writing I’ve ever come across with a very down-to-earth, inside-your-head, connected-to-the-very-heart-of-humanity, an almost conversational and timeless voice that is unprecedented, while also being absolutely hilarious at times, and heartbreaking at others.

Thomas Ruggles Pynchon, a famous recluse and certifiable egghead, has written multiple “favorites” of mine, including Against The Day, Gravity’s Rainbow, Bleeding Edge, and V., which if I had to compile a “top 20” list of the most cherished and influential novels I’ve ever read, would all be included. He is the very personification of everything I’ve just explained that I desire most in an artist. When I read his stuff, it’s like I’ve entered an entirely new world. He consistently does things with his writing that from my perspective transcend all other’s capabilities and pierces right on through my proverbial soul. I’ve both cried and laughed out loud more times with him than any other author. It is pure, unadulterated genius. It is perfection. As far as film, I have a strong favoritism for filmmakers who have a complete vision i.e. writer/directors, and who are of course those that stray from any notions of what a film must be, and for now will simply give a not-exhaustive list of some of my favorites: David Lynch. Paul Thomas Anderson. Charlie Kaufman. Joel and Ethan Coen. Stanley Kubrick. Yorgos Lanthimos. Robert Eggars. Ruben Östlund. Lars von Trier. Gus Van Sant. Jonathan Glazer. Wes Anderson. Akira Kurosawa.

Check out almost any film made by any of these artists, and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. Some of my absolute favorites include Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Dogtooth, Alps, Eyes Wide Shut (my favorite Christmas movie), Mulholland Dr., Magnolia, The Square, Melancholia, Nymphomaniac, The Master, Birdman, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Lighthouse, No Country for Old Men, The Zone of Interest, Asteroid City, Throne of Blood, My Own Private Idaho, and Synecdoche, New York.

Musical artists I adore: Sonic Youth. Bjork. Tele Novella. Tom Waits. Radiohead. Modest Mouse. Portishead. The Mars Volta (primarily their first 3 albums, when Jon Theodore was on drums). Queens of the Stone Age. Pixies. Of Montreal. Agent Ribbons. The Mountain Goats. Tomahawk. Man Man. The Breeders. Violent Femmes. Gorillaz. Gogol Bordello. DakhaBrakha. Broadcast. Aphex Twin. David Bowie. SOAD. CAKE. Gustaf. Mr. Bungle. mewithoutYou. Death Cab For Cutie. Tori Amos. And my favorite classical composer is probably Chopin. I could go on and on, but I’ll stop there.

I was really intrigued by Men of Men, what inspired that story?

I was born into a low income family, as was my wife, and so there was no college fund waiting for us, or money in our bank accounts when we became adults, and we’ve had to struggle plenty for what little we have, and so over the years of being a struggling artist I’ve had to work some pretty awful jobs. I’ve been cooked by the sun on rooftops (even though I have an extreme form of acrophobia) installing satellite dishes; I’ve done HVAC work down in dark crawl spaces barely big enough to accommodate my body (I even got stuck one time crawling under a pipe, and the panic only served to expand my torse causing me to get stuck further, and still to this day can feel that intense terror felt then), half full of water as I lay on my back, dozens of spiders falling on my face from the underside of the floor above, a snake over in the corner we had to keep our eye on all day, or up in an attic in the summer crawling through itchy insulation and breathing in all manner of particulates that will likely come back to haunt me one day, the dense air so hot one guy actually passed out and we had to pull him out and call someone; retail jobs where I’ve injured my back in the stockrooms so badly it still is an issue all these years later, getting screamed at and cussed out by toothless meth heads and insane ne’er-do-wells and the truly demented. But things came to a head when I started working in a nearby city as a salesman at a business that sold and installed restaurant equipment, which in the beginning I thought was finally a well-deserved step up, but turned out to be another nightmare, just in different form, which that disappointment certainly contributed to the breakdown that followed.

