FEATURED AUTHOR: GRAYDON MILLER

ABOUT THE BOOK

South of the border there is love and loss, revenge, betrayal and mystery. “International Bridge” follows a young, expecting Central American couple who travel in hopes of crossing into the United States. Love joins smuggling for a white-knuckle flight in the title story, “The Havana Brotherhood.” These eleven tales presented by the author of the acclaimed thriller, Hostages of Veracruz, include three stories now published for the first time in English — the funny and playful “Rivals,” the brooding “Nostalgia for Death” and “American Paranoia,” a serpentine, multi-layered spy tale. This collection showcases the heartbreak and humor, unsurpassed craftsmanship, and drama that reveal Miller as a master of the short story.

INTERVIEW WITH GRAYDON MILLER

Welcome back to A Blue Million Books, Grady. The Havana Brotherhood shows you in a new light as author of short stories. How did this book come about?
For years I wanted to gather all these Mexican-themed stories into one book. Then the success of my thriller, set in Veracruz, got me into action. From the material at hand, mostly written during the nine years I lived in Mexico, I weeded out all stories unrelated to Latin America. Honestly, there wasn’t much left — certainly not the size book I’d dreamed of, and it would give my daughter yet another chance to yap, “Dad, you should write longer books.” I hunkered down to translate three remaining stories from my Mexico period from Spanish into English.

What was that like?
Suspenseful. I didn’t know where the other two stories were. I only had in my hands a copy of one story that had been published in a Sunday supplement in Guadalajara. The copy was falling apart and you couldn’t read the words anymore in some places. As I finished translating “Rivals,” another story reappeared from my files, and so on, till I had the three stories. I also added a long story about a Chicano detective who works in Mexico. When all the stories all came together, there was a kind of magic, like the golem coming to life. The stories bounce off each other in amazing ways I could never have planned, and Cuba emerges as a leitmotiv woven throughout, this symbol of mystery and danger. A couple of these Spanish stories had been real orphans, estranged from me. When I started sharing the English versions with another reader, her enthusiasm brought the stories, and me with them, back to life.

The cherry on top was my daughter holding a proof copy, flipping through the pages and pronouncing “187 pages.” And, oh boy, when an agent’s reader declared it a cohesive collection, I was walking on clouds.

I'll bet! What most pleases you about the response to this book?
That it is going to be taught in two Community College English classes. If students read and like these stories they’ll be story readers for life — that’s an exciting prospect. Also, there’s a heavy responsibility in kindling a love of the short story. Hemingway, de Maupassant, and Juan Rulfo are depending on me.

The stories may also stir up controversies as well as entertain. One story reverses the stereotype of the lawless immigrant in the U.S. and replaces it with a gringo con-artist who plies his trade in Mexico. A lot of the stories contrast U.S. and Latin culture and attitudes. These can clash painfully in a two-culture relationship. In the title story, about cigar smuggling, the contrast is implied. Harry Stockton is your typical super conscientious law-abiding guy thrust into crime for the first time in his life. In the U.S. we’re conditioned to obey the law in the tiniest details; in Mexico there’s a no-seatbelts attitude toward life. Friends could egg you on to join them blindfolded on a tightrope and, if you show reluctance, the standard response is “No pasa nada.” Nothing will happen. And the funny thing, they’re usually right.

How does it feel to translate your own stories?
What I’m doing is recreating. Since I’m the author, there’s no worries about being faithful. To me, translation is re-creation. Re-creation is another rewrite. And rewriting, for sure, is my favorite part of writing. The story is in place, I know pretty much who my characters are and and what they’re doing. The theme is there. Each new draft is a baby step toward something I like better. I learned this especially with my comical writings. The ugly duckling became a swan with elbow grease, pencil lead and toner. And lots of walks; I take lots of walks to sort things out.

How do you decide whether an idea is for a novel or a short story?
The short story aims for perfection and unity of effect. Everything is related, there are no stray details whatsoever. As Capote said, "a short story should be perfect like an orange." A novel is something bigger than I am, that’s going to take some research and growing. The Hostages of Veracruz was meant to be a short story, you know, but it had a life of its own. It fits the definition of a novel, though I didn’t know it at the time.

What's your theory about a short story?
It must have a secret behind it that one will never know. Take “Nostalgia for Death.” It seems to be about a bellboy wrongly accused of shooting a policeman, but that is not its secret. Great art can be born from something very trivial or shameful and yet it fuses to transmit emotion in a way that is meaningful to any reader.

