"WE'RE NOT REALLY SICK, WE'RE DOING OKAY": An Interview with Frank Hinton
Frank Hinton lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia and edits Metazen. No one is sure who Frank actually is. Frank was born in 1983.
Mike Young: Hi, Frank. Is it cold in Canada? It is cold in Massachusetts.
Frank Hinton: It’s cold. Roofs are collapsing. Bums are freezing to the concrete. People are still leaving them change. I feel like I’m supposed to say things that make Canada seem really, really cold. I saw you in the zoo reading video. It looks cold there but your jacket seems thick.
MY: That jacket makes me feel like I can barbecue in any weather. What is your favorite jacket? Have you ever named any inanimate objects like a piece of clothing or a cell phone?
FH: I don't like jackets. I have this long black coat I like. It has lots of pockets and a big collar. I've never really named things, but I do develop deep and illogical connections to things. I have all of these little things around my house that I have thought-conversations with. I get really sad when I kill bugs, sad to the point that I sometimes cry. It's terrible.
MY: I have one friend named Francesca, but you are firmly Frank. One time you said "I just think that when you’re writing and trying to share your stuff with others it’s nice to have some kind of glitz on you ... If I can explore my own loneliness and perversions and fears from behind this weird wall my writing feels truer. I can put myself out into the world as less of a definable person and more in terms of my own feelings and emotions. You get my personality without having to see the pimples on my ass." What do you think is the difference between being a "definable person" and "feelings and emotions?" If I were being fractious, I might say they are the same thing.
FH: They might be. I think what I am talking about is the sensation of not exactly existing and doing things in that space of non-definite reality. I’ve never met a single writer in person. I’ve never met a single one of my editors. I am always throwing out truths and half truths and misdirections. It’s kind of an experiment. Does that make sense? I feel like in my actual life when I get up from the computer and walk out into the world I’m constantly holding things in. I’m me, but I’m not the part of me that I’m most interested in/ fulfilled by because I’m only able to be that me as Frank Hinton, online. That’s not saying I’m not living authentically or that I’m depressed or anything, it’s just that there is a sort of hope and happiness that being not wholly defined in a community brings me. I like being with other writers.
Frank Hinton: It’s cold. Roofs are collapsing. Bums are freezing to the concrete. People are still leaving them change. I feel like I’m supposed to say things that make Canada seem really, really cold. I saw you in the zoo reading video. It looks cold there but your jacket seems thick.
MY: That jacket makes me feel like I can barbecue in any weather. What is your favorite jacket? Have you ever named any inanimate objects like a piece of clothing or a cell phone?
FH: I don't like jackets. I have this long black coat I like. It has lots of pockets and a big collar. I've never really named things, but I do develop deep and illogical connections to things. I have all of these little things around my house that I have thought-conversations with. I get really sad when I kill bugs, sad to the point that I sometimes cry. It's terrible.
MY: I have one friend named Francesca, but you are firmly Frank. One time you said "I just think that when you’re writing and trying to share your stuff with others it’s nice to have some kind of glitz on you ... If I can explore my own loneliness and perversions and fears from behind this weird wall my writing feels truer. I can put myself out into the world as less of a definable person and more in terms of my own feelings and emotions. You get my personality without having to see the pimples on my ass." What do you think is the difference between being a "definable person" and "feelings and emotions?" If I were being fractious, I might say they are the same thing.
FH: They might be. I think what I am talking about is the sensation of not exactly existing and doing things in that space of non-definite reality. I’ve never met a single writer in person. I’ve never met a single one of my editors. I am always throwing out truths and half truths and misdirections. It’s kind of an experiment. Does that make sense? I feel like in my actual life when I get up from the computer and walk out into the world I’m constantly holding things in. I’m me, but I’m not the part of me that I’m most interested in/ fulfilled by because I’m only able to be that me as Frank Hinton, online. That’s not saying I’m not living authentically or that I’m depressed or anything, it’s just that there is a sort of hope and happiness that being not wholly defined in a community brings me. I like being with other writers.
