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Interview Overview
In this episode of The Writer’s Chair, Daniel Willcocks revisits one of his favourite conversations — a 2020 interview with New York Times bestselling author Josh Malerman that has never stopped giving. Originally recorded when Bird Box fever was at its height, this is the kind of conversation Daniel returns to whenever he needs a reminder of why any of this matters.
Josh Malerman — author of Bird Box, Unbury Carol, Incidents Around the House, and some 33 rough drafts sitting in a crate behind his desk — is one of horror fiction’s most genuinely prolific and joyful voices. And in this conversation, the talk moves well beyond any single book. They dig into what it actually means to be an artist, why finishing is the only thing that separates an artist from everyone else, and how writing 91,000 words by hand in 28 days in an all-night Detroit coffee shop changed everything for Josh.
They explore the power of the prolific — why the canon matters more than any single work, why your first novel doesn’t have to represent you in full, and why the rough draft is always, always the real thing. Josh also reflects on the slow-burn, word-of-mouth rise of Bird Box, what it was like to watch Sandra Bullock become Mallory under a spotlight on a Warner Brothers soundstage, and why he never once felt the need to ask for a say in how his book was adapted.
Honest, warm, and endlessly energising — this is an episode for writers at any stage who need to be reminded that the work itself is the victory, and that time is going to pass either way.
Episode Transcription
Daniel: Welcome back, wordsmiths and story seekers. I am your host, Daniel Willcocks, broadcasting from the shadowy halls of Devil’s Rock HQ. And we’re not so shadowy today because Britain has finally found the sunshine and it is glorious. And if there’s a bit of extra pep in my step, it’s for two reasons today.
The first one is that I have an interview I’m going to be sharing with you a little bit later. For those of you who have followed me for a while, you might have already heard this interview before. For those of you who haven’t, please definitely stick around — you’re going to want to hear this. And even the people who’ve heard it before, hear it again, man. Every time I listen to this interview, it gives me inspiration, gives me pep, gives me electricity and energy. It’s one of those I will share again and again, and you might see it a few times on this feed over the next few years, because I always come back to this. Whenever I’m feeling dipped, whenever I’m feeling low, this is the conversation that picks me up.
The second reason I’m feeling a little more energetic is I had a whole week off last week. It was glorious and it was necessary and it was due. I’ve had weeks off before, but Christmas doesn’t count — Christmas is parenting, it’s family, it’s travel, it’s all the things. And the weeks I’ve had before, I’ve still been going out and writing and doing stuff. Last week I just took the whole week off. Me and my partner went out, did some gardening — because I’m in my 30s now and apparently that’s the thing we do. I now have 10 pots of basil growing on the windowsill because I’m challenging myself to grow my own food. Why not? So if there’s a bit of extra pep in my step, that’s probably why — and something I’d recommend doing more often. It’s hard for me because of the schedules, but I managed it, and that’s the important thing.
Now into the updates.
Just a couple of things going on at the minute that you might want to be aware of. First one: if you are a writer who likes dark stuff, horror stuff, fantasy stuff, all that kind of thing — I currently have submissions open for a charity anthology. The anthology is called Hatching Season. It is an infestation-themed anthology. The cover has this glorious fly on it, some blood, the typical horror-y stuff — I’m very happy with how it turned out.
If you’ve got stories about infestation — and that can be anything from viruses to insects to aliens, anything that fits that theme — the umbrella is just infestation, take it in whichever direction you want. I always look for stories that are on the cusp of the theme, something original that other people won’t have thought of or seen or published before. But I also love the stalwart traditional stories that fit within that sphere. So if you’ve got a story, get it in. It’s a 2,000 to 5,000 word limit, and the deadline is June 28th — just over two months away. Multiple submissions are allowed, reprints are allowed, because it’s a charity anthology. All the details are at devilsrockbooks.com/submissions.
As I mentioned, it is a charity anthology — every single penny raised is going to Mind. I’m very excited about that because I’ve had issues with mental health, anxiety, and depression over the last few years, which are all well on the up now. People who follow my journey might know what went on. But I am very excited to contribute to this incredible organisation that helps people with mental health problems, provides that support, provides that information. So you’ll know that by submitting your story, you’re doing something incredible. Very similar to my other anthology, the Bolts of Fiction flash fiction anthology — all proceeds from that went to World Lung Trust and continue to go there. It’s very important to me to put this kind of stuff out, and also just to publish incredible authors. I always find real diamonds sifting through the submissions. So I’m excited to see what you send over. One more time: devilsrockbooks.com/submissions.
I went over to Liverpool — the Indie Horror UK chapter did a conference a couple of weekends ago. Stayed over with my buddy Dan Howarth, met a bunch of other horror writers. That was super, super fun. If you get a chance to go to an indie horror event, please do, because they’re amazing. I will be starting to show at events soon. I’m currently trying to sort out my first booking so I can get a table out and start selling books in person, which just looks like a lot of fun. I’ll give you details when that comes, in case you’re nearby and want to say hi.