You’re pulling a fast one, Graydon. What’s the secret behind “Nostalgia for Death”?
Fear of terminal disease.

What short-story collections have inspired you?
Dubliners by James Joyce is a model for a cohesive collection. I can go back and read “The Dead,” again and again. And there’s A Tree of Night by Truman Capote. Every time I have read it,a different story will stick out, most recently “Master Misery.” It’s really a mini-novel. Silvio Martínez Palau’s Made in U.S.A., left a lasting impression on me. It’s a satirical and deadly serious ride on the roller coaster that is American life.

Any others?
The stories of Chekhov which I discovered in Mexico in Spanish translation, Jorge Luis Borges in general, and Raymond Carver. A lot of people think I don’t like Carver because of views expressed in a story I wrote, “A Confession.” The truth is I’m fond Mr. Carver’s stories, and as I get older they gain only depth, humor and compassion. I also admire two contemporary collections: S.R. Mallery’s Tales to Count On; Richard Lange's Dead Boys is not to be missed.

Did you develop any new marketing or editorial techniques in putting together the Havana Brotherhood?
The release of the thriller The Hostages of Veracruz last summer spawned the idea for the story collection. I gave myself until May of 2015 to prepare the manuscript, emulating the long calendar of traditional publishers. This provided plenty of time and patience to lavish on the editing. I am particularly grateful to Patricio Maya and Brenda Buttner. They made the quality of book possible; they also gave me the best year of my life.

Brenda’s enthusiasm for the stories buoyed my spirits. Patricio pushed me to the last mile, and beyond with close reading, that bordered on the premonitory. Here I was weeding out the “dumb” straight quotes, ready to wrap it all up, and he gave me a batch of comments that cast me back into full creative mode. Faulkner said, “Try to be better than yourself.” That’s what Brenda and Patricio helped me achieve in the course of assembling The Havana Brotherhood.

And as far as marketing techniques: as editing progressed, I got these Mexico stories back into circulation with magazine editors. I’m pleased to say that “Poison Pen” has a slot in an upcoming issue of Ellery Queen.

That's fantastic! What are your thoughts about traditional publishing?
Gosh, it has its place. And yet I really think the traditional world seriously underestimates the indie world. The tables were already turned before anybody was looking. Self-publishers are way ahead in the game, empowered by contacts with fellow authors, feeling the joy of helping other talents to be recognized, and are unable now to tolerate the vagaries of the traditional publishing world. You know what I told Patricio Maya, the first author I published beside myself, “I want to give you what nobody ever gave me.” At the end of several months, there was his book of brilliant essays, “Walking Around with Fante and Bukowski.” And now he can go on to the next book and the next . . .

When you start receiving recognition, it feeds such a sense of purpose, and you can’t go back. Something S.R. Mallery said, it’s “important to get one's work out there so we're not living in a vacuum, eating ourselves alive with self doubt!”

Sure, I respect what traditional publishers do, and they do it well. They will have a place; both will have a place. And the more successful self-publishers will evolve into traditionals. It is ironic but true.

How long have you been a writer?
As long as I can remember.

How often do you tweet?
Sorry about that, Amy. What was the question? I just had to tweet that I’m being interviewed by Amy Metz.

Sweet! :) How often do you tweet?
Like to do it often, in real time. I often fall short and suffer twitter guilt. Of course I still tweet in my head all the time.

Who would you want to narrate a film about your life?
John Huston. There’s that infectious voice with a brogue, and I can hear him saying, “Graydon Miller grew up in this white ranch-style house of Usher on the corner of Beach and Blackburn in Watsonville, California in the pancreas of Steinbeck Country.” Huston’s own life had a small role in sparking my own fascination with Mexico, starting in my teens. He had more than passing acquaintance with Mexico; as a young man was in the Mexican Calvary, later he put Puerto Vallarta on the map in Night of the Iguana, and of course he directed Treasure of the Sierra Madre in Mexico. Through that movie I knew Mexico before I ever set foot there.