MY: Often I feel your stories take a narration of observing recollection—looking at photographs—or your characters experience life in the manner of observing things as future recollections. Which I guess sort of ties into some recurring phrases I've noticed, like "There is no difference between an object and an event." Can you say a little about all this? Can anyone eat a grilled cheese sandwich without actually eating the history of cheese?
FH: I think that there are a lot of things in writing that are analogous to meditation and the process of meditation. In a lot of ways meditation is basically watching. Some practitioners talk about ‘watching the watcher’. I sort of think of of meditating that way, as observing myself as an observer. Cutting out the consciousness. Everything to me is kind of process, a constant changing and I like to document that. But it feels like it is hard to do that. A lot of things I write about are things that I’ve tried to look at as processes within the moment.
MY: I want to ask a question that ties your concerns with metafiction into this thing we're supposed to talk about, which is youth on the internet. I feel like there is a social dynamic among "young writers on the internet" (I kind of hate all the implications inherent in that phrase, which is why the quotes) that encourages a "fiction" sharing mode that's actually very close to just a shit-shooting mode one would slip into with friends. Many stories I read often feel like people are writing stories to talk about their days with each other. People are not sitting around virtual campfires trying to huckster each other. It's more like couches via couches. Or I could be way off base. What do you think?
FH: It feels like there are moments and feelings I’m experiencing that others are also experiencing and writing about. I like to read about what people do in the non-dramatic times of their life. I like reading about people’s interactions with their environment and the common but sick thoughts that go through their head. I think things that people would call sick are okay and normal on the internet. I feel like we’re sharing our sick minds with one another and saying, ‘it’s okay, I’m sick too, we’re not really sick, we’re doing okay.’ It feels like it is the time to document the reality of being young and a writer and an internet user. The word ‘frontier’ keeps going through my head but I don’t know how to use it. This all sounds stupid.
FH: I think that there are a lot of things in writing that are analogous to meditation and the process of meditation. In a lot of ways meditation is basically watching. Some practitioners talk about ‘watching the watcher’. I sort of think of of meditating that way, as observing myself as an observer. Cutting out the consciousness. Everything to me is kind of process, a constant changing and I like to document that. But it feels like it is hard to do that. A lot of things I write about are things that I’ve tried to look at as processes within the moment.
MY: I want to ask a question that ties your concerns with metafiction into this thing we're supposed to talk about, which is youth on the internet. I feel like there is a social dynamic among "young writers on the internet" (I kind of hate all the implications inherent in that phrase, which is why the quotes) that encourages a "fiction" sharing mode that's actually very close to just a shit-shooting mode one would slip into with friends. Many stories I read often feel like people are writing stories to talk about their days with each other. People are not sitting around virtual campfires trying to huckster each other. It's more like couches via couches. Or I could be way off base. What do you think?
FH: It feels like there are moments and feelings I’m experiencing that others are also experiencing and writing about. I like to read about what people do in the non-dramatic times of their life. I like reading about people’s interactions with their environment and the common but sick thoughts that go through their head. I think things that people would call sick are okay and normal on the internet. I feel like we’re sharing our sick minds with one another and saying, ‘it’s okay, I’m sick too, we’re not really sick, we’re doing okay.’ It feels like it is the time to document the reality of being young and a writer and an internet user. The word ‘frontier’ keeps going through my head but I don’t know how to use it. This all sounds stupid.
MY: No, that is a really lucid way to frame it. It makes me think of the idea of young people all calling in sick, but to each other, and sick in the sense you're saying. What if you could get paid for all of this? Like you could get paid for clicking Like on links people post to their stories?
FH: I think everybody likes money. I would take money for things. I don't know what to say to this. Money might mess up the playfulness of it. Thinking about making money from how I play around with writers right now seems stupid. I would probably do a lot of dares for 20 bucks right now though.
