Patrick Trotti’s new book, The Day the Cloud Stood Still (from Ever Books, an imprint of Pteron Press), is fascinating. I don’t want to spoil the plot, but I will say that it feels a bit like a Twilight Zone episode but with a deeply human heart. It’s endlessly interesting, and definitely worth reading.

You can buy it here or here.

Here, I interview Patrick about the book, and about other things, too. It’s a bit of a shake-up of the usual review template of this blog, but whatever I don’t play by your rules YOU CAN’T CONFINE ME.

Arbitrary News and Review: Where did you get the idea for this book? When did you start writing it?

Patrick Trotti: I got the idea for the book in a roundabout way. I didn’t have an idea per say, more of a question that I wanted to answer. I wanted to find something, preferably exterior, that could compare with the tumult of puberty. My narrator is a young teen trying to figure out a number of things. I knew that I’d get sidetracked easily with any number of diversions if I didn’t have something, or set of things, to focus on. Once I realized that I was going to try and balance the narrator’s unpredictability with the uncontrollable weather then I could sort of relax and add a few layers as I progressed with the story such as how he deals with his family, mainly the fact that he’s closer to his mother than his father. I started writing it about two years ago. I wrote the first draft in a few months. It was a hot mess though. It was twice the size, more than 70,000 words, and was in the third person present tense. I spent the next year cutting the text in half and changing the point of view and tense. I think I was up to a ninth draft when I finally began submitting the manuscript around.

What’s the craziest weather phenomenon you’ve ever experienced? Not to spoil the book, but crazy weather plays a huge role. Have you ever heard of “earthquake weather?” My mother, who is Portuguese and Italian, insists that she, her mother, and her grandmother all are able to sense earthquakes by identifying “earthquake weather,” which is like when the sky is cloudy and kind of red. (I just assume this is some Portuguese and/or Italian thing. Not sure why.) 

The weirdest weather I’ve experienced was in 2003 when I was down in Florida. Over the course of one weekend there were three tornadoes and the power went out. Thunder, lightning, even some hail. I was down there in rehab, which might’ve made it a bit worse than it probably was.

Family dynamics are another major theme. What’s your favorite TV or movie family? Say as much or as little about your own family as you feel comfortable with.

Yes, I wanted to use the family structure as another example of things that were out of Wilson’s (the narrator) control. This family, their codependence and their abusiveness towards one another, it was all so harsh and unforgiving, just like the weather outside. But as the story continues they are forced to lean on one another for support. I wanted to show a family that has to love one another all over again in a way that was directly at odds with the clichéd “I love them but I don’t always like them” version that they were at the beginning of the story. This “us against the world” type of clichéd idea was something very palpable about halfway through the story. I’m a sucker for the “normal” TV family i.e. Cosby Show, Boy Meets World. Family is very important to me. I think being the child, especially an only child, or divorce gave me the gift of realizing just how precious family is as well as how dysfunctional it can be.

  Do you have a catchphrase? If you don’t, then I’m giving you permission to have one, and I desperately want to know what it is.

Whatever floats your boat, just don’t sail it into mine. Cheesy, I know.

  You live in a tiny town in Louisiana and vampires have recently revealed themselves to exist. Although you are pretty frightened at the concept of your blood being sucked out of you, you are also kind of fascinated with them. One day, a vampire approaches you. Write a tiny story about what happens next. (PS if you prefer teen lit vampires then the same thing happens only it’s in Washington.)

Bloody Duck Dynasty bastards. Better them than me.

  What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen at a dollar store? Last time I was at a dollar store I saw a bunch of containers that just said “pear” on them with pictures of pears. Like who needs that many pear containers. Also what are your thoughts on pears?

I like pears; they’re a solid choice. My favorite is a plum but pears are a close second. Last time I was at my local dollar store I found a bag of turkey basters. Do you need more than one?

  What is your writing process? When during the day and/or night do you write? Do you work by electric or natural light? Do you listen to music when you write?

I’m a creature of habit. I write everyday, no matter what. 1 word, 2,000 words, whatever I can manage. I like working on multiple projects at once so I never really have an excuse to get stuck because I can just jump back and forth between texts. Other than that there’s really nothing formulaic or magical about it, just about sitting down and forcing myself to write. I usually like to write either late at night or early in the morning. For some reason my mind wanders during the middle of the day. I work by electrical late at night and natural in the morning. I pretty much always listen to music while I write. Depending on my mood, and what I’m writing, I’ll either write to rap or jazz in the background.

  Where do you like to read? Do you read in transit ever?

I don’t have anywhere specifically that I prefer to read. It’s more of a question of what I’m reading than where. I take the bus everywhere since I don’t have a license.

