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Welcome to another episode of “Creator Spotlight,” where we delve into the captivating world of authors and their stories. Today, we are thrilled to present an exclusive discussion with award-winning author Mark Goldblatt. Might As Well Be Dead is the story of David Salmon, a 13-year-old boy, reeling from the sudden decision of his mom to desert him and his dad; he encounters, or begins to hallucinate, a ghost named Winston—whom older readers may recognize as John Lennon.
Winston helps Julian navigate the social minefields of middle school: tension with his best friend and confusion over his first girlfriend. But Julian and Winston also have specific emotional work to do together, some mysterious wrong they’re supposed to set right. That’s the plot in a nutshell. With accolades from the Sunshine State, Georgia Book Award, and Vermont Dorothy Canfield Fischer Book Award, Mark Goldblatt’s talent is undeniable. Join us as we explore the inspiration behind his new book, which has already received rave reviews from bestselling author Chris Grabenstein and professional psychotherapist Michael Leiman. Let’s dive in!
Mark, can you share with us the inspiration behind Might As Well Be Dead and what led you to create a story featuring John Lennon’s ghost?
I’d wanted to write a novel about a traumatized kid for years, but I wanted it to be one where the trauma wouldn’t be foregrounded, where it would gradually reveal itself. The challenge was to write something that would deal compassionately with mental illness but would be lighthearted page by page. So I had a specific intention; I just couldn’t figure out an interesting enough hook. The Lennon angle came to me after I saw the 2019 movie Yesterday in which Lennon turns up for a five-minute, gut-wrenching (if you’re a Beatles fan) cameo. There’s probably also a little influence from the 1950 movie Harvey too—in which the Jimmy Stewart character is befriended by a giant rabbit whom only he can see.
How do you think the presence of John Lennon’s ghost in the story helps David Salmon navigate his family trauma and coming-of-age challenges?
Well, the first thing to note is that the choice of Lennon is not accidental. As most Beatles fans know, he was abandoned by his birth mother, Julia, when he was a toddler; the two of them reconnected years later, when Lennon was a teenager–except then his mom was killed in a hit and run car accident. Lennon never got over the trauma of, in effect, losing her twice. That grief can be heard clearly in songs like “Julia” and “Mother.” But even a more digressive, psychedelic song like “Strawberry Fields Forever”–Strawberry Fields was a Salvation Army playground his Aunt Mimi would take him to play–contains hints of the world of pain Lennon struggled through as a child.
As an award-winning author, what advice do you have for new creators looking to explore complex themes in their work?
When I sit down to start a new novel, and this is true whether I’m writing for younger readers or adults, I always flash on the title of Robert Frost’s poem, “Neither Out Far Nor In Deep.” That’s what you’re trying to do when you create a fictional world; you’re trying to enter it and make it yours, but not wander so far inside that you lose authorial perspective…since ultimately you’re managing the totality. You have to inhabit your characters in such a way that you’re sincerely moved by their struggles. You have to direct them, but you also have to let them wander and struggle on their own if that’s what they’re inclined to do. You have to let them live the situations of the plot, not merely pass through them. In a video game, for example, slaying a dragon is a task a character has to accomplish. But in a book, slaying a dragon is a moment. The character has to feel what it’s like to slay the dragon, to live it, to make the moment part of himself, and to grow because of it.
That’s only another way of saying that novelists shouldn’t cheat the process. You can’t think to yourself, “I’ve got to get my protagonist from Point A to Point Z.” Every step of the journey from A to Z has to be a reward in itself. If you don’t care how your characters get from A to Z, the reader won’t either. And that’s especially true if–like me–you’re not writing books about slaying dragons.
How do you believe the enduring legacy of the Beatles has influenced not just your writing, but the way their messages resonate with younger generations?