MY: One line of yours I really like is "We feed him candle smoke and he tends not to be too haunting." That is beautiful. I like the "tends not" qualifier. If you could feed anything smoke, what would you feed and what kind of smoke would it be? Bonus points for somehow metafictionally inserting your Frank and Lili characters.
FH: Lili likes Deluxe Daddy vaporizer smoke. She’d inhale deep and call the ghost over and touch her lips to his and blow it right through his mouth and out the back of his head. Frank likes Djarum Blacks. He’d light it and try to look tough and cough it into the ghost’s face. Lili would probably find it funny and might give out a hand job later on.
MY: You have one story that ends with a raccoon in the darkness and another story that ends with the line "Let’s see what animals come to pick me apart and carry me away." One of the strongest traits of your work, for me, is its ability to observe and catalog humans concisely and sympathetically. What do you think of animals? What do you think of humans? If you could pick one human to replace with an animal version of that human, who would you pick, and what animal?
FH: I like animals more than humans. I like my dog more than any human. I sleep with my dog and cuddle with her and talk to her all the time. I get visibly upset when I read about animal cruelty. Where I live someone just got caught shooting puppies with staple-guns. I started swearing and cursing in front of everyone around me when I found out, going on about the death penalty. Humans are great too, but they difficult to cuddle with.
FH: I think everybody likes money. I would take money for things. I don't know what to say to this. Money might mess up the playfulness of it. Thinking about making money from how I play around with writers right now seems stupid. I would probably do a lot of dares for 20 bucks right now though.
MY: One line of yours I really like is "We feed him candle smoke and he tends not to be too haunting." That is beautiful. I like the "tends not" qualifier. If you could feed anything smoke, what would you feed and what kind of smoke would it be? Bonus points for somehow metafictionally inserting your Frank and Lili characters.
FH: Lili likes Deluxe Daddy vaporizer smoke. She’d inhale deep and call the ghost over and touch her lips to his and blow it right through his mouth and out the back of his head. Frank likes Djarum Blacks. He’d light it and try to look tough and cough it into the ghost’s face. Lili would probably find it funny and might give out a hand job later on.
MY: You have one story that ends with a raccoon in the darkness and another story that ends with the line "Let’s see what animals come to pick me apart and carry me away." One of the strongest traits of your work, for me, is its ability to observe and catalog humans concisely and sympathetically. What do you think of animals? What do you think of humans? If you could pick one human to replace with an animal version of that human, who would you pick, and what animal?
FH: I like animals more than humans. I like my dog more than any human. I sleep with my dog and cuddle with her and talk to her all the time. I get visibly upset when I read about animal cruelty. Where I live someone just got caught shooting puppies with staple-guns. I started swearing and cursing in front of everyone around me when I found out, going on about the death penalty. Humans are great too, but they difficult to cuddle with.
MY: I noticed you responded to almost all of your Facebook birthday wishes individually, fairly personalized. It reminded me of that scene in Synechdoche, New York where Caden has all those Post-It notes for all of his actors (http://www.filmbrain.com/filmbrain/WindowsLiveWriter/Synecdoche%20Mind.jpg), except your gesture felt more benevolent. Do you feel an obligation to your online identity? Do you feel like when you're online you're farming or tending to your online identity? Does it feel more like whack-a-mole, a computer RPG, a birthday candle manufacturing company, or a tiny window through which pigeons come with little gifts and you send them out with other gifts and you have to keep track of the pigeons by how neatly their wings have been groomed?
FH: I don’t know. The friends I have on Frank Hinton’s facebook are all writers. So when I’m on facebook I want to support everybody as much as I can. Everything I read now pretty much comes from the writers on my facebook account, so facebook is kind of like where I go to interact with people I think of as personal celebrities. I’m nice to people because I want to impress them because I’m for the most part in awe of them.
MY: Several of your stories have people eating semi-unsatisfying food together, but not really together together. What is your fondest meal memory? What is your worst?