  Tell me something you don’t want me to know? 

I haven’t showered in four days.

  Make a poem for me about the feeling you get when you see a sunset. I don’t know if you even like sunsets, so this poem could turn out any old way.

BAD HAIKU:

I don’t like sunsets

Because they aren’t people

Yet we worship them

  What’s your favorite pre-1970 movie?

That’s not fair! Any Charlie Chaplin movie. Especially between 1925-1941. Other than those? I’d have to go with this great film I just watched for a second time. Nanook of the North, which is this really nice silent documentary. Some more weather for you.

  I’m publishing a long poem of yours on my and Birtu Belete’s small press, Saucepot Publishing, once we raise enough money. Could you talk a bit about how writing poetry differs from writing prose for you?

Yeah, I’m looking forward to that. I just started writing poetry this year. I found that I needed something, a different medium, to sort of break up my writing without getting lazy. In between stories I was writing or between a draft revision of this book I would turn to poetry as an outlet. I enjoy the economy of language, the restraint that I associate with poetry.

  I’m going to play word association now for a bit.

Shoot.

  Carrot cake.

Never tried it.

Miscellaneous.

Unimportant.

Mobius strip.

Las Vegas.

Calvin and Hobbes.

Dirty fingertips.

Juice.

Tupac.

Miraculous.

2004 Boston Red Sox.

Juniper berry. 

Willy Wonka.

Cold.

Only way I can fall asleep.

  Ok, done with word associations.

Whew, tougher than I thought.

  What’s your favorite childhood memory? What’s your favorite memory involving ice cream? The beach? Summer in general?

In third grade I won a contest in school and got to play Abe Lincoln. I got to stand in front of a statue in town and recite the Gettysburg Address. I got to wear a top hat and a fake beard. Plus we have the same birthday, which is pretty cool. I don’t remember this but I’ve been told by family that as a kid I’d walk around the house with half finished Klondike bars in the back pocket of my overalls. I was scared of the beach, the water really, ever since I saw Shamu down at SeaWorld. The only good thing about summer is baseball. I love the game, which makes the weather tolerable.

  If you don’t like summer, then what is your favorite season? (And if you do like summer, then what is your least favorite season?) (See how I’m tying this back into meteorology kind of?)

Nice, yeah casual meteorology banter is tough. You could’ve went with an Al Roker question. I hate the summer. I don’t like the heat at all. That feeling on those days when you step out of the shower and dry off and you’re already sweaty. Yuck. Now winter, yes, I love it. Funny how the book revolves around this. I guess in that respect I borrowed from real life.

  What job did you want to have when you were a kid?

Major League baseball player. Catcher or center field. Still want the job. I’m only 28, but I’m getting to the point where a lot of the player’s are younger than me, which is weird.

  Finally, how do you define love?

I want things to change without effort on my part. I want to feel things without logging off Facebook. I want people to understand me without having to explain myself. I want my illness to go away without having to take my medications. I want sprinkles and a cherry on top without having to pay extra. I want to enjoy your company without having to talk. I want cigarettes to be cheap without having to leave New York. I want to order a coffee at Starbucks without having to say venti or grande. I want to dunk a basketball without lacing up my Jordan’s.

you say I, i say i

i write without capital letters not for effect or affect but because I’m unsure of myself, my words. it’s a question of taste, completely subjective this is what i’m told. by whom? i forget, maybe i read that in an interview in the paris review, or at the writing workshop that i used to go to. it could be completely aesthetic driven, might have something to do with, the look of the dot hanging out…

Minutes turned to hours morphed to days evolve to weeks blurred to months and now I’m older and non the wiser.

Eyes red from pixilated interactions with animated spam bots. Crawling through comment threads looking for a fight. Sinking further into a black hole. A 16-inch abyss manufactured by a factory in China. Dozens of hastily conceived usernames and password combinations, clever at the time, but quickly forgotten – shuttled off to the nether region of the internet wasteland.

Search engines cataloguing my mind, remembering what I forgot. I confess to this machine, I lie to it. I throw up everything with its help.

My mood depends on my wi-fi signal. Its bars, a staircase to the heavenly stratosphere of www.mindlessbliss.com.

It is here that I exist instead of live. Here that I feign strength when all I want to do is give up and leave it behind me. We have learned nothing, not we, me. I have learned nothing. Decades later I’m nothing more than an electronic Timothy Leary, mumbling a mantra to “turn on, tune in, and drop out.”

I keep telling myself that it will be fine. That no matter what I’m safe behind my propagated profile. The grass is always greener in the other tab,I tell myself as I wait for the page to load.

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