Withersin’s Damned Interview with:
Peter Gutiérrez
A former sixth-grade teacher, I
spent early 2008 delivering two new media literacy courses I developed,
“Fantasy Films from Oz to Harry Potter” and “What Makes a Superhero
Super?” Much of my consulting work
involves helping publishers and educators adapt high-interest media (e.g.,
movies, graphic novels) for the classroom.
I used to be a comics writer, scripting several popular titles in the
‘90s, and eventually getting nominated for an Eisner for the ghost story
anthology Shi: Kaidan. Then I took a brief detour into feature
films—very diverting, earning a living by writing screenplays and treatments
for action and SF flicks, but it lost its charm after properties repeatedly
failed to get produced. Have lived in
List published works: After 15-20 years of writing, there are too
many obscure titles to list. However,
here are some current/recent highlights:
·
“I’m Your Friend,” a
piece of crime/horror fiction at TQR
Stories.
·
“Scopophilia,”
a horror story in the Dark Territories anthology, April, 2008
·
Ongoing criticism and
journalism (mostly horror-related) for Firefox News
including interviews with Adam Green, Rodrigo Gudiño,
and Marc Senter.
·
“A Different Kind of
Sunshine,” a horror story in Read by Dawn, Vol. 3, May 2008
·
“1968: The Year That Changed Horror,” in Shroud
Issue 2
List website: http://www.linkedin.com/in/petergutierrez and www.FinditinFilm.com
How can we contact you? fiifgutierrez@gmail.com
In your own words, define
Withersin.
People
taking the macabre seriously but not necessarily themselves
seriously; and by “seriously,” I suppose I mean a commitment to save horror
from its own excesses and connect to larger critical and cultural
discourse. Or maybe it’s just a dead
white stump of a tree in the middle of a verdant glade, its insides clogged
with blind, unseen, and churning ants.
If you were a sideshow act,
what would you be?
Blue-skying it here a bit:
I’d make up a story about you on the spot that in some way would be
uncannily true—but if I can’t, you get to whip me on my flanks. Call me Scab Boy.
What is your greatest
non-literary influence?
Orson
Welles,
or quite possibly the 1986 New York Mets.
Describe your most
irrational fear.
That
when I think bad things will happen, I’m actually making them more likely to
occur—but that if I don’t think about them, at least in passing, then I’ll
somehow ensure that I’ll be blindsided by them:
a lose-lose scenario.
How about your
most guilty pleasure?
Red
Hour/Festival (see Star Trek TOS)
Name the most disturbing
nursery rhyme/fairy tale you can recall.
The
Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb, followed by The Dreadful Story About
Harriet and the Matches (the latter mostly because of the title); both are
collected in Struwwelpeter, from Dover
Publications, if you’re unfamiliar with them.
Do you eat meat?
No.
What were the skies like
when you were young?
Not
as inviting as they became later. As a
child, I appreciated the sky in planetarium shows more than in real life,
probably because I could see more stars there than I could in the city night.
Name your favorite garden
tool.
The claw.
Name your least favorite
color, first job and worst job.
The
Color Purple (the movie); camp counselor; residential counselor at an autistic
group home (job was actually fine—when I wasn’t getting beaten up by my
charges.)
Favorite: Author,
Movie, Music Group, Song, and Quote.
Flannery
O’Connor, The Third Man, Miles Davis Sextet, My Funny Valentine, “The blonde was
strong with the madness of love or fear, or a mixture of both, or maybe she was
just strong.” –Raymond Chandler
If you were a loaf of bread
what kind would you be?
Raisin-and-pebble.
Weirdest news you have read
in your local newspaper:
I
live in a town where people like to do the things the hard way, a tendency
which I believe has rubbed off on me.
Two stories in the same issue:
“Burning for
Why horror?
It
keeps calling me.
Here’s
a photo…
You
have 112 words. Go.
I told
the cabbie to turn off his radio and tailgate the truck.
“Follow
it I can do,” he replied. “Just don’t
ask me to inhale too deeply.”
He gave a
feeble laugh.
“Stay
close,” I said. “Make sure the driver
can’t see us in his mirrors.”
“Yeah,
but that’ll change on that curve up ah—”
“By then
it’ll be too late. You’ll have me near enough to jump.”
He
glanced back at me quickly.
“Don’t worry, old man. My
hunger will give me all the strength I need.”
“But,
mister, the sign!” he croaked. “It’s not
meant for people.”
“Yes,” I
said, leaning forward, “…but whoever said I was human?”