JP Vallières Interview

In 71 BC, around 6000 slaves were crucified along the Appian Way, a 120-mile stretch leading to Rome, each body no greater than 60 yards from another. The end of a revolt, they dangled like decorations in the open air, a mass suffocation.

In the imagined time of JP Vallières’ The Ketchup Factory, one volunteers for this fate, the greatest honor, a death catering to the cravings of others. All it took was 2000 years of conditioning.

JP presents his world with clear prose, the direct and confident writing found in his short story “Heaven” (if you like that story, there is much to love here). My copy of The Ketchup Factory arrived signed by the author with an amazing sketch tucked in its pages.

Check out our conversation on dystopia, religion, and writing 100 novels.

Get The Ketchup Factory from Amazon.

The Ketchup Factory presents a world where people are conditioned to sacrifice themselves—closer to Brave New World than 1984—a personal dystopia/corporate utopia. There, to die on a cross and have your blood harvested is the greatest good. What books most influenced the creation of this one? Were you conscious of trying to subvert or avoid certain dystopian tropes?

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been conscious of anything apart from story and character when I write novels. Although, when I’m not writing I’m constantly wondering and hoping for certain things to happen. With The Ketchup Factory I definitely kept waiting for some underground resistance to emerge. Isn’t that what HAS to happen in a story that is exposing an unjust establishment? But every time I sat down to write, the characters and story took me elsewhere. I guess I don’t know how else to write. I sit, crack open the laptop, and usually have absolutely nothing. And then, like magic, an energy swoops in and takes over.

With this approach there is no known influence until someone tells me there’s an influence, which often I agree with. Shirley Jackson’s works come to mind before anyone else. Also, Saïd Sayrafiezadeh. With Jackson there’s always something lurking underneath a well-groomed, polished surface. The world of Sayrafiezadeh’s stories are off-kilter from our own, skewed in a way that highlights corporate corruption and societal group-thinks. Both of these authors have one thing in common: their exploration of unhealthy societies, which cater to the insecurities and fears of its stunted citizens.

A distinct aspect of the story is the creeping infantilization of its world, manifesting in how the characters talk (and what they don’t talk about), the things they consume (juice boxes and bowls of candy), and the names of corporate entities (Big Walmart). Why did you include this angle? Do you already see this happening now in the real world as a smaller number of monopolies take control of our lives?

Okay, turns out I was conscious about one thing while writing! No cursing allowed. I don’t know if the world of The Ketchup Factory doesn’t have curse words or the people simply don’t choose to use them. My guess is the latter. It’s like the teacher’s aids making sure the kids behave appropriately while they run around on the playground. Keep the kids busy, distracted, while the real business gets done behind the scenes. Give them snacks, give them cheap plastic toys, give them something shiny to look at to pass the time.

I included this infantilization because the book was exploring it, and well, I guess it is something that I think about too. Maybe it has something to do with the loss of imagination?

Maybe this is an example of my narrative mind churning: When we lose our imaginations, we become stunted, fearful, and in extreme cases live in a permanent state of paranoia. When people start to sense they are losing control, they become frightened, and when they are frightened for long enough, they turn to anyone that promises a solution. Push them further and they could be convinced to do harmful things to themselves as long as they believe they are contributing to the Greater Good.

Concerning the inclusion of corporate entities: It’s rare to read stories that have characters working at places like Walmart, McDonald’s, or Costco. Too often I find myself reading into the lives of ex-grad students working part-time at the local nonprofit, buying groceries at the co-op … shopping at thrift stores … Why aren’t there more books with characters who work real jobs?

Yeah, even if the language of a piece draws me in, I’ve always had difficulty relating to a certain class of characters. In The Ketchup Factory, the character Benji’s old job is screwing caps on ketchup bottles. But what seems mundane changes when we learn that the condiment is created with human blood. Was there a religious reason for making crucifixion the collection method? I’m also thinking of your piece Heaven, published in Ligeia, in which Jesus is killed again by those rediscovering morality in the afterlife.

Blood represents two things in America: death and salvation. You could also say it’s the horror writer’s most coveted natural resource. I think Twain said that or was it Bolaño? I get those two mixed up.

I grew up evangelical with Catholic grandparents. Blood is everywhere in these two traditions! Blood was spoken of casually every day. We sang songs full of blood in vacation bible school. Crucifixes hung on our walls, reminding us that our God demanded blood to free us from eternal hellfire.

My parents moved my sisters and I to a rural section of northern New York when I was in the eighth grade. The church we attended was different than any other church in the history of the world. We helped each other out, especially during the harsh north country winters. I don’t recall anyone judging or shaming anyone else. I don’t recall my pastor talking much about sin. He mainly told stories about his Mennonite upbringing on the farm. He spoke so softly he often lulled us into daydreams and at times light slumbers.

The story Heaven partly takes on the idea of sin, I think. I’m no theologian, but if God sent his only son to be crucified for the world’s sins then why would anyone ever have to consider sin again?

