Chatting with Eoin Nordman

Eoin Nordman is a writer from Michigan, now living in Berkeley, CA. His work explores themes of existentialism, identity, and disconnection through speculative fiction and magical realism. He writes weird stories about broken people navigating broken worlds, often blurring the line between the surreal and the painfully real. His work has appeared in Maudlin House.

Eoin is the author of “Somatophobia” from Issue 10.

Q: What specifically inspired the idea of somatophobia as a psychological pandemic? Was it a specific fear? A philosophical inquiry?

The idea popped into my head one day while I was sitting at my desk staring into space. I remember thinking: what if everyone was disgusted and terrified by being trapped in their own body? And then thinking: that’s probably a good place to start a story. Based on how the story ended, maybe that initial “random” thought stemmed from a subconscious philosophical inquiry about what it means to exist as a human and what we have become and may become in relation to different technologies.

Q: On a craft level, there’s an almost eerie calmness in the tone, even during the more horrific scenes. How did you cultivate this restraint in your prose?

Hmm, great question. I’ve never really thought about it. But I think in this story in particular the first-person protagonist, Thomas, is a fairly jaded and aloof person. I imagine he’s like this because he finds the world to be a horrific place and that stoic tone in his voice is a sort of coping mechanism. I think an added benefit of a voice like Thomas’ is that his calmness leaves the interpretation of each horrific event more in the readers court. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe a bad thing. Hopefully some people liked it!

Q: What do you think the story suggests about the body’s role in identity and connection? Do you see the body as essential to being human, or is that exactly what the story is interrogating?

Another great question. I think both Thomas and Adam’s reactions to somatophobia suggest that our deepest connections are almost always associated with close physical proximity and touch. I think the question is: without physical intimacy what do those deep, ancient, human connections (romantic partners, parents and children, etc.) look like? Would you want to live in a world without them? Or would you desperately accept radical solutions in an attempt to regain them? In the story, Thomas makes his choice. I hope that readers have a strong reaction to that choice. I kind of imagine the reaction to be the answer to those questions.

I do see the body as essential to being human. Whatever Thomas, Adam and Sophie become in the OlaxVerse (if they become anything) would be a different creature all together, informed by humanity but not human.

In the end, I wrote this story because I’m worried about what happens to humans as we increasingly interact with technologies that disconnect us. For example: we may occasionally Zoom instead of meeting face to face; we live parasocial relationships through Podcasts and Social Media, rather than seeking out tangible two-sided relationships; instead of asking a person a question we ask Google (or ChatGPT). All of that worries me. Because as we further retreat into ourselves behind our suits of technological armor, I think we grow less empathetic, more lonely, and more ripe for manipulation. Great for capitalism, horrible for humanity. In some ways it feels like we are already afraid of being human, and already making choices to become something else.

Q: Can you talk about your journey to writing science fiction? Your first piece was published in May of this year. How long have you been writing?

I have been writing on and off for years. Never very consistently or seriously. About four years ago I decided to take a short fiction class at a local non-profit writing center. I wrote a few stories and learned a lot, then my hard drive died and I lost everything. I quit writing after that, and only started again this January. Since then I’ve been writing about 3–4 times a week, trying to knock out short stories and flash pieces. So far I’ve written a bunch of stuff (probably in the realm of twenty stories, mostly shorts, some flash). Most of it is terrible, some of it I think is pretty great (until I don’t). So, I guess I’d say I’ve only been writing with the intention to finish pieces and submit for about seven-ish months. (Shout out to my girlfriend and good friends for being beta readers!).

As far as writing science fiction, I never really planned on it. Historically, I never wrote it. I’d try to write realist literary fiction and some stuff with surreal elements. But for some reason when I started writing again in January, I’ve found that I’ve mostly written sci-fi, horror, and some surreal literary fiction. Weirdly, the majority of pieces I think are good enough (or will become good enough) to submit are sci-fi or literary surreal stuff. Still working on writing decent horror.

Q: How has the process of publishing your work been?

My first published piece I wrote in about ten minutes and sent off to Maudlin House. It took a day for an acceptance. That was in February after about a month of writing. I was surprised. After that I racked up a bunch of rejections. And then I think in April, you all accepted “Somatophobia.” That was very exciting for me. I had become a fan after reading a few issues. And was becoming accustomed to rejection. So being accepted was a bit of a shock. The process of publishing with Radonwas fantastic, there has been so much support from the editorial team and from past contributors. You all run an incredible journal.

Since publishing “Somatophobia,” I haven’t submitted much. A few flash pieces here and there, that have turned into a few form rejections, a couple personal rejections and one shortlist. I have mostly been at work on three short stories that I am trying to perfect before shopping around. One of them I just finished and submitted for the first time (wish me luck).

Q: The piece you published for Maudlin House, “Seen,” also seems to borrow a bit from surrealism. Would you say that this surrealist bent is essential to your project as a writer? Or does it more so come about incidentally?

I look at the world as an absurd place. Beautiful in many ways, horrific in others, but all of it absurd. In response to that perceived absurdity I find that I often say and do weird things, in art and in life. Usually to make myself laugh, or cry. Probably because it feels to me like an answer to some answerless question or set of answerless questions.

I think everything from saying nonsense words that become slang with friends to drawing strange shapes or writing weird surreal fiction gets at the heart of what being a human is in a way serious conversation or photo realism or strictly realist fiction could never on their own. So I guess I see surrealism as the unintelligible answer to every unanswerable question that we somehow end up vaguely understanding at a subconscious level. Or something.

Now, I’ve confused myself.

Q: What can we expect next from you? Any projects you’re working on?

Other than lounging and adventuring with my dog (see author photo) and girlfriend. Nothing huge. Just wrapping up and shopping around a number of short stories. A surreal grief dystopia sci-fi road-trip noir. A surreal lit fic piece about a haunted couple. And a dystopian piece about memory, love and revolution. Look for those to be published somewhere, hopefully, maybe, eventually.