The owner was given the business by his father, and in typical nepotistic fashion, was completely out of touch with the real world, having grown up wealthy and lived his entire adult life as a man with power, more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes, and a complete lack of accountability. His son worked alongside me and was even worse than his dad in a lot of ways; a real spoiled brat who acted as if he was above the world, untouchable, made of gold. This was also during an election year, and both father and son and all the sycophants who followed them religiously were all of a particular political persuasion wherein racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, bigotry, and a passionate love of violence, hate, and unwarranted vitriol were commonplace, and was only growing more and more aggressive as the year went on. The owners, along with some of their closest employees, who were Greek (a culture I typically adore), regularly said horrible things about people of color or women in their presencein Greek so they’d be none the wiser, and even worse in English once they had left the building. Even those who were clients. I mostly kept to myself while there, until through a conversation with the owner’s son I let slip a little too much about my own views, and was quickly labeled as an outsider, a believer in total equality and compassion, and thus, an enemy. From then on, I was constantly ridiculed and questioned and taunted by those in a higher position in an attempt to oust me through pressure and isolation. I was the only salesman who didn’t receive commissions, even from clients I brought in. The fact that we were living with family at the time who were also of a different and unsavory political and social and ethical mindset didn’t help matters, and I quickly fell into a deep depression, which at its height culminated in a breakdown wherein I began to have intense solipsistic thoughts that I couldn’t seem to get out of my head, becoming convinced that I was in some kind of simulation specifically designed to push me to the very edge, or quite possibly, beyond it (for the record, I no longer feel this way, and am in a better place, both physically and mentally), but with a family to provide for, had no way out for the longest time, as if my life were totally out of my control. That’s when I came up with the idea and began writing the first draft for Men of Men.

Ancillary Detail: I finally left that job once I had had enough, only to move to another position as assistant manager at a store that sold pools and hot tubs and equipment for both, where I worked with one other guy who was my manager and who ended up being a literal white saupremacist who had hired me because he thought I would be sympathetic to his abhorrent views—perhaps because of my shaved head and considerably fair complexion, I don’t know—and who also considered himself an intellectual of sorts (as absurd as that may sound) and wanted to debate constantly about the inferiority of African-Americans (and women from time to time), and where we had no air conditioning in the summer, and no heat in the winter and had to huddle around a ceramic heater wearing multiple layers to stay warm (again, in a retail environment, where I later learned it is actually illegal to make employees work under those conditions).

This was only a small part of what I had to deal with there, and in many ways, this short period was much worse than what I had just left from. Needless to say, I didn’t stick around there very long either. But that’s another story. But while all of this may sound pretty grim, I honestly think that these negative experiences gave me a certain perspective that I am truly thankful for. Would I like to have grown up with tons of money and a clear road to college and a family who could pay off my debts and a generally easier path? Sure. But I also have to acknowledge that in all my years on this planet, in almost every instance, the lack of understanding that one has of those with the least power seems directly proportionate to the amount of wealth and power they have. I’ve even known people who didn’t have much in the beginning catch a break, become wealthy, and in the process become monsters. Which begs the question, would I be any less of a writer, an artist, an activist, an empathic human being, if I did come into this world with all those comforts? Would I still have this understanding and deep sympathy and commitment to those who struggle most? Would I still be me?

What does your writing process look like?

The only hard rule I give myself is to try and get some bit of writing done every day, if only a little. I set a goal of 1000 words (on a good day I can do more like 2000 to 2500), though I don’t always reach that goal and some days settle for around 500. Then of course there are some bad days when I don’t get any real writing done at all. Though it is important to note that in my mind, I’m always writing. My characters and stories never leave my thoughts. They’re there when I wake, and it’s what I think about every night as I fall asleep. They’re like imaginary friends that follow me around everywhere I go. I feel totally off when I don’t have an ongoing project bouncing around in my head, like I’m not myself. “I could always live in my art but never in my life.” – Ingmar Bergman

I usually need silence to write, but occasionally I’ll put on a video of someone quietly and casually walking around in a city I’d like to visit one day, e.g. Venice, Rome, Kyoto, Nara, Amsterdam, Reykjavik, Bruges, etc., and will look up at the screen during moments of contemplation. It’s nice to have something nice to look at, and it seems to center me in some indescribable way, which in turn helps with the writing process, I believe. I’m also an unrelenting pacer who has been known to speak out loud to myself when I’m really in the heat of things. I have an office, but usually end up in the living room when the kids are at school, which is when I do the majority of my work. My mind tends to be somewhat anarchic and takes some time and work to tame. I’m usually working on multiple projects in multiple mediums at any given moment, and it takes a lot of effort to focus on one. My partner makes fun of me often for how I have hundreds of half-finished projects all over the place but rarely actually complete anything.

Are you currently working on any new projects?

As I’ve mentioned, I have dozens of projects that I hope to either get to or maybe even complete at some point, but for now have limited myself mostly to five, which I will list by order of importance: I am very close to finishing up a novel, which I fully intend on publishing sometime next year (2025) one way or another. I still haven’t decided if I will self-publish again or seek out a publisher. I don’t want to give away too much at this time, except to say that it is from the point of view of an eclectic, strong-willed, bright teenage girl and her small group of companions who live in a secluded West Virginian coal-mining town with a complex history and an interesting secret. But while the initial premise may seem somewhat familiar, as the story progresses, those familiar feelings start to fall away rather quickly, both for the characters and for the reader, as we enter into a strange adventure where nothing is as it seems, our inherent and learned expectations of both storytelling and the nature of the world serving only to lead us and our hero astray.

