WBT: Yes, I remember that, and I am so sorry.

TB: He was of the Vietnam generation, and I grew up with stories of his time in the Army. For instance, he sent his 21st birthday on guard duty at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, marching through a hailstorm. Later, he graduated from the University of Georgia Law School and Army OCS at Fort Benning in the same year.

Fortunately, he was never sent to Vietnam, but the threat of war hovered over his entire early manhood, as it did over his entire generation’s. He had so many friends who were impacted. One of his good friends, Sully, was a Green Beret in Vietnam, and I know my father was very moved by how the war has impacted his friend–the emotional and physical trauma. I think, as a burgeoning writer, you’re maybe especially attuned to such stories or emotions.

What’s more, 9/11 took place during a very formative time for me: when the towers fell, I was a freshman in college–nineteen years old–and I knew my generation was going to war. The military was never an option for me, as I was born with bilateral club feet, which have necessitated a multitude of reconstructive surgeries. but so many of my friends had to consider their involvement (or lack thereof).

Of course, 9/11 kicked off the GWoT, so our nation has been at war for most of my adult life. I think it’s easy for the average civilian to forget that; after all, so little of the general population has “skin in the game” these days. But, as a writer, I think your job is not to be incognizant or unaware of such things, you know? I think your job, in some part, is to try and empathize with the experiences and traumas of others, to put yourself in their shoes (or boots).

WBT: Yes!

In a “Writer’s Bone” essay interview with Daniel Ford, you mentioned that you’ve written several stories based on old ballads, and that Fallen Land was inspired by an American ballad of Irish descent, “When First Unto This Country, A Stranger I Came” (Library of Congress Archives of American Folk Song #65A2). What is it about these ballads that speaks to you so strongly? Was there any particular music that inspired, or worked its way into, Gods of Howl Mountain?

And, as a fellow writer, I’m curious: Are you careful about the music you listen to when working intensely on a novel, the way some authors are careful about what they read? Do you have “sets” of music that have sort of accompanied each of your novels?

TB: Yes, as I mentioned before, I think Steve Earle’s “Copperhead Road” certainly influenced this book–it’s just a song that’s been big in my imagination since I was a kid. It’s a modern ballad, really, and I love how it juxtaposes outlaws from two different generations. Steve Earle’s “Johnny Come Lately” does much the same thing, exploring the vastly different homecomings of soldiers returning from WWII versus Vietnam.

WBT: I know that song! We had it on an old Farm Aid CD when I worked in rural political organizing. Steve Earle is a good guy — a big supporter of Farm Aid! And wow, that video really has the same feel as the opening of Gods of Howl Mountain. I can see how the tone of it worked its way into the novel.

TB: As for the old ballads like the one that inspired Fallen Land, I think there’s something so timeless and visceral about them. These were songs of the people, sung again and again and again, the verses evolving over the decades. I think of those ballads as survivors, really. It’s like natural selection–only the strongest songs survive century after century, migrating from old countries to new ones, from mountains to prairies to coasts. There must be a nugget of truth or beauty or power in these old songs that just won’t die, that continue to move our hearts and blood.

I’m fairly careful about what I listen to when I’m actually sitting there writing. Often, it’s music that doesn’t have lyrics, or else I can’t understand the lyrics well–I don’t want to have other words in my head. Rather, it’s the mood or atmosphere of certain songs that seems to help. Also, there’s music that helps with certain projects, but not while I’m actually writing. For instance, I’ve been working on something that relates to motorcycles, and I’ve been playing various renditions of my favorite song of all time–“Vincent Black Lightning 1952”–on repeat.

Not surprisingly, it’s another modern ballad.

WBT: You are thirty-five, and Gods of Howl Mountain is your fourth book. This just might make you the Leonardo DiCaprio of fiction writing! What is it like to have published “early and often?” In Virginia Woolf’s “Letter to a Young Poet,” she famously writes, “For heaven’s sake, publish nothing before you are thirty.” How would you respond to Ms. Woolf?

TB: Ha, sometimes I feel a lot older on the inside than I look on the outside! To be honest, though, I only had a few short stories published before I was thirty. It may seem like an “overnight success,” but I spent the large part of a decade working in near isolation, writing and throwing away two novels before Fallen Land, as well as tons and tons of short stories. I really didn’t know another serious writer until I was around thirty years old.

I’ve heard that Virginia Woolf quote before, and, I don’t know–I think that sometimes writers use it as an excuse. Looking back at my early stories, there are some cringe-worthy moments, sure–and plenty of things I would do differently now–but I don’t regret them. We only have so much time to express ourselves in this life, and early work shows us where we were then and how we’ve arrived where we are now. It’s all part of the journey, I think.

WBT: I love that–“we only have so much time to express ourselves in this life.”

This seems like a good time to ask if you have any advice for the even-younger poets (or fiction writers) out there, those who hope to make writing their life’s work?

TB: I think Harry Crews said it best: “Get in the chair.” There’s really no secret but that. Desire, discipline, and force of will. And what did Calvin Coolidge say? “Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence.” I think that’s as true of writing as it is for anything. It isn’t going to be easy. You’re going to get knocked down again and again and again. You’re going to have to write through shitty jobs and shattering heartbreaks and rejections. But that makes you tough–not just with writing, but in life.

I hear young writers whine sometimes because they got rejected from the hippest new lit journal. Fuck that. In my book, rejections are badges of honor. Paper your walls with them. Each is proof that you kept writing despite all the forces trying to keep you from making your art, and every rejection is one step closer to the glorious moment of publication. Every rejection makes that moment sweeter. So keep your chin up and keep swinging, and remember your heroes went through these same battles. If they didn’t, you might want to find new ones.