By Ramon Castillo
Upon discovering up-and-coming writer Fernando Flores’ new book, Death to the Bullshit Artists of South Texas Vol. 1, I became thrilled. Not only because he wrote about his former Texas hometown of McAllen, but because the short stories were all about failed underground musicians/artists.
Also, we’re Latino! Because of this kinship, I had to get in touch with him. We talked over the phone about fake obscure bands, fake obscure musicians, writing, and, of course, Tejas.
FF: What did you think of the stories?
RC: They’re great. Reminded me of when I used to live in my hometown of El Paso.
FF: The Swear Junction story is my El Paso story, by the way, so it is represented.
RC: I could see that. It had a hazy, desert, slowing down of time feel to it, just like El Paso. Let’s get this interview started, you were born in Mexico, then moved to the US when you were five. Did you learn Spanish first, or English and Spanish simultaneously?
FF: I learned Spanish first, and English when I entered kindergarten. My parents still live in South Texas and don’t speak English.
RC: What language do you think in?
FF: I would say I interpret life using the English Language. I don’t know in what language I think.
RC: You also write poetry. How does that influence your prose?
FF: My favorite writing is one that is unafraid to use language in the most liberated way possible. Writing poetry helps me in not being afraid, and this carries on to my prose, hopefully.
RC: Name three writers that changed you as a writer.
FF: Three writers that have changed me, not only in my work but also in life, are William Saroyan, Louis Ferdinand Celine, and J.L. Borges.
RC: Borges is one of my favorites, too. There are usually dualities with immigrant writers: bilingualism, having two places of origin, having two “cultural identities.” Do you ever think about that when being creative?
FF: Never.
RC: In your latest release, Death to the Bullshit Artists of South Texas Vol. 1, there are mediocre musicians/artists in every story who can’t follow through on their hopes and dreams. Is their plight due to location? The fatal border town with no hope?
FF: My intention in these stories was not to expose the failure of these artists, but to celebrate the moments in which they were great. Many great artists have come out of South Texas, a lot which remain obscure. The South Texas border, in my opinion, has great energy going around to harness and to be creative; however, the low exposure of the artists from down there leaves them mostly in obscurity.
RC: Reading about bands in your book is like discovering some 60’s Iggy Pop band before there was Iggy Pop. Are you always on the lookout for good, obscure music that doesn’t get the attention it deserves?
FF: Sadly, not as much as when I was younger. My love to find the great obscure band from 1965 has changed to trying to find a translation by unknown writers born during the Austro-Hungarian Empire, or Russian poets that wrote around 1912.
RC: Your band, The Austin Texas Music Band, is a klezmer/greek/turkish/country-western band. Does that creative outlet help inspire any of your literary projects?
FF: I play bass in this band and have to sometimes learn songs written in the 1300’s. It helps me in exploring landscapes and unexplored areas of my mind I never thought I’d get to know. I should say, also, I have no musical talent and that I am a fake musician.
RC: Does living in Austin give you a better perspective on writing about South Texas?
FF: I think living away from the place you spent your formative years, no matter where you go, helps in getting perspective of that place.
RC: Music/art is one of the backdrops in your book. How important is music/art in your personal life?
FF: My writing, since the very beginning, has been my self-therapy. I’ve been lucky enough to have had stories and poems picked up by big and small literary magazines along the way, and to get this book published by CCLaP, who really understand these stories. I have remained a very disciplined writer the last ten years only because it has helped me keep sane through the hard times and the madness. Without it I’d probably have become an alcoholic or a doomed customs broker.
RC: What’s your process like? Can you write on a whim? Or do the stars have to be aligned in an exact order?
FF: I read and try to write every day of the week. Even if it is just something small, to be used in a different way in the future, as a scribble in a notebook or note in the back of a book.
RC: At times your prose evokes a hallucinatory feeling, a sense of other worldliness, for lack of a better term. Is that the poet in you writing?
FF: What a great compliment, thanks. I credit this to the good ghosts that follow me around and use me as their conduit to scribble their mad stories/thoughts down, and in the way I’ve taught myself to listen to them.
RC: The doomed artists in your stories are paradoxically vindicated through their integrity or intentions. Is there a higher principle involved that they adhere to?
FF: The characters in these stories are like real people to me, so in writing, I felt more like a fake journalist than a writer of fiction. The texture of this world, to me, is like the world in fairy tales and the characters that inhabit them. I wanted them to be great and go up like fireworks in the dusk sky in a world unsympathetic to celebrations. I hope this comes through for the reader.
RC: Any advice for bullshit artists in other parts of the world?
FF: Keep working on your shit regardless of the rest of the world.
Fernando A. Flores’ short story collection, Death to the Bullshit Artists of South Texas Vol. 1, will be released on March 3rd in its full electronic and paper forms. http://www.cclapcenter.com/bsartists/
Ramon Castillo hails from the humble El Paso, TX. Ramon has been living in Chicago for the past four years. He passes the time binging on comics, B sci-fi movies, and avant-garde music. He lives on the Southwest Side of Chicago with his wife, Brenda Medina, and their son Adam.