FH: I remember having a MacDonald’s birthday party when I was a kid. And I got to have a hambuger and nuggets and all of my friends only got nuggets. It was amazing. I remember staring at her and watching her cry and smiling while I jammed nuggets into my mouth. We all had on those shitty shiny pointy birthday hats.
I had a terrible meal last week on my birthday. My friends took me out for breakfast and I kept going to the bathroom and throwing up because I’d done so much stuff the night before. I kept coming back and eating my meal and then throwing up. They got really upset because they were paying and I kept puking it up. I even ordered dessert. Rice pudding. I threw that up!
MY: Puking is the worst. I can't believe some people enjoy puking. I am going to Thailand sometime this Winter to visit my girlfriend, and I am really afraid that some mosquito is going to bite me and then I am going to puke up mosquitoes. People keep telling me that's not how it works, but I've seen the movies. Do you like puking? If so, why? If not, imagine you could re-engineer the biology of puking to be more soothing—how would you do it?
FH: I think I have a sound understanding and maybe even a sympathy for puking. I think that there are extreme moments when your body gives you a solid look at reality. Right during orgasm and immediately after puking there is a lot of clarity in perception. I think that's pretty cool. You go out, you party, you hit an extreme and you have sex... the reward is a moment of total awareness. You go out, you party, you hit an extreme and you puke; same reward. One feels a little better than the other but the good moments feel the same. Thailand is really fun. I was really sick when I was there and they gave me lots of great pharmaceuticals because I had money to buy them. Everything was double-tropical.
MY: If you could only eat one more meal before you died, but it had to be with a stranger, describe the stranger.
FH: I’d eat with a stranger that would readily screw/screw me good as soon as the meal was done. I think all I would think about before dying a known death would be if I’d made the most out of my last orgasm. I wouldn’t want it all to be a waste of energy.
FH: I don’t know. The friends I have on Frank Hinton’s facebook are all writers. So when I’m on facebook I want to support everybody as much as I can. Everything I read now pretty much comes from the writers on my facebook account, so facebook is kind of like where I go to interact with people I think of as personal celebrities. I’m nice to people because I want to impress them because I’m for the most part in awe of them.
MY: Several of your stories have people eating semi-unsatisfying food together, but not really together together. What is your fondest meal memory? What is your worst?
FH: I remember having a MacDonald’s birthday party when I was a kid. And I got to have a hambuger and nuggets and all of my friends only got nuggets. It was amazing. I remember staring at her and watching her cry and smiling while I jammed nuggets into my mouth. We all had on those shitty shiny pointy birthday hats.
I had a terrible meal last week on my birthday. My friends took me out for breakfast and I kept going to the bathroom and throwing up because I’d done so much stuff the night before. I kept coming back and eating my meal and then throwing up. They got really upset because they were paying and I kept puking it up. I even ordered dessert. Rice pudding. I threw that up!
MY: Puking is the worst. I can't believe some people enjoy puking. I am going to Thailand sometime this Winter to visit my girlfriend, and I am really afraid that some mosquito is going to bite me and then I am going to puke up mosquitoes. People keep telling me that's not how it works, but I've seen the movies. Do you like puking? If so, why? If not, imagine you could re-engineer the biology of puking to be more soothing—how would you do it?
FH: I think I have a sound understanding and maybe even a sympathy for puking. I think that there are extreme moments when your body gives you a solid look at reality. Right during orgasm and immediately after puking there is a lot of clarity in perception. I think that's pretty cool. You go out, you party, you hit an extreme and you have sex... the reward is a moment of total awareness. You go out, you party, you hit an extreme and you puke; same reward. One feels a little better than the other but the good moments feel the same. Thailand is really fun. I was really sick when I was there and they gave me lots of great pharmaceuticals because I had money to buy them. Everything was double-tropical.
MY: If you could only eat one more meal before you died, but it had to be with a stranger, describe the stranger.
FH: I’d eat with a stranger that would readily screw/screw me good as soon as the meal was done. I think all I would think about before dying a known death would be if I’d made the most out of my last orgasm. I wouldn’t want it all to be a waste of energy.
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