Heaven was also the turning point for me. Before Heaven I had a bad habit of trying to write good stories. Stories that would be able to get published. Stories my fellow MFA classmates and teachers would love. There was about two weeks when I didn’t write a word. I was waiting for that short story “spark” to spur me on, but it just wasn’t happening. So, I sat down and said to myself, I’m going to write as if I didn’t care about anyone else. No one exists. And there’s nothing to lose. Twenty minutes later Heaven was on the page. I remember there was a ton of playful energy, like my fingers were on fire. But once finished I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t look it over. I figured it was a fun exercise, but not something I could actually depend on to write stories people would care to read. It felt too easy. Don’t real writers make valiant efforts (a thousand rewrites) to make one perfect sentence?

A few days later I looked at the story and impulsively (no revisions made) emailed it to a friend. He praised it, which definitely was not his normal response. There were no suggestions made to improve it. Heaven was exactly what it was supposed to be on the first try. Since then I’ve written everything just like I wrote Heaven: sit down and write whatever it is that’s there. No need for sparks, ideas, or direction.

Waiting for the spark is a good way to wait and wait. So, do you revise at all these days? For me, I try to write the first draft the way you describe—without hesitation—and then let it sit before rediscovering the work, uncovering connections, removing false starts. And, since we’re on a craft topic, what is the best and what is the worst writing advice you’ve received?

I’ve revised novels lighter and lighter with each book. I love to delete. Often, there’s something to remove, but not a lot to add. Just because something happens in the story doesn’t mean it needs to be on the page. This is something I have to constantly remind myself.

Once the first 10k words are set the characters are defined and the momentum has been firmly placed.

I would say a big breakthrough was discovering novel structure. So, you have your characters, your following the story, and you understand what the structure of the novel is; then there’s really nothing else to do but sit and fill in the empty space. There’s nothing to think about.

Stephen King pretty much structures all his books the same way. I think this is a huge advantage. He doesn’t have to take time and energy to find the structure for his latest book, it’s already set. I believe it was my third novel where my own natural structure clicked into gear, and I have kept it the same ever since.

Best writing advice came from my advisor in my MFA program at Eastern Washington University, Greg Spatz. He said, “Writing doesn’t drain the reserves, it fills them up.” What he meant was that when you write you don’t lose something, you gain. Some people think that you may only have a limited number of books in you. I think it was Jonathan Franzen who said authors only have four good books in them. I’m left to assume Franzen doesn’t read very widely.

The Spatz formula is:

I Write Now I have more to write.

Not

I Write Now I have less to write.

It’s a way to break away from restrictions the MFA/Literary world at times places on its genre.

There’s so much bad writing advice. But the one I hate the most is when a teacher told us students to write a short story and don’t look at it for a year. I was like, “No wonder this guy’s only written two books in twenty years.”

There’s a lot of no fun happening in the writing process encouraged by some teachers. Write a short story and know it’s never right on the first draft. Then rewrite it ten times over until it’s something completely different. And then go brag to everyone about how hard you worked on your two-thousand-word short story that took six months to write. This approach is a big reason why students stop writing. But worse than that so often the first draft is the better draft. I can’t tell you how many times I read a friend’s first draft and then they send me a revision and completely ruin it. They tell me someone else (usually a teacher) told them to take the story this way or that way, and I’m like, No, the story was right the first time.

I wonder if some teachers aim to make you as paranoid as possible, kind of like how Pentecostal Pastors want you to believe the devil is lurking around every corner. It’s an unhealthy way to live and will eventually bring either insanity if not a clean break from that oppressive religion.

Though there isn’t an organized resistance in The Ketchup Factory, at least one of the characters—Benji—seems to recognize what is happening. One might interpret his arc as a mental break, but he also develops, as you mentioned before, a stronger imagination. You’ve been open in the past (with Shenandoah) about your mental health struggles. How much of this book is an exploration of those issues?

I found myself running into an exploration of schizophrenia pretty early on when writing The Ketchup Factory. This is the first novel I ever committed to, written in 2019. I have a backlog of seven other novels and two story collections, all of them dealing very clearly with this condition; both in the benefits and torments. The novel I’m currently writing doesn’t seem to be handling the schizophrenic as directly as prior works, but it’s still pretty early on. My hope is that I’m going to move on, in my writing and my life!

Western medicine seems to be intent on diagnosing us and making sure our diagnosis is our identity. The psychiatrist I was going to every week told me I’d be on high doses of anti-psychotics (and two other prescriptions) for the remainder of my life. After two years of an invalid state my wife, Kimmy, drove me to Seattle to see an alternative medical facility. They ended up recommending me to a homeopathic doctor who flies into Spokane (an hour from where we live) every month. This was in 2015. Long story short: I’ve been off meds ever since.

One thing I love about homeopathy (sensation method) is how I was never diagnosed or labelled.