I’ve also been working on Sunk, which is book five of the Twisted Tales series, and I’m writing that with co-writer and friend of the show Rob Howley — R.P. Howley. This is book five of the series, the first four have been super fun to write. I am really reminding myself with this book that it’s been a while since I’ve first-drafted from scratch, and it is heavy lifting. So much of your psychology in writing is reminding yourself that everything can be fixed. Already I know we’re going to have to go back and do a rewrite, just to thread in an idea that ties everything together that isn’t currently in the first 70% of the book. It’s a lot of hard work. But hopefully for people who are earlier in their writing journey, I hope that’s encouraging — it’s just part of the process. Write, and most importantly finish, which is a big theme of the interview we’ll be going into.
The only other thing I’ve been getting on with is I completely overhauled danielwillcocks.com. My own personal website has been completely revamped, made it a thousand times easier to add books and categorise stuff. And I’m setting up the foundations to return to coaching. So there’ll be programmes and information over there soon for anyone who wants to work directly with me — send over your books, let me help you write stories, overcome your obstacles, all your barriers. Because I miss helping authors. I have literally a stack of books next to me of works that authors have sent over that I’ve directly impacted and helped with, and I’ve got little thank-yous in the back. That’s kind of fuelled my fire to get back out and help people again. So all that to come — check out danielwillcocks.com to see what’s going on.
And now — I have teased it, and you probably already know who it is from the episode title. I’m speaking to my buddy Josh Malerman. I love this conversation and I come back to it often. Josh, this conversation was recorded in November of 2020. And as we all remember, it was a wonderfully light time and absolutely nothing was going on in the world.
It was the first real big-name author I’d had on the podcast. A little behind-the-scenes glimpse: I had a couple of whiskies before recording this interview, just to bolster my confidence and loosen my tongue a bit. I don’t know if that comes across — you tell me, let me know.
I remember, about half an hour before Josh was due to join me, just sitting in my study going: it’s happening. It’s happening. Josh is going to be on the show soon. Because I was a huge fan of Bird Box. It is a fantastic book. I’d read it a few months prior, and I think the movie had come out on Netflix at that point — yes, Sandra Bullock in that movie.
Josh has gone on to do some incredible work. He’s done a sequel to Bird Box called Mallory. Incidents Around the House was, I think, my favourite book of last year — I read it in a single day, it was phenomenal. And it’s kind of timely, because this wasn’t planned, but he has just released his first nonfiction book for authors. I’ve heard incredible things about it, and I will be picking up a copy. It’s called Watching Evil Dead: Unearthing the Radiant Artist Within. Check that out.
This interview was originally meant to be about Bird Box and Josh’s books specifically, and we end up devolving into a conversation about what it is to be an artist and what it is to finish your works. Some of the subjects covered: why an artist is simply someone who finishes; writing 91,000 words by hand in 28 days; and Josh’s attitudes toward understanding your own canon over losing time obsessing over a single work.
Josh is an incredibly prolific guy. He’s passionate — it shows, it’s insane. I’ve been fortunate enough to have a few conversations with Josh over the last few years, and I’m sure I’ll be trying to book him again soon once I get a copy of this book. I feel like I might have overhyped it now. We’ll find out. I’ll move out of the way so that 2020 Dan can start talking to Josh — enjoy.
Josh Malerman is a New York Times bestselling author and one of two singer-songwriters for the rock band The High Strung, whose song “The Luck You Got” can be heard as the theme song to the Showtime show Shameless. His critically acclaimed novel Bird Box has been adapted into a Netflix feature film starring Sandra Bullock, John Malkovich, and Sarah Paulson, and was nominated for the Stoker Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, and the James Herbert Award. The sequel novel Mallory was released earlier this year to roaring success, and his books Black Mad Wheel and Goblin have also been nominated for Stoker Awards. Joshua Malerman, welcome to the show.
Josh: Hello. That intro was amazing for me. It was like a reminder — I was like, oh yeah, wait. You do have a bestselling novel, and oh my God, you do have a movie made. Yeah, that was nice.
Daniel: It’s got to be something that’s so — I’m trying to put myself in that position, because you do have a lot of credits behind your name. We listed the awards there, you’ve had things translated into film, you’ve got the band going as well. There’s so much going on. And I think the beginning of how I want this interview to start is very much digging into what the definition of an artist is — because you’ve got the band, the books, the film adaptations. So let me ask you: what does it mean to you to be an artist in today’s world?
Josh: Wow. I have never — big question to start with, I know. But one of my favourites. I’ve never been asked it, but one of my favourite subjects to discuss.
