You crazy kids with yer book trailers and yer Game Boys. Grrrr, I am old. *shakes fist*
We’re just about a month away from the launch date of Skunks Dance, so I wanted to post a wee update. One, there’s a book trailer, which is apparently all the rage in funkytown. My lawyers have assured me that funkytown, not being an actual town, can’t sue me for libel, so I can say anything I like is the rage there. Marrying goats: all the rage in funkytown.
In other news, the reviews have started to come in. Check this out:
“rollicking from the first, driven by quips and ostentatious characters … Skunks Dance is solid, sarcastic, and bombastic young adult fare”
“Karp imaginatively combines absurdism and adventure with snarky teenage sleuthing and a sense of the macabre in this ambitious sophomore effort … A colorful, exuberant romp with an appealing fortune-hunting duo.”
“I was getting myself into a truly addicting story … I had so much fun with this one.”
It seems webcomic artist Stan Stanley is on the wind lately. Last week a film crew made a short movie at my flat and the Sound Guy noticed two Stan sketches I have in my hallway from back in the day when she used to have art sales on LiveJournal. (Remember LiveJournal? Yeah.) It turns out Sound Guy (his new name forever) was a big fan of Boy Meets Boy, one of Stan’s earlier comics when her nom de plume was K. Sandra Fuhr. Since then I’ve been re-reading her autobiographical comic Stananigans! and rediscovered her two strips about wanting to be a regular where you can have “the usual” and the cupcake-related benefits thereof. I can appreciate the way people feel about having a regular haunt where everybody knows your name and I am wild with envy for anyone who gets free cupcakes, but I’m one of those people who finds minor social interactions awkward. I hate forgetting people’s names, though I do it all the time. I hate mixing two people up because they look a little bit alike. I feel terrible when a restaurant accidentally brings me the wrong food because their English isn’t very good and/or my accent is incomprehensible. Having a “usual” loads up an already weird interaction with a whole lot more baggage.
I love chit-chatting and swapping jokes with waiters and bartenders — I’m not being antisocial. But when someone asks if I want my usual, they’re making a big assumption and my first thought is, “YOUDON’T KNOWME.” I can’t help it — their assumption complicates everything. It should be simple: I buy something and they make the magic happen, not: they guess what I want, I evaluate whether or not I like the subset of the menu that’s been presented to me, and then justify why I might contradict them. I had a similar experience lately when I was dating someone who ordered for me at restaurants without asking what I wanted. It’s so patronizing.
Then there’s dealing with the fall-out. If it turns out I do want my usual, then suddenly I feel like one of those sad-acts who goes to McDonald’s every day for ten years to eat the exact same burger. I am predictable, I’m in a rut, and what’s worse it makes me picture the last six months of the exact same meal being pumped into me all at once like a human lard-balloon. And if I want something different today? It turns into a major production. “Woahhhh,” the server will say. “Don’t want an orange soda today, huh? What’s that about? Is it not good enough for you?” Maybe I feel like a cola today, all right? Didja ever think about that? Why is it suddenly a federal case?
As soon as anyone offers me “the usual”, it’s an instant guarantee that I’ll never go there again. I’d rather not deal with a whole bunch of expectations I never wanted. I guess if that’s antisocial then my punishment is being deprived of free cupcakes. This saddens me deeply, but then I feel happier knowing that people like Stan have earned them. Oh! And since I don’t know if they exist anywhere else, I thought I might end on a happy note and share those beautiful Stan sketches I have in my hallway. I really love her work, and if you haven’t seen them you should check out her new comics The Hazards of Love and Abernathy Square.
Ladies and gentlemen, my new novel Skunks Dance will be swaggering into a saloon near you this January! It’s been three and a half years since my last one, but it’s been time well spent slaving over the manuscript on long, lonely nights with nothing but a bottle of honey whiskey and a plush Dalek to keep me company.
Skunks Dance is a comedy about a long-lost treasure buried in the town of Skunks Dance and the two teenagers who are trying to dig it up. Adventure! Murder! Tutus! These are just some words!
You may be wondering what could have possessed me to write something that is part Western when I don’t have any great love for Westerns. That may be true, but I have an undying love for ruining Westerns, and you can’t ruin them any more than by making them in England in the 1960s. I mean just check out this old Doctor Who episode from 1966:
Come on now, that’s just good value, and I can vow that I did every bit as little research into the Old West as Doctor Who did in 1966.
Why did you choose to start writing YA novels? What about your voice really caters to that audience?
I got into YA novels when I realized you can get away with pretty much anything except being boring. If you write for adults you instantly get shelved as one genre or another, but YA is kind of its own genre. No one bats an eyelid when you write about radium-obsessed teenagers in antique flying machines, or Old West vamps with guns that shoot round corners, or accidentally assaulting people with candy cake-toppers. The only thing you’re not allowed to do is be boring, which suits me fine. When a book spends ten pages telling me how the protagonist cooks dinner and how everyone’s hair smells, I’m halfway ready to drop-kick the thing into the street.
Writing effective humor is often difficult. What do you find to be the most effective way you create humor in your writing?
You’ll never make everyone laugh, and if you do then it won’t be interesting writing. There are never any hard rules for writing jokes, but I love wit and I think it’s important to take the reader by surprise. If the reader can guess the punch-line before it’s delivered, the joke is probably going to fall flat. Look at something like Rick and Morty — it refers heavily to popular science fiction, but even in plots we’ve seen before we never know what the hell’s going to happen next. Or what Rick’s going to say. Or even the correct use of the dinglebop end of a plumbus.
Both Radium Baby and Skunks Dance involve an adventurous search. What is it that you love about the classic adventure search with a twist?
You have to be able to bring together characters who don’t like each other — that’s where you get your drama. There are lots of ways of doing that, but I like a search because it lets you take your characters to the moon and back, as long as you bring it round to the MacGuffin in the end. It also gives the novel a clear goal, even if you never get there or if the goal was illusory all along. Having done two of them now I’ll probably do something different for the next novel. A torrid love story between an ostrich and a potato. Or something.