I’ve had this conversation many times, not only with younger readers but even with colleagues of mine–college professors!–born long after the Beatles broke up in 1970. For many of them, the Beatles are a historical artifact, something that their parents and grandparents seem to care about inordinately, even irrationally. What’s more–and this is the bitterest pill to swallow for my generation–they just don’t like Beatles’ music. So I guess the first thing to say is that you can’t coerce people into liking what you like just by listing the reasons you like it. It’s not a debate on that level. If songs like “Nowhere Man,” “Ticket to Ride,” or “Eleanor Rigby” leave you cold, well, so be it. They leave you cold. Nothing I can say is likely to change your mind, and it would be obnoxious of me to try. (Though I might mention that the title of my latest novel comes from a line in the Beatles song, “Rain.”)
Where I think I can make a case for the Beatles is as a civilizational force. If you rolled every “influencer” currently inhabiting social media into one entity, you wouldn’t come near the effect that the Beatles had on our collective worldview from 1963-1970. What the Beatles managed to accomplish during that period was a kind of reimagining of youth culture. They were arguably the most famous humans on the planet for that seven year run. As they evolved intellectually and musically, they turned “it’s got a good beat; you can dance to it” into high art. They incorporated themes like authenticity, disillusionment, and rebellion into their work. These in turn became the calling cards of youth culture. Before the Beatles, there was no such thing as a rock critic. It seemed silly to think that such music required analysis. Rock and roll was dance music; that was its entire purpose. But the Beatles reconceived and complicated whatever they touched. Compositions. Instrumentations. Lyrics. It was as if they were saying, “You can dance afterwards, but have a listen first.”
Can you discuss the role of humor in Might As Well Be Dead, and how it helps the protagonist through his darkest days?
As I said earlier, I wanted the book about a difficult topic but in a lighthearted way. David is 13 years old. When you’re 13, you’re typically going through changes that can be awkward or even painful, but that in retrospect are often very funny. David’s best-friend has a secret he’s keeping from him–which David discovers…and then has to pretend he doesn’t know. He also has no idea how to react when the new girl at school develops a romantic interest in him. You step on a lot of rakes during puberty; there’s no getting around it, whatever heavier emotional weights you happen to be toting around.
You’ve written for several high-profile outlets like The New York Times and Wall Street Journal. How has your journalistic background shaped your approach to writing fiction?
When I began writing for newspapers and magazines–back in the 1980s– there was no such thing as an “online” journal. It was strictly print. That meant that if your editor told you you had 600 words, that was non-negotiable. No wiggle room if the piece was running long. And if the paper sold an extra advertisement, you might get a call at the last minute asking if you could cut another paragraph or two to make room. So the main thing I learned is how to write concisely: If it can be cut, it almost always should be cut. That absolutely holds true when you’re writing a novel. If there’s no good reason for a passage, or even an entire chapter, get rid of it. Even if you’re very fond of it. Especially if you’re very fond of it.
How does Might As Well Be Dead utilize the blurred lines between reality and imagination to address raw emotions in young people?
It’s funny you’d ask that. I was thinking, as I was writing it, that this is the closest I’ve ever come to magical realism. I’m never going to be loosey-goosey enough as a writer (or as a person) to go the full Gabriel Garcia-Marquez; if you read MAWBD closely enough, you’ll find that there’s a logical justification for everything that happens…including the heartbreaking twist at the end. But it does read, at least in part, like a friendly ghost story.
On the other hand, the ghost is a symptom of David’s fragile mental state. David himself realizes this at various points in the narrative; he keeps challenging Winston, letting him know that he (David) knows he’s not real. Ultimately, however, Winston is a distraction from the underlying pain David is experiencing, and he’s grateful for the company. He’s charmed by the chief effect of his mental health crisis.
Can you share your thoughts on the prevalence of bullying in your previous works, Twerp and Finding the Worm, and how those themes continue to be relevant today?
I’m always wary of efforts to fine-tune human nature. It would be great if we were kinder to one another, cradle to grave, but the truth is that no amount of targeted rhetoric or legal intervention is going to eradicate bullying. All you can really do is tamp down on it by making it culturally repugnant. That’s where books and movies come in. What I’ve found, however, is that the most effective presentations of bullying are not ones that depict wolves preying on sheep… because it’s easy enough to laugh off those sorts of caricatures. The more interesting approach, to my mind, is to recognize that human beings embody good and bad impulses, and that giving in to bad impulses is more often a matter of weakness than of preference.