The way I see it is: if you want to be an artist, you have to finish works of art. And this is something I came to young enough that it was frustrating, because I wasn’t finishing. I was writing songs, and that definitely got me through a period, but I wasn’t finishing the novels I was starting. So between the ages of like 19 to 29, I tried my hand at like four novels and failed — and I’m putting quotes around “failed” because all I really mean is I didn’t finish them. I didn’t care if they were right or wrong or good or bad or long or short. I just didn’t finish one.
And somewhere in there, I started thinking: if you’re going to be an author, you have to actually write a book, buddy. It was a kind of daunting realisation. You’re writing songs, okay, that’s good. But that translates — to me that translates immediately over to what is an artist. Because there really is no right or wrong to it. If you look at the spectrum — let’s say you’re setting out to write a novel and you’re like, am I good enough? If you check out the spectrum of what you’ve read, what you’ve experienced, and you go from the absolute pinnacle to the worst, there are thousands of books in between. I think it’s safe to say you’d feel like you’d fit somewhere on that spectrum. So it would be incredible if you got beyond what you think the pinnacle is, and it would be maybe even more incredible if you fell below what you consider to be the worst book you’ve ever read.
So to me — you take all those people as artists. You take all those people as serious. They wrote novels, this guy’s an author, this person’s a filmmaker, whatever it is. And so to me, it really just comes down to: just write it, just finish one, just make a movie, just make an album, whatever it is. As simple as that answer is — and as long as that answer is — it really just comes down to: an artist is someone who finishes works of art.
Daniel: I love that so much. And that resonates a lot, because a lot of the authors I speak to — nine times out of ten — are people who’ve tried in the past but never quite reached the end. And one thing I preach to a lot of people is: if you’re looking to get into this profession, there is nothing more powerful than writing “the end” on the first draft and knowing that you can finish. That is such a huge hurdle for people to even get to. The idea of writing however many pages and hitting “the end” is just phenomenal. And for me, I don’t really care what happens after that. I can put every part of my journey down to writing “the end” on that first novel.
Josh: I couldn’t agree more. So at the end of those 10 years and the four failed novels, I had this crazy idea that I was going to write two at once. I figured — one was a very lofty idea, which actually sounds appealing to me again now, though it hasn’t for a long time. And the second idea was this psychosexual horror novel, a real fast-paced thing. The idea was: you start one, if you get stuck, you turn to the other one, if you get stuck there, you turn back. Instead of getting stuck and never coming back, I can use these two ideas against each other, for each other.
So I made it like two pages into the loftier idea and was like, I don’t know what’s going on here. And I transferred over to the other one and just exploded through it. Something like 91,000 words in 28 days.
Daniel: Wow.
Josh: All handwritten, in an all-night coffee shop outside of Detroit. I would go at midnight and write till about 4 a.m. It was winter — December of 2004 or something. And I’ll never forget getting to a spot where I was like, wait a minute, I know how this ends, and I’m near that spot. I was on like page 270 or something, and I’d made it to 300 in one of those failed novels. And I thought: but wait, this actually stops at this scene that’s coming up. And it’s exactly what you’re saying — the feeling was indescribable. I’ve never felt something like it. Seeing Sandra Bullock as Mallory was a whole different kind of feeling, but that feeling of finishing — there’s just nothing like it.
And you’re right, you almost don’t even care what happens after that. And once you do care, you think: yes, I can make this better now. And one of the beauties of handwriting it is that it forced the typed-out rewrite. Because if you’re going to enter it, you’re not just going to enter it verbatim — you’re going to make changes. So it forced the rewrite. And it was like: okay, I’ll make this better. Where’s it going to get published? What do you mean? Who cares if it even gets published? Let’s do another one and another one.
So my early run — and Bird Box is included in this — was about nine or ten novels that I never once tried to shop. The point is: there was never a sense of “what do I do with these?” At the time I was in a rock band, still am, and we were playing our songs every night in a different city, so there was some artistic gratification there. We weren’t making money in the band — not where we were like, oh, we’re retired. But for some reason, I never saw the books with this urgency, with dollar signs in my eyes. Them being finished was enough.
And now I have a crate behind this screen with 33 rough drafts of novels in it. Nine of them are out in the world. And I still feel the same way right now, despite Mallory going through rewrites and the Bird Box movie and the House of the Head movie. Those 33 novels — that’s the stuff right there. Almost, you know, you do care, you want them to do well, and I couldn’t be more grateful for every single thing happening with all of this. But ultimately, that’s the stuff.
Daniel: There’s so much I want to dig into. There seems to be such a purity around you and your process. I mean, to have that many novels written — obviously anyone who writes a book wants some kind of success, wants to be picked up. But you had your artistic gratification with your band. What was it specifically that dragged you into writing, even though you were already expressing yourself in other ways?