If you had a swear jar, would it be full?
Hell yeah. I grew up very overprotected, I would say almost a prude, and avoided curse words like the plague. It was a real shock in third grade when my friend John Lintz taught me a word he overheard his mom, Judy, saying, and I innocently told my mom, proud of my acquisition of one of the cleanest and most satisfying words I’ve ever learned. She doused all my enthusiasm for saying ‘shit.’ But since returning from Mexico in 2001, I have become American. I grew up here, of course, but didn’t become fully American till my return to this country after nine years away. I hold that it takes a person ten years to become American, and part of the process is becoming very fluent in curses. Some newcomers pick it up right away. I still cringe at how my profanity may sound to my more genteel friends, and the majority of curses remain spoken inside my head still. My dad was terrible in the swearing department, the way he’d say “excuse my French” after going all profane. It was painful to listen to; I always wanted to laugh.

Do you spend more on clothes or food?
Honestly, more on clothes than food. I prefer shirts by Turnbull and Asser. That’s my secret nobody would suspect. Those shirts are like Havana cigars, they cost plenty.

What is the most daring thing you’ve done?
This is something I planned to take to my grave. Then my daughter went to Mexico this summer and her grandmother blabbed. My daughter recognized that it had not been easy what I had done. I ferried a family member without papers across the border. I was aware of the consequences having already written my short story “International Bridge,” the one that opens The Havana Brotherhood. I knew there would be hell to pay — fines, car impounded — if I got caught.

It sounds like there’s another story in there?

It would not be nice to go back there yet. No. But there is one more Mexico story on its way. I find at the end of every big creation there’s always a bonus story. As Havana Brotherhood was winding down, I went to a play in Los Angeles, and the play’s oppressive atmosphere of people wanting to flee an apartment and being trapped with a nasty visitor who won’t shut up triggered a memory so acute from when we were in Guadalajara. So there is one more story from that period that I’m working on now.

What inspires your stories?
Emotion. And if it goes good, it all clicks together in a flash like a joke. Mismatched ideas mesh, and there’s even a punchline, the end provided. Then I sweat it out. Also, it’s worth mentioning another type of inspiration. A single moment can inspire a story. In Beverly Hills this week I saw an automatic sprinkling system watering Astroturf. There’s a moment that is already looking for a story. In “Nostalgia for Death” there were all these types in inspiration working. I always had in mind the rusty stains on the ceilings in the finest houses of Guadalajara; there was always this irritating touch of disrepair. On some level the stains symbolized a decadence I wanted to explore.

Tell me about Guadalajara?
It figures in many of The Havana Brotherhood stories. I’ve called it my Paris, a perfect place to grow as a person and grow art. It’s got the major requisites of low rent and high saturation of culture. And I got to know at all, from the morgue to the zona roja, the red-light district, to the grand houses. And of course the cafes. People there laugh at me for saying Guadalajara is Paris, because I guess Paris is always something “out there.” I do know when I go to Paris and they ask what I think of their city I will say, “Paris is my Guadalajara.”


Lightning round:
Cake or frosting? Frosting
Tequila or bourbon? Tequila
Chevy Chase or Bill Murray? Bill Murray, hands down.
Laptop or desktop? Desktop
Emailing or texting? Postcards
Indoors or outdoors? Indoors.
Tea: sweet or unsweet? Depends.
Plane, train, or automobile? Train for sure.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Graydon Miller grew up in Watsonville, California in the heart of Steinbeck country. He attended local schools and later went to Columbia University in New York. In 1983 he moved to Los Angeles to study cinema, but discovered literature instead at T.C. Boyle’s fiction writing workshop. At U.S.C. Miller was awarded the Ed Moses Short Story Prize. He lived in Mexico for nine years, where he enjoyed his first literary success with the publication of Un invierno en el infierno (A Winter in Hell). His other works include the organ-trafficking thriller, The Hostages of Veracruz (on Amazon) and a screenplay based on the notorious Black Widow murder case, which he covered as a reporter in Mexico. Graydon Miller lives in Hollywood.

Connect with Graydon:
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Twitter  |  Goodreads 

BOOKS BY GRAYDON MILLER

Featured Author: Graydon Miller

ABOUT THE BOOK

What is happening to the indigenous children in Veracruz?

Nobody knows why they are disappearing, and nobody really cares. Then Peter Vandervoort, a foreigner living in Mexico, snaps a picture of the wrong man in the wrong place and stumbles into a nightmare. He alone will uncover the horrifying truth about what’s happening to the children. When he meets a sex-starved French journalist trying to salvage her career, it’s hate at first sight. But each holds a piece of the puzzle that will save the children and ignite a passion as steamy as it is volatile . 
. . Open this book and you, too, will become a Hostage of Veracruz.

