"So Naturally, My Stories Were About Loneliness and Isolation."

In the riveting collection, Periscope City: Where the Lonely Go to Live Alone, debut author Benjamin Talbot introduces readers to a fictional city full of complex characters navigating isolation, desire, and disconnection. In this exclusive interview, Ben opens up about the origins of the collection, the surprising characters that emerged, and how his own experiences helped shape this strange, eerie world. If you’ve ever felt alone in a crowded room—or sought solitude in a noisy one—this interview might speak to you.

Start off with the book trailer, which will provide you the general Periscope City feel:

 

Dianne Pearce (Dianne): Hey Ben, I really appreciate you taking the time to let me quiz you about your book. I loved the book the minute I read the first story, which for me, was a story about a very strange ice cream shop. I have a similar one near my house, very unusual flavors, so it intrigued me. And I admit to being very surprised by where it went. The book has so much commentary (intentional, or coincidental) on the state of the world post pandemic, and I could not help but wonder if that inspired the writing. So, I gotta ask, as my first question for you, Ben, what drew you to loneliness and isolation as central themes in your stories?

 

Benjamin Talbot (Ben): It was the beginning of January 2020 when I completed the first short for this collection, unaware that the project would come to be. Call it a presage, but I was observing my landscape and noticed a certain disconnection already, and this was three months before the coronavirus. When March came around, my supervisor announced that, from here on, we would be working remotely. 

I continued writing short stories during the pandemic with the assumption that it would stay this way for good, that the world will never be the same, that everybody will have to be encapsulated in his or her own home forever. So naturally, my stories were about loneliness and isolation. But