Josh: Me and the other songwriter, Mark — Mark Owen — are the two songwriters in The High Strung. And we were always talking about how we wanted to write books. We found a love with songwriting together, learned how to play guitars together, all this stuff. But all the while we were talking about wanting to write novels. We even tried experiments to force ourselves — we would come home from work on a Friday, we lived together, locked the door, and you weren’t allowed to leave till Monday with a completed story. You’d bring home sandwiches and whiskey and go: we’re not leaving.
But even before all that, I was writing — well, “poems” is a loose word for what those were. Embarrassing emo poems and short stories before writing songs. So from the word go, it’s always been trying to write in some fashion or another. But it was really when I met Mark and we started writing songs together and putting out albums that you start to see: if we can put out an album, why can’t this novel idea be realistic? Why can’t this happen?
I remember reading that Ken Kesey had written all of Cuckoo’s Nest, and when he was done, he was like, what if this was told from Chief’s perspective instead? And then he started over and wrote it again. When I read that, it sounded like someone had said they ran five marathons in a row. I literally couldn’t comprehend what I’d just read. You mean he wrote a whole novel and then wrote it again from a different perspective?
And then with Bird Box — the rough draft was a wild incarnation of that book. It gets picked up, and there were enough notes suggesting that you either remove characters and pretend another character said those things, or you just write this stuff from scratch. The rough draft had like 14 housemates and the final book had like seven. So I did the same exact thing — I saw the notes and I was like, I’m just going to write it again. I’m not going to squeeze every chapter trying to change the names. Let’s just try it again.
And that was a real eye-opening experience in terms of what I’d call being in writing shape. If you’re not finishing novels, if you’re not writing regularly, the concept of writing the same novel twice is bonkers. But if you are, if you’re doing it every day and working on it and rewriting and working on another idea, all of a sudden it’s not. And that also keeps circling the first question — what makes an artist? There is being in artistic shape for it. That doesn’t mean the same as being on a treadmill, but there is a certain artistic muscle that has to be in shape.
Daniel: I’ll also just say for listeners — if you do hear some thumping in the background, it’s my next-door neighbours. I was going to be like, hmm…
Josh: There’s someone that just shut up for good. Beneath the floorboards. Yes, carpeted over.
Daniel: [laughs] You mentioned the first draft of Bird Box. From what I’ve read — if this is accurate — that was a 26-day sprint, similarly to your experiment with Wendy: handwritten, barely any dialogue tags, written with five finches flying above your head. You seem to have this knack for creating unique circumstances in which to write those first drafts. Is that something you deliberately set up, or does it just happen that way?
Josh: I have never thought about that before. And the first thing that comes to mind is Carpenter’s Farm, which was written live at the beginning of this pandemic — I posted it to the website in instalments. That would be a real example of what you just asked: making the writing of the rough draft an extraordinary circumstance. Believe me, there are easier things than writing a novel live.
But yeah, I do feel like Goblin had a head to it. Unbury Carol was the fastest I’ve ever written a novel, and it’s my favourite one. Which always sounds weird when an author says that, but I don’t care. I think I wrote Unbury Carol in 15 days, and the rough draft was almost 80,000 words — like 5,300 words a day from day one. Usually it’s like day one is 500 words, day two you’re starting to build up. Unbury Carol from the minute the gate opened was just an explosion.
And this all keeps circling the first question. If the rough draft is what matters — putting “the end” on the book — well, shouldn’t that experience be joyful? Isn’t it nice if it’s a rush, if it’s out of body, if it’s transcendent, if you’re just into it, jamming? And that says something too. The good stuff is in that trunk. But also: the good experiences are where you’re not caring about whether you’re getting it right — you’re just in this world and going for it. So I would say it’s not intentional that the rough drafts have become extraordinary experiences for me, but it’s also no surprise that they have, because to me that’s the most joyful moment of the process.
Daniel: Have any of your works been written over a longer period, with a bit more deliberation? Or are they all these explosions of energy?
Josh: There were two. One is kind of like two explosions, because I wrote — it’s one of the two longest ones I’ve written. It’s called Bring Me the Map. I wrote 80,000 fairly steadily, and then ran out of gas. A year later, I wrote another 80,000 — the second half. I’d never done that before, where I took a break in the middle, wrote other stuff, and then came back and finished it.
But the real one — the one time I was truly steady about it — I have the book here, and I almost want to show you.
Daniel: Go on then.
Josh: Okay, I’m holding up a giant stack of paper. This is called Ghoul and the Cape.
Daniel: That is a beast. Is that size 25 font?
Josh: No, it’s 1,100 pages. And I went into it knowing it was going to be giant. I said to myself: typically when you’re rolling, you’re doing at least 2,500 to 3,000 words a day, and at the most — like Carol — 5,300 a day. But with this one, I think you’ve got to do a thousand a day and spend a year on it. It’s going to be over 300,000 words. And there was something that felt counterintuitive about that — oh, you’re going to write your longest book ever, and you’re going to take your time and write it slower?