INTERVIEW WITH GRAYDON MILLER


Grady, what’s the story behind the title Hostages of Veracruz?
The story behind the title of my thriller is so convoluted. The Hostages of Veracruz was the title of the novel, originally written when I was living in Mexico in the 90s. When I translated it into English and printed a limited edition when self-publishing was truly self-publishing, I retitled it Outsourcing. It seemed a great American title in 2003. Fast forward to 2014: The Hostages of Veracruz was finally published in paperback.

This is your first thriller?
Yes, it is. And my lifelong obsession with Hitchcock has finally borne fruit. I was tickled pink by one of the reviews on Amazon. It singled out my “Hitchcockian approach to setting up a scene using luscious descriptions then suddenly, gently, inserting an unexpected word or phrase that slams the reader into a ‘Oh, God-what’s-gonna-happen-next? Direction....” S.R. Mallery said that.

That's a great review. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received about your writing?
The best complement about Hostages of Veracruz was “It was so disturbing, I had to put it down,” closely followed by this remark, “I was twenty pages into it before I realized my dinner was burning.”

You established yourself as a comic writer. Comments like these must be something new for you.
Amy, that’s for sure. After publishing a terrifying page turner, I’ve found there’s a certain joy in torturing readers. My preferred form or torture remains tickling.

Mine too. How did you create the plot for this book?
Bless my first wife. I was going off to teach an English class at the University of Guadalajara and left her with this short story that had a boffo, Hitchcock/Rod Sterling dark twist at the end. When I got home from my class, I expected to be showered with praise. My wife said, "There’s not enough here; there has to be more." That started me off on a long path, three more years, and things happened along the way. Like someone broke into our house and ripped off my printer. Eventually the short story turned into a novella.

How did you meet your wife? Was it love at first sight?
Downtown Guadalajara, waiting tables at her grandmother’s restaurant during Easter break. We didn’t begin dating till four years later. We kept running into each other. It was love at third sight.

Is your book based on real events?
The seed for the story came from an exposé I read the 90s in the Mexican news magazine Proceso. The story about organ trafficking was compelling but inconclusive. Here I saw this hairline crack in reality to insert fiction, which often can be the only route to the truth in certain regions. Like Latin America, Russia, and Los Angeles. In the course of writing, Hostages of Veracruz, I questioned a lot of doctors and health officials in Mexico. The bit about the boy who is dumped back in his village with corneas removed and twenty dollars in his pocket — that comes right out of my research. These intelligent people were evenly divided about whether the traffic existed. Sadly, since the 90s, the traffic may exist, but in a form much crasser than the villain of my story devised.

Wow. Are you like any of your characters?
Like Peter Vandervoort, a sort of wastrel with the soul of an artist. A strong woman brings out the hero in him. Funny how with Hostages of Veracruz, the reviewers detect what a word artist I am. Peter and I are vindicated.

How many years did you live in Mexico?
Like a good sitcom — Everybody Loves Raymond; Seinfeld — I lived in Mexico for nine years.

It must have affected your outlook.
Yes, I definitely have an émigré outlook. I see it with the vision of an outsider and insider. I know why the Germans love Death Valley and know that people in Italy pine to come to Hollywood, where I live.

So, after living abroad, where is home for you, Graydon?
Where I am. The heart can be many places, of course. I’d like to have a magical room with a work table and then when I open the door, I can step out to where the heart has been. Havana or Sun Valley or Watsonville or Guadalajara.

Where did you grow up?
In Watsonville, California. A farming town many have driven through, but few have stopped.

If you had an extra $100 a week to spend on yourself, what would you buy?
I’d get some cigars, after banking ten dollars. It’s the Scottish in me.


What’s the most valuable thing you’ve learned?
Make as many mistakes as I can and evaluate them. Gosh, I wish somebody had taught me that as a kid or a teen. It’s what I talk about when I visit schools now and give talks. Risking new things and making mistakes gladly — it’s the quickest way to learn — and having fun. It’s very important to be able to enjoy yourself.

I make a lot of mistakes, few of them gladly, but you're right, they are learning experiences. You always seem to be having a very good time. What’s your secret?
To have a good time, give a good time.

What do you love about where you live?
I’m here in the middle of Hollywood in a cottage courtyard. And I’m deepest house in from the sidewalk. My first weekend here the quiet was deafening. There are doves cooing and an occasional possum and you can hear the clink of spoons from neighboring houses.



