Interview with Joe Koch - Shipwreck of the Cerberus

Joe Koch is always innovating, and his newest self-released book The Shipwreck of the Cerberus offers many surprises. I love the twisting path we follow with the protagonist, Rex. At sea and in space, in casinos and utterly alone, Rex befriends a strange artifact from the past. In the midst of the unsettling settings and wild language, we find a story that’s as moving as it is horrifying.

Joe agreed to answer some of my questions about the new book!

Why might someone fall in love with a brazen head?

Love and desire remain utterly mysterious, despite centuries of arts, science, psychology, and spiritual speculations about why we love what we love. Eroticism is the great uncontrolled part of our being, the aspect of ourselves we both know most intimately of all and yet barely understand. What clicks when we fall in love? Is it memory, chemicals, external conditioning, a curse? Perhaps it’s random, in the mathematical sense. No one can predict it, least of all the one who falls, which is both magically surprising and too often tragic. That’s why I made the “casino cult” central to Rex’s story in Shipwreck. Falling in love is a gamble. When it strikes, it calls us to say yes or no to life, to playing or not playing the game.

One thing that interests me about your writing is that it's very intellectual and complex, but it's also full of deep feeling. Have you found that these stories are the best method of expressing how you feel?

I’m sure I’m no different from anyone else in saying yes, because it’s very frustrating to either not feel understood by other people (due to my difficulty expressing the full picture or their lack of perception), or for a moment of understanding to be quickly buried and forgotten under all the other junk of conversation. Feelings and ideas do coalesce, however. I don’t think you can begin to grasp how I feel in my human life on earth without questioning linear time, for instance. I’m sure all artists crave to be understood, so I’m not special in this regard. I am, however, incredibly fortunate to find a few readers here and there who generously dive into my work and allow themselves to experience these feelings.

Your writing style is intricate and beautiful and slippery...how did you arrive at this style? Is this the way you think?

Ha ha, yes, it is, and that’s why I’m no good at discourse! I’m much more interested in possibilities, tactics, twists, and absurdities, than in diatribes. I’m more about the journey than the goal. I guess this comes from practicing visual art for most of my life prior to writing, as well as some shamanta vipassana meditation training and practice. Processes are more exciting than end results to me. Unless in an ending, you find another process or beginning--which is my hope for poor Rex in the book. I certainly put him through hell.

It’s very kind of you to call my writing beautiful, although in relation to your question, I’m not sure thoughts can really be called “beautiful.” Can they? That’s probably a branch of philosophy I know nothing about. Beauty comes in the expression or manifestation of the thought as art, doesn’t it? And some of my ugliest images or moods are utterly bound up with beautiful language and luxurious presentation in my writing. It’s a paradox that comes very naturally to me.

I’m interested in how your novella The Wingspan of Severed Hands features a denial of power, a refusal to become royal...but in The Shipwreck of the Cerberus, Rex becomes himself...becomes a king. Is there anything you can say about this without giving away more than you want?

I haven’t thought about royalty thematically across different works until hearing your question! What an interesting take. I’d argue that Wingspan is very much about empowerment, whereas Shipwreck is more about riding the waves of a storm and lack of control.

Royalty to me is a bit of a joke, a symbolic tarot card to toss on the table. Will readers hate me if I admit I’m not against using a symbol as a taunt? Kings and queens are such big, generic symbols (at least to me as a twenty-first century American) that they’re basically meaningless and force the reader to fill in the blanks, which you’ve done very nicely. Power and autonomy are big questions in my writing across the board, so I wouldn’t say any interpretation is right or wrong, mind you. What’s astute in your question is that you’re engaging with what power, empowerment, and specific symbols of it mean to you.

This speaks to your other question about style and method, things you and I have talked about elsewhere such as the Discord group: at some point in writing, I try not to think too much. I try to build a good, structurally sound jungle gym for you to play in, but how you play is entirely up to you. The reader owns the work once I’m done. They can do as they please.

What were some of the hardships and the rewards of putting out your own book? Do you think you'll do it again at some point? Is there anywhere that readers can get this story if they missed out on the print edition?

The biggest challenge was the collapse of Twitter. The decimation of my “audience” (what a heinous word!) made it challenging to get the word out about The Shipwreck of the Cerberus.

My hope is to reach the handful of diehard weirdos who really dig my writing and to keep the project small, almost private. That’s why I only released this signed, limited print edition of 200 with no plans for an e-book at this time. As of today, about 30 copies remain available through my website at horrorsong.blog. I’ll be bringing what’s left to Voidcon in West Virginia in early October, where I’ll be signing books and paneling about transformation in horror.

I’m really glad I tried self-publishing. No regrets! I learned that the nuts and bolts of making books don’t bring me joy. My interest is in creating, not in becoming an entrepreneur; I’m very thankful that the publisher of my forthcoming 2024 collection--as yet unannounced--has a publicist and good reach into many bookstores that haven’t worked with my previous publishers. I’m delighted about that. It means I’ll have more time to write.

Thanks, Joe!