But it freaking worked. Three months pass and you’re at 90,000. You’re like, I’m almost a third of the way through. A couple more months, you’re halfway. You’re like, this is working. So that’s the one time I intentionally said: don’t overextend yourself. In the same way that if you run 10 miles one day, you may not run the next. If you don’t run the next day, maybe you won’t run the day after that either. I’d rather have run one mile every single day. And that’s what Ghoul and the Cape was.
Daniel: And that’s such useful advice, because a lot of my listeners are first-time authors struggling to get words out. To even think about writing something so large seems impossible. But if you can nail just a thousand words a day — even just 500 words a day — and chip away at it constantly, that’s when you really build up that body of work.
Josh: And the thing about 500 words a day — it could be literally 15 or 20 minutes, depending on how serious you are about those words. But the point is: if you only did 500 a day — Ghoul and the Cape is a thousand — let’s say you did half that. In a year’s time, less actually, maybe 10 months, you’d end up with something like a 550-page rough draft. Time is going to pass either way. Why not mark it with these daily sessions? When you turn around in 10 months, to the person starting today — for doing almost nothing different, you have 550 pages.
And I know that all sounds a little clinical, a little formulaic. And that’s not where I’m coming from. But sometimes numbers can help. Because a book can sound so daunting — like Kesey’s thing sounded to me. Oh my God, 300 pages? But you just do this little bit. And then here we are.
Ghoul and the Cape, by the way — this hasn’t been announced yet — a special edition of this book is coming out. I don’t know when, I still have to rewrite this stack for it. It’s going to be the full thousand-page edition, like a thousand copies made or something. Probably coming out in about a year and a half. But I had a long discussion about this, and it’s an interesting thing for writers to hear: there are different kinds of rewrites depending on the book itself. Same with music.
Me and the publisher both like that Ghoul and the Cape is loose — that it meanders, that it breathes. Whereas Bird Box is a bullet story. Everything is united, one-note in the best way — boom. So with Bird Box, the rewrite could in effect take longer than a thousand-page book where you’re mostly just: okay, he used to be called John, now he’s Jim. With the newest book I wrote for Del Rey, the rewrite will be a detailed, every-beat kind of thing. Not all rewrites are the same.
Daniel: And all of this links very nicely to something I wanted to hit — I love it when this happens in an interview and you circle around to something that was going to come up anyway. If you’ll indulge me for a minute while I read some of your words back at you.
As I mentioned before we started recording, I’ve recently finished Mallory, which was a fantastic follow-up to Bird Box — and I’ll add right now that Bird Box was the first book in a long time that refuelled my love of reading. I read it in 2018, a few years after it was published. It kept popping up, it became part of a readers group I’m involved in, and I blitzed through it in two days while travelling to see friends in Manchester and other places. I just couldn’t put it down. That hadn’t happened to me in quite a few years. And having recently read Mallory and seeing that you managed to deliver that twice — that’s a sensational thing. I highly applaud you.
Josh: Man, thank you so much. Real fast — talking to Del Rey and my agent about doing Mallory, when I sat down to write it, I was like, okay, here we go. And then it started, and it was like, any pressure was just gone. I was just happy to be with Mallory again. There are some characters that come around, I think, for authors, where you don’t have to remember: how would she react? It’s just natural. I know her. I’ve got her.
Daniel: That’s going to be such a nice feeling. I will say for listeners — if we don’t get further into the Bird Box/Mallory stuff, Josh did a fantastic interview on the This Is Horror podcast, and I’ll link to that in the show notes. I think he did three episodes in sequence. Hello guys!
But yeah — at the end of Mallory, you wrote a little afterword. As I was reading through it, there was a passage that really pulled me in, and I want to read this paragraph and then discuss it. It’s a bit long so please do indulge me.
“What the prolific understands deeply is that you can start anywhere in a prolific’s catalogue and work your way in either direction from there. What the prolific cherishes about all things is not the singular work of art but the canon, the oeuvre, the arc of a creative mind unable to stop itself, the waves created by endless ideas. Have I mentioned that the prolific believes anything he or she does at any time is a snapshot of the whole? To wait years between projects is akin to having misplaced a thousand photographs from an era that, in hindsight, was much cooler than it felt at the time.”
For me, that clicked on so many levels. I’m known within the indie community as someone who writes very fast — I put out a lot of work in different places. And I’ve been getting into a position where I do want to slow down a little and go deeper into projects, but that’s a whole different conversation. To read something like this and know that there are other people who feel that sense of urgency to create something that captures a moment in time — and who don’t feel the pressure of a book needing to be a perfect monument of who a person is, because it’s shifting, it’s changing, it’s morphing as time goes by. When I interviewed Jonathan Janz, he mentioned a few times the art of the prolific. Talk to us more about that idea, because it’s something I’ve never seen so succinctly put.
