PROBE
Jack McDevitt
(continued)
Interview by Alyce Wilson
I demurred. I didn't want to do it. I thought it was a waste of time, but she said, "You know, what's going to happen is that one day you're going to get old and get near the end of your life, and you're going to realize that you never tried."
So I did a story in which there's a guy in a post office who is involved with the young woman in the post office, afraid to make a move because he's afraid that he will fail. And a long-lost letter from Ralph Waldo Emerson arrives in the dead letter department. He gets to look at it. And of course, it's as if Emerson has written this guy a letter.
And it says, in effect, that you should give it... I can't quote it, but it is, of course, saying you have to believe in yourself. And never fail to do anything because you're afraid of failure.
So the guy actually goes far beyond just, you know, getting the woman.
It was a fantasy. And we sent it out a couple of times, and it came back with the usual rejection. And we showed it to somebody else, a friend of my wife's, and she goes, "Well, you know, this is a little weak, and that's a little weak. And you need to fix this."
And we made some repairs. I sent it to Amazing Stories. And I got a note back that said, "Well, we'd like this story, but we're really booked up for a couple of years" or something.
And that was enough for me. I tossed it in the top drawer of my desk, and Maureen took it and sent it to Twilight Zone, and Ted Klein bought it for Twilight Zone.
So that was the start of my career. I'm convinced that, had that story not sold, I would never have written another one, for better or worse, as that may be.
I wanted to find out how growing up in Philadelphia shaped your writing.
Do you think that it has, or do you think that writing for you is a way
of stepping outside of that background?
I think it was a way of escaping, more than anything else.
My recollections of Philadelphia aren't at all unhappy. I had a happy childhood. I had good folks. But looking back on it now, it's all very closed in. Everybody thought the same way; everybody operated the same way. We all had our prejudices, and they remain.
I know a lot of people that I would describe as good people, but they were still saddled with these notions about who they approved of and who they didn't approve of. And they didn't seem able to get away from that.
So I was actually glad to get away, and when I come back, I still find a lot of that hasn't [changed.]
I think for everybody, you know, the place where you grow up remains a psychological place as well as a physical one.
And I still run into people regularly who have never left. They're exactly what they were. It's as if you stopped growing when you were about 14 and nothing ever changes after that.
Has your writing changed as you've moved to different places?
I don't know. I lived in the Far East for a couple years. I was in the Navy, you know? That's how I got over there. I've lived pretty much all over the United States, all over the country on the East. I've never lived on the West Coast.
Some of my early work, I think, was influenced by the fact that I lived in Pembina, North Dakota, which is population 600. It's far removed from any place.
I had been, previous to that, the department chairman at a school system in New Hampshire. And we started having children, and I couldn't make enough money as a teacher to pay for the kids. So I was a customs inspector, which immediately doubled my pay.
I can't describe to you how empty it is up there, you know? I could walk out the front door to the porch. I mean, there's no light, no artificial lights. If you're looking West, there's no artificial lights anywhere.
And it's 35 miles over to Cavalier, which is the nearest town. And there's nothing in between except a few farmhouses. And you can literally feel the earth turn beneath your feet. And you get the sense that, if there is a place anywhere on earth where the supernatural can happen, that's it.
You moved to someplace where everything around you was, quite literally,
open. And maybe that helped out your imagination.
I know it didn't hurt. I've done several stories and at least one novel that's based in there. I changed the name to Fort Moxie, but you can look at a map in Ancient Shores and see that's what it is up there.
Nice town, nice people, worst winters. I had the impression that there's an inverse ratio between the type of winter you have and the attitude of people. The harsher the winter, the nicer the people, the more accommodating.
Since I now live in the South, I probably shouldn't be saying that. We've got beautiful weather in South Georgia. Everybody's pretty nice down there. Really, it's a very pleasant place to live. And yet somehow, there's something special about those who live in these barren places where the temperature goes to 40 below and the wind blows at 50 mph. You get a wind chill factor of 150.
The joke used to be that if you were out of town over the Fourth of July, you missed the summer.
Do you study human nature? Are you a people watcher? Do you find yourself
observing people and working that into your...
Well, I don't think I do it consciously. You know, if you can function as a human being, I don't think you can avoid doing it.
I don't think of it as studying, though. It's the intercourse that happens
between people, unless you're not paying attention. And of course, if
you're not paying attention, then people don't deal with you at all, and
you find yourself outside the party somewhere.