In what ways do you think instructors can include the teachable themes from your fiction in their curriculum to enrich their students’ understanding of the world?
Both of my earlier middle-grade novels, Twerp and Finding the Worm, have been assigned extensively in schools–everywhere from fourth grade through freshman college classes–and I’ve done dozens of in-person and virtual classroom and library events over the last decade to talk about them. When Twerp is assigned to younger students, it’s usually taught straightforwardly as a book about bullying. Older students, on the other hand, tend to read it as an exploration of the development of conscience or the power of confession. Likewise, you can read Finding the Worm as a story about a deathly ill kid and his friends rallying around him–or you can read it as a theodicy, an attempt to account for the presence of evil in a divinely created universe, to connect the reality of human suffering with the possibility of human freedom. (One reviewer called it “Dostoevsky for kids” which I like a lot.) Honestly, though, if readers are enjoying my books, if they’re engrossed in them, then whatever teachable themes emerge are just icing on the cake.
How does Might As Well Be Dead address the power of imaginative literature in helping individuals cope with childhood trauma?
I’m sure that imaginative literature can help people of all ages cope with trauma–either because they recognize elements of their own struggles in those of the characters, or more often simply because the time spent reading is a distraction from what they are going through. But I’m wary of novelists who write with a specific therapeutic purpose in mind. When I tell a story, my primary goal is to entertain the reader. If something beyond that happens, I’m thrilled. But it’s secondary to the job of telling an entertaining story.
What do you believe is the key to creating timeless, universal messages in literature that can resonate across generations?
As trite as it sounds, if you’re attempting to convey a timeless, universal message, you should have thought a lot about that message. “All you need is love” would surely qualify as a timeless and universal message, as Beatles fans will attest. But there’s a world of hard questions lurking behind that message. I would think, before you start telling readers that love is all you need, you’d want to wrestle with as many of those questions as possible.
How did you go about researching and capturing the essence of John Lennon in your story while keeping it relevant for young readers?
One result of achieving the level of fame the Beatles did is that there’s a virtually inexhaustible universe of video and audio clips chronicling their every move, hours and hours of interviews and profiles on YouTube. Besides that sort of research, of course, I also grew up with Lennon’s voice, not just his singing but his spoken voice, in my ears. He’s a wise ass with a sentimental streak below the surface, straining to get out; he’s cynical yet naive, self-conscious yet exhibitionist, brutally honest yet playfully coy, big-hearted yet mean-spirited. As Walt Whitman might say, he contains multitudes. The relevance to younger readers is that those multitudes are still with us, so he should feel contemporary.
What are your thoughts on the impact of social media on the way young people perceive reality and engage with their imaginations?
I suspect the main impact of social media on young people is that it robs them of opportunities for reinvention. When I was growing up, every time you changed schools–so every few years–you had a chance to rethink who you were, how you wanted to dress, what habits you wanted to pick up or break, whom you wanted to hang around with, etc. You weren’t locked in because you were constantly shedding one group of friends and joining another. My students have mentioned this point; they’re in college, but many of them are still friendly with kids they’ve known since pre-school. While there’s something to be said for lifelong friendships, I wonder whether having childhood friends constantly peering over your virtual shoulder on social media doesn’t inhibit your emotional growth.
Can you tell us about any upcoming projects you’re working on or ideas you’re excited to explore in future works?
I’m in the process of writing and revising the third book in the Twerp series called Lonnie Fine. I’m also working on a still-untitled literary mystery for adult readers.
Finally, what advice do you have for aspiring authors looking to create stories that capture the hearts and minds of readers, while also addressing complex and relevant themes?
Read a lot. Read classics, even if they occasionally taste like medicine. Each one is a window to creative possibilities. You may not want to go through them, but just knowing what the view is like can be an eye-opener.
Social
Website: markgoldblatt.com
Twitter: @MarkGoldblatt
Instagram: anothertheologian
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