So, be on the lookout for Hum, available for your reading pleasure very soon. (I also have three other novels that are mapped out [and written] and ready to be tackled, as well as one that is complete but needs a serious rewrite/edit, but I’m actively avoiding working on them at the moment so as not to spread myself too thin.)I have written and recorded multiple albums worth of music over the years and have decided to narrow some of these songs down to an LP which will also be released sometime next year. I am in the process of finalizing a screenplay for an incredibly low budget film, which I aim to also direct and score. However, even though I intend for the film to be relatively cheap to shoot, I still expect it to be quite the struggle to pull it all together, and therefore cannot give any sort of estimated release date at this time. All I can say is to be on the lookout for Sumus, a film about loss, purpose, and what Camus called “the absurd”.

I intend on doing a podcast where I bring on guests and talk about everything from books to politics to music to philosophy to recent scientific discoveries and everything in between. I have designed and am in the process of building the prototype for a coffin-shaped sequential puzzle box where on the inside will be a unique handmaid doll in the form of a witch made by my wife, each with her own backstory and accessories, along with a few other surprises. Once complete, we intend to make a run of ten at first and begin a small business where we sell them, both as novelty items, and as works of art.

What books are on your TBR pile?
I’m currently reading Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon, which is the last book of his that I haven’t read. Then I have a short list that I plan to get to soon including Antkind by Charlie Kaufman (his only novel, having only written screenplays prior, but who is, in my opinion, one-of-if-not-the-greatest writer in mainstream Hollywood). Sula by Toni Morrison. The Penal Colony by Franz Kafka. Go Tell It On The Mountain by James Baldwin. Underworld by Don DeLillo. The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami.

And I would also like to finally finish Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy sometime in the near future, which I am a quarter of the way through.

Can you tell us a bit more about yourself beyond what’s in your author bio?

I live in central North Carolina, where I was also born, with my wife and two sons. I’ve been writing on some level consistently since I was a very young but have never taken any classes outside of high school, and instead have learned to write through a ton of reading, publicly available lectures, or advice from writers given either through printed materials or in interviews, and from there have applied my own views on art to my literary pursuits, keeping only what I deemed useful while discarding the rest, a process of trial and error that has taken me years to sort out.

I am also a musician who began learning and writing music when I was around ten and never stopped. In my teens I played in bands with people much older than me. Some of them were burnouts and shady customers who I had no business being around at that age, but some of them were quite disciplined and skilled, and I was lucky enough to pick up a lot, and to be able to just play with them, which is a fantastic way to get good at an instrument fast. But, in line with an ongoing theme you may have noticed, I eventually parted from my mentors and the traditional, overly duplicated approach to songwriting, and began to chart my own path, the product being more experimental and genre-defying than anyone around me seemed interested in being a part of, the desire for unorthodoxy being scarce in my neck of the woods. I have for decades now created works that have never been released.

As mentioned, my wife teases me all the time about all my unfinished projects, which are legion, but I decided around a couple of years ago that I was going to finally finish and produce some of my works if it kills me. Hence, The Firefly King, which is the first real piece of art I have fully and officially put into the world, but that will certainly not be the last. So, please, if you haven’t read it, pick up a copy today, and support an artist who has and continues to sacrifice an awful lot to create something personal and original and that is a pleasant departure from much of the contemporary literary world, and who plans to continue releasing multiple forms of artistic expression over the next several years. And if you have read it, and you enjoyed it, please, spread the word. As an independent artist that is committed to anti-conformist, honest, real human creation, and not someone who just looks at what’s trending and tries to copy it to make a quick dollar, which seems far too ubiquitous these days, I could use all the help I can get.

If you wish to learn more about me, or if you wish to go further and possibly contribute to my creative projects and help support me, here are some places you can do that: patreon.com/ThomasCTurbeville, facebook.com/ThomasCTurbeville, or you can email me at thomascturbeville@gmail.com. And thank you in advance, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, and with all possible gratitude.

• Thomas C. Turbeville

Thomas C Turbeville is an autodidactic American writer, artist, and musician. His style is characterized by the capacity for spanning from the avant-garde, post-modern, and deeply surreal, to the incredibly grounded, relatable, and human, exploring ideas about existence and purpose and ethics and all aspects of life and death and the human condition from a unique, secular perspective, rich with sociological and philosophical commentary, ranging from both the outlandishly funny to the incredibly sorrowful and introspective, and everything in between. He currently lives in North Carolina.