Josh: Man. We got deep here.
Oh yeah, these are like my favourite subjects. I have friends — numerous friends — who have book ideas and I see them getting stuck. And I keep going back to the moment I finished my first book. There was the lofty idea that I was like, this is the one I’m trying to write. And then the crazy horror story that I thought would help me write that one. I left the lofty one behind and went nuts into the other one.
And I see friends stuck on their first novel, and I start to feel like: I think you believe that novel has to represent you in full. Every character, every street name has to represent you completely. And what you don’t realise — and you can’t know if you’re prolific or not until book two — is that the minute you have that second book, you start to realise: okay, Wendy was more about sexuality. Goblin was more about character sketches. The Wolverine Line was a spiral into a guy who was horribly afraid of something that happened to him. Already in the first three books, all these different things. And I started to realise that any spotlight on what I’m trying to say is already divvied up amongst three books.
So to understand where I’m coming from, Wendy wouldn’t represent me in full, and neither would Bird Box. In fact, sometimes it’s incredible to me that Bird Box is the breakthrough one, because it’s the flattest, the straightest one. I’m a super scatterbrained person — Unbury Carol is much more like my personality. Multiple characters, bizarre setting, bizarre circumstances. If you put Bird Box and Carol next to each other without my name on them, I don’t think somebody would recognise those as the same author. And then throw in a third and it’s like, these are three different people.
But what that means is that a single work of art isn’t what represents you. It’s the canon. And the beauty of embracing that is: then anything goes. You could write a novel where not a single character agrees with any way you see the world. And then there’s also the truth that in a novel, there’s nowhere to hide. If you and I were given the exact same scenario — the sun comes up, Jonathan wakes up, goes to the bathroom, goes downstairs — already, how you tell that and how I tell that would be worlds apart. There’s just no hiding it.
Even if you wrote a novel unlike your worldviews, something in it would be understood as farce or irony or sarcasm, because the real you is impossible to hide in a novel. And so that might sound scary to someone, but what it should do is lift the pressure of feeling like you have to figure out how to express yourself by writing. You are expressing yourself. You can’t help it.
I remember before a High Strung show in Chicago, there was a poet named Thax Douglas who would read his poems on stage before the band played. And he did it for us. And I was talking to Thax — I’d already written a couple of books by then — and I said I want to write the great optimistic novel, something that years from now, if somebody needed to know how to get through a moment, they could pick it up. And Thax turned to me and said: isn’t the act of writing at all optimistic? And I was like, yeah, shit, you’re right. Because doesn’t it imply that it matters? Doesn’t it imply that someone might read it? Doesn’t it imply that there’s meaning? And I thought: okay, I’m just going to keep doing what I was doing and let it all work itself out.
So yes — the ultimate beauty of the prolific is it ends up becoming the canon, the quilt, the body of work that represents you rather than just Bird Box, just Unbury Carol.
Daniel: One thing I’ve found in researching you and in previous conversations with other writers is that your name is often brought up as a very positive influence — someone who manages to remain humble despite this global success with your films, your books, everything else. The question I want to ask is two-part. First: how do you stay so humble? And second: you seem to be a very active force in reaching a hand back to help people behind you on this journey. What does that look like for you, and how do you stay so grounded?
Josh: Man, those are hard ones to dissect in myself.
One answer I have is: if it’s all coming from a place of joy and love for writing and for books, then — and I wonder though, if I was 20 years old when Bird Box comes out and a movie is made and it’s a hit, what would I be like at 23 or 24? I can’t say for certain I would be this way. I probably would have walked around like I owned the city or something. But most people I’ve met are coming from the right place, especially authors. How many authors have you really met where they’re like, “my goal is to be world famous” or “my goal is to make a million dollars”? And while we all want those things to happen, I kind of have a rule: no V’s in art.
No validation — meaning seeking validation through success. Bird Box doing well should not validate the other books or me or a career. The writing in itself is the victory. Nothing vengeful — if anybody ever said something about you and you’re like, well, now what do you think? No, no, no. And there’s one more V, but I can’t remember the fourth one right now. It’s in the newest book I wrote. But the point is: I’m very aware at 47 of not looking at the success of Bird Box as meaning something beyond what the work meant. No spite in that. No bad feeling. The joy — everything is in that rough draft. Anything that happens on top of that rough draft, just be grateful for it.
And in terms of reaching back to help others — I don’t see it as reaching behind or down to help someone. Because what is up and down anyway? This guy sold more books than you, this guy sold fewer — I don’t know. Dean Koontz might be the coolest, most sensitive, nicest guy in the world. I have no idea. And for all I know, someone I dismiss as punching down could be the most interesting person in the room.
I do sometimes worry — I see certain writers online who present themselves as a little more aloof. Whereas online I’m just like exactly how I’m talking to you right now. Sometimes I worry: am I going to ruin any chance of mystique? Is that ship already sailed?