I could go on and on, but if anyone’s truly interested in finding an alternative route to healing they can always contact me through my website. I stopped preaching about homeopathy a while ago, since it appears, people don’t care to shift their paradigm until they are left with no other options. Desperate folks crawl to alternative medicine, they don’t walk there.

So, this leaves me with the rest of my life to live. Not only can I write more than ever I’m back into rock climbing (a sport I began in my mid-twenties) and run up to thirty miles a week. I coach my sons in sports, and work full time. I live as fully as possible and have massive ambitions. I’m going to climb El Cap. I’m going to write a hundred novels. I can’t control where I’m published, or who reads my books, but I can sit down and write. I can follow the story. There’s no end to the characters that line up at my door.

As far as The Ketchup Factory or any of your other novels, did you shop them around with bigger publishing presses? If not, what does organic ‘success’ mean to you? And, in general, what do you make of the current divide between indie/self-publishing and the major houses?

I shopped my first four novels to every agent and small press in existence. There were a couple conversations with agents, but they all ended up hitting dead ends. At one point someone at the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley looked me straight in the eye, pointed his finger at my chest, and said, “JP, you’re not the writer the big publishers want representing them.” I was like, “Well, alright! Thanks for the honesty. Now I can find my own way.”

I definitely still submit to certain presses that I believe my books would be a good fit for, but I haven’t reached out to agents in a while. How many times can I deal with an agent getting back requesting a full manuscript and then never hearing from them again?

At the same time, I can be impulsive, and who knows, I might query twenty agents tomorrow morning. I like writing story synopses, and there’s something important about searching for the right partner in this strange world we’re all attempting to break into.

What is the divide between indie/self-publishing and the major houses? No clue! I do know I loved publishing The Ketchup Factory because I got to do the cover art, design, and released it when I wanted to. Also, the print on demand model makes sense. It’s always there, ready to be sold. There are no “editions” and timeline. It’s in print and ebook format forever. The book can catch fire at any time, not just during the first month of its promotional release.

My book is all mine. This doesn’t mean I don’t rely on editors. I do. If it doesn’t pass the Kimmy Test, then it’s not going to be published. She helps me delete the things that she hates. At the end of the day she may be my only reader.

With a more recent book I hired an awesome editor for copy edits. I hope to run all of my books through her going forward. She’s the best—Liz Cook.

On the subject of cover art, you’re also an artist (thanks for the sketch by the way!) and I’m wondering if that is something you take as seriously as your writing. An early favorite writer of mine, William Wharton, described himself as a “painter who writes.” Where do you fall on that spectrum? Does your sketching influence your writing or vice versa?

Writer first. Then sketcher. In between novels I write short stories and some poems (mostly bad poems), and you’d think I’d complete more drawings then. But I don’t. I am more efficient in every area of life when I’m writing novels. I can think more clearly and go about my daily tasks without added stress and unnecessary burdens.

When I’m writing novels I tend to draw more, too. I drew several sketches for the cover of The Ketchup Factory. I had friends (and Kimmy) tell me which one worked best for them. This particular sketch changed over time: first was the person, then red tears, then—weeks later—the cloud of bugs flying out of his ear.

Currently, I don’t see drawing as a discipline. More of an outlet (although, maybe that’s closer to what writing is for me, too). My expectations are pretty low over all; I just sit down and begin. Often, one or two of my sons will join me. Yesterday I drew a sketch of our woodstove. We started burning in September this year. I don’t remember us ever burning this early.

One of my favorite things to do is slipping a sketch into my book and mailing them out to writers, readers, editors, and friends.

There’s something unique about a book that is written and designed by the author. I don’t know if it makes it a better reading experience, but there’s an artistic object to be held that feels complete.

Unique is definitely the word. JP, thanks for this interview and for the story in Ligeia. Last questions. What do you hope readers take away from The Ketchup Factory? And what’s next for you as a writer? Any extra teasers from your current project?

“There’s a lot more where this came from if you go to the dance with me Friday night.” I think Napoleon Dynamite said that.

Mainly, if you dig Ketchup then you can look forward to more on the way. Everything I write is connected. You’ll even find nonfiction characters (from my piece in Shenandoah) floating through my novels as old friends or villains.

I don’t know which novel I’ll publish in 2022. There’s a novel about a woman who thinks she’s an extra in the latest Terminator movie; a novel about a guy whose other self is trapped inside a Thomas Kinkade painting; a novel about an MFA student in the space age; a novel about Hillary W. Bush—leader of the free world; a novella that is the origin story of the Pied Piper. And more …

I have a forthcoming story at The Bear Creek Gazette. It’s about a kid who turns into a penguin when he enters the ninth grade.

I got bored a few months ago and created a penname. As far as journal publications go, they’re DESTROYING JP. I don’t know what that means. I’ve probably said too much.

JP Vallières is the author of the novel, The Ketchup Factory. Some of his work can be found at Tin House, Santa Monica Review, Passages North, and forthcoming at Shenandoah. Find out more at jpvallieres.com.