It sounds wonderful. Right now I can hear a lawn mower. Have you been in any natural disasters?
I have been in a man-made disaster, April 22, Guadalajara Mexico, 1992. Gasoline that had seeped into the street drains blew up eight kilometers of streets. SUVs catapulted onto the roofs of houses. A gymnasium became a morgue. Herds of people panicked and ran through the main streets, away from the explosion zone. I was there the night before. The zone smelled like gas at the pump. We thought it was because subway construction was going on. The why of the disaster has never been adequately answered: corruption, negligence, an accident, who knows? I know one thing: when I smell gas or just suspect it now I call the gas company.

Excellent advice. Do you have another job outside of writing?
I manage Star Wash in West Hollywood. It’s quite a job. Because I am a well-known figure in the neighborhood, I feel a lot like Floyd the barber on Andy Griffith, who never gave a haircut. There’s a lot of gabbing at the laundromat and not much mopping.

What would you like people to say about you after you die?
There was a class act who died laughing with his boots on. There’d be no finer tribute to my life. Death is the great MacGuffin. Baruch Spinoza said “A free man thinks of death least of all things; and his wisdom is a meditation not of death but of life.” I love that.

Who are your favorite authors?

Oooh, that’s a tough one. There are so many. If I had to say, my favorite author is Graydon Miller.

And me of course, right? What are you currently reading?
S.R. Mallery’s Tales to Count On, in Kindle. I’m enjoying myself immensely and Mallery has the Hitchcock touch, especially a talent for the final twist of the knife found in the Hitchcock magazine stories. I give equal weight to the man’s films as an influence and also his magazine stories. I was eating up those devious stories by the end of high school that combine elements dark, desperate and humorous. So many great authors, Ed Hoch, Henry Slesar, Ray Bradbury, Donald Westlake.

Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
Truly anywhere. In the car and in a café, though the café is getting harder as I am becoming more known. My house is a good place. Sometimes at my house when I’m really into it, to stretch my body and get off the chair I find myself on my knees before the computer. There may be something symbolic in that as well. Larry Gelbart, the TV comedy writer, planted the seed in me that the wee small hours are a good time to write. There’s one novel I nicknamed my “3 a.m. novel.” I switch my routine as circumstances change, and through the madness always manage to find a metabolism.

Where is your favorite library, and what do you love about it?
Beverly Hills Public Library. It’s a church for books, attended by students, indigents and millionaires alike. It’s big enough you can find about anything that pops into your head and you can wander around and make random discoveries. Second favorite is the new library in my hometown. It’s a beauty and a lifeline for submitting my humor pieces. I can’t tell you what a cruel irony it was during the lean years when the city hall and library shut down for three weeks during Christmas. These are happier times when I visit Watsonville.

You can be any fictional character for one day. Who would you be?
Vito Corleone from the book, rather than the movie. I know this man, his cult of family and loyalty to friends. The extortion and the other stuff is beside the point.

Very interesting choice. I might ask who's the first person you would kill as Vito, but I won't put you on the spot. What’s the worst thing someone has said about your writing?
I sent my first book of short stories to Gary Fisketjon, an editor. He sent back a letter saying essentially he wasn’t interested in this or my future body of work.

Ouch. But you showed him! Are you happy with your decision to self-publish?
Delighted to be a publishing maverick. Period. Just as there’s room for paperbacks and Kindle books, there’s room for self-publishing and traditional fear-based publishing. We self-publishers are the brave and the fearless. I already see a world where there’s no more stigma attached to being self-published than being a self-made millionaire.

Amen! I like that world. What are you working on now?
Being the best Graydon Miller in the world.

Book trailer

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Graydon Miller grew up in the heart of Steinbeck Country on the Central California coast. More Bombeck than Steinbeck, Graydon Miller has been compared to T.C. Boyle, Joel Stein, and Voltaire. He briefly attended Columbia University in New York and came to Los Angeles to study filmmaking, but discovered literature instead, in T.C. Boyle’s fiction writing workshop at USC. In addition to A Very Grady Christmas, he has written the funny diet book, Lighten Up Now: The Grady Diet and the humor collection, Late Bloomer. His humor column, "Miller Time," appears weekly in The Canyon News.

Connect with Grady:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  

Other books by Grady Miller