Daniel: No, it definitely comes across as transparency. From everything I’ve read about you, other podcasts I’ve listened to, speaking to you now — it’s all one authentic experience.
We would be doing a disservice if we don’t touch on Bird Box and Mallory. Bird Box was originally published in 2014. The movie came out in 2018. Mallory came out this year. How have you kept the momentum flowing between these different projects? Are you actively doing anything from your side to keep that momentum going?
Josh: To make matters even weirder, the rough draft was written in 2006. So the real question is how the hell — because to me, I love them all the same. But okay — here’s the answer.
Bird Box gets picked up, comes out in 2014, and did what I thought was really fun and well in its first week. But by New York Times bestseller standards, or really any major publisher standards, it was probably a disappointment in terms of first-week sales. The point is: the second week it did about the same, the third week about the same, the fourth week the same — for an entire year. It became like, huh, this is becoming interesting. Because Bird Box didn’t sell thousands of copies in its first two weeks and then peter out. It had this steadiness for an entire year. And then that year became two, and two became three, and three became four. And all of a sudden it was this strange thing that me and my agent would talk about regularly — it’s still doing exactly what it did. It never rose above a certain volume and never went below it. Just this steady hum for four years.
I attribute that to Bird Box appearing on a lot of horror novel recommendation lists, and also to the fact that Bird Box can step outside the genre a little. To me it’s squarely horror, but it could go to a thriller party. Like, Bird Box can go out for a night — it’s going to go home to the horror house, but it can go out, you know?
Daniel: It’s a one-night pass.
Josh: Yeah, it’s a one-night stand. It doesn’t spend much time in the romantic comedy side of town, but it might be welcome there too.
So that, plus word of mouth in the horror scene really propelling it. I went to StokerCon — I think it was 2013, right before the book came out in 2014. I didn’t know a single person in the scene yet. I had a box of 60 hardcovers of Bird Box that I was supposed to sell, and I’m looking at all these tables set up, not knowing anyone, thinking: how am I going to sell these? So I was like, forget it — I stood up and put a sign saying “free hardcovers.” And all these people would walk up and I’d suddenly be talking to them about Bird Box, and they wrote books too. And I’m talking to maybe 50 or 60 people in the horror world in that hour. I always cite that as one of the best decisions I ever made.
And I’m not saying to an author: give yourself away for free. It just seemed like the right thing to do in that moment. And I think there was some seed work that happened there. The head of the HWA at the time, Rocky Wood, was one of the people who got a copy and posted about it being a great debut. That led to more people reading it.
And then there were announcements along the way — Netflix optioned Bird Box before it came out, then bought the rights back from Universal. Sandra Bullock gets on board. Sarah Paulson. John Malkovich. Directed by Susanne Bier. So there was a steady flow of things to talk about between book and film. It wasn’t like the book came out and a month later there’s a movie. There was this steady flow of exciting developments. And then the movie happened — and that’s a whole hour-long conversation in itself. And at that point, that sets up Mallory.
So the answer is: steady word of mouth, things to talk about, and Bird Box maybe stepping outside the genre a little.
Daniel: We are getting very close to time, but I have one main question before we go into a couple of Patreon questions. And it’s the same question I ask every guest: why do you, Josh Malerman, write? Jonathan Janz had a very good answer, so hopefully you can top it.
Josh: I don’t know. It’s such a thrill. It’s so much more than just fun — it’s such a thrill.
I had a moment one time where I was in the middle of a real run, writing a lot. There was a bar we all hung out at and this woman showed up to literally talk to me about whether I needed a plan B. And she said: “Listen, you’re having the time of your life, I see online that you’ve written like 10 books” — this was before Bird Box gets picked up — “but I think you need a plan B. At some point you have to think about this. You’re one of the brokest people I’ve ever met. What are you going to do?”
And the question was so bizarre to me that I didn’t even get upset about it. It sounded like she could have been asking: I think you need a third foot, or can I borrow one of your eyes? I literally didn’t understand what she meant. What do you mean, plan B? This is what I do. I’m going to write another one and another one and another one.
And then Bird Box got picked up. And I can say with absolute certainty that without HarperCollins, without Del Rey, without the movie — I would be at 33 books now anyway. I was doing about two a year before all this happened, and I’m still at about two a year since.
Why do I write? There’s no intentional framing to this answer, but — it’s the most thrilling, joyous — it’s the most colourful place that I go to.
Daniel: Fantastic. Beautifully put.
We’ve got time for one question from our patrons. I’m going to go with Faye Trask, who asks: how much say did you have when it came to turning Bird Box into a movie? And did you get to do anything neat, like meet the actors or visit the set?
Josh: Okay, so in terms of say — none. And the thing about it is, Bird Box was optioned before it came out, as my first book. So talk about no leverage. I literally had nothing out in the world yet. We happily, joyfully said: take it away and do whatever you want with it.
That said, I was welcome into the initial conversations about who the screenwriter was going to be. I flew out to LA and went to the set to meet the producers, they showed me storyboards. They’d give us updates and we were welcome on set. I watched a scene being shot in the woods, and then a large chunk of a day was spent in a sound studio on the Warner Brothers lot — you can see in the movie where Pee was riding his bike around, that kind of stuff. And we’re in one of those studios watching the scene where the car flips, Sandra Bullock and Sarah Paulson in the car, and they do it again and again and again in this contraption, this machine.
And at the end of that day — so where they filmed was all lit up, and there were shadows beyond that. One of the main producers was like, “Hey, Joshua, I want you to meet someone.” And I’m thinking: I’m about to meet Sandra Bullock. And he leads me through a bunch of people and walks me out under those lights, and she’s there in full make-up and costume for the role. And I’m just like — Mallory. I’m like, what is going on right now? I’m meeting Sandra Bullock and she has her own spotlight. It was an amazing moment.
And then we were invited to the LA premiere, which was actually in the contract — Josh gets to go to the premiere. And Alison and I had the time of our lives that night. Oh my God, just even thinking about it now.
And then after that they invited us to the New York premiere — and that one wasn’t in the contract. And that really meant something to me. I was like, oh my God, they invited us. We added to that party. We’re definitely adders, not subtractors. And they liked us and they wanted us there. That was a huge moment.
So did I have any say? No. And I also didn’t care about that. In the same way as with my band — I’m the songwriter, I bring a song, I don’t tell Derek what to play on drums. I wrote the song Bird Box and they played it however they wanted. Great. Done. Amazing.
Daniel: I love that. Okay — we’re going to go into the quick-fire round now. Ten questions, as fast as possible. At any point, feel free to pass. Ready?
Josh: Okay.
Daniel: Bram Stoker or Mary Shelley?
Josh: Mary Shelley.
Daniel: What’s your go-to breakfast?
Josh: Eggs.
Daniel: If you could sentence one person to live in their own personal quarantine for the next year, just to free the rest of the world, who would it be?
Josh: I mean… I do have someone in mind who should go into quarantine for a year. Or maybe 50. We’ll go with that.
Daniel: The Beatles or The Who?
Josh: Oh man. The Who.
Daniel: Who’s your go-to author to get you out of a writing funk?
Josh: Recently, Philip Roth.
Daniel: What one musician, living or dead, would you invite into your hot tub?
Josh: No, but it sounds really weird — I feel like my answer is Neil Young. That sounds like the weirdest person. But I have so many questions for him about his songwriting. And I guess the hot tub is just the best situation to answer those questions. Weirdly naked in a hot tub.
Daniel: If a random fire destroyed all of your work and you were only able to save one story, which would you save?
Josh: Oh my God. That’s the scariest question I’ve ever been asked in my life. One story. Oh boy. It’s a novel called Pest.
Daniel: What’s your party trick?
Josh: I can drink this drink in half.
Daniel: What’s one Christmas present you wished you got but never received?
Josh: I was about to say the Construct-a-Cons, but I did get that. I’ll pass. That’s a stumper.
Daniel: If you could have one sentence, word, or phrase published on a billboard and viewed by millions, what would it say?
Josh: Something to the effect of: get rid of the words “good” or “bad.”
Daniel: I love it. And that is ten questions. One bonus question: where can listeners find out everything about you and all you’re working on?
Josh: Everything is just Josh Malerman — Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, all with one L in Malerman. And also joshmalerman.com. It used to be just updates, but now there’s a free novel up there that I wrote live at the beginning of this pandemic. Carpenter’s Farm is up there in its entirety. And one of my favourite things about that — there are no view numbers, no likes, no dislikes, no comments. It’s literally just the book and chapters. There’s something very pure about that to me.
Daniel: Absolutely love that. If you’re listening, check out anything Josh has worked on — you’ll be doing yourself a favour. And Josh, thank you so much for donating some of your time and coming on the show. It’s been a genuine pleasure.
Daniel: And that is a wrap. Oh my God, every time I hear that I get chills. I love that interview so much. Thank you so much, Josh, for the time back in 2020. If you’re listening to this show — which, let’s be honest, you’re probably not, but if you are — I will be reaching out soon to try and hook up another conversation, because it’s just a joy every time.
And thank you, the listeners, for tuning in. Before you dash off — if you’re craving deeper conversation, writing advice, or just fancy hanging out with fellow readers and storytellers, why not consider joining the Devil’s Rock community on Discord? I’m on a mission to build the largest online space for fans of horror and dark fiction — a home where writers and readers can connect, create, and thrive together. It’s free, open to all, and always crackling with inspiration. Head on over to devilsrockbooks.com/podcast for the invite link. And until next time, my friends — write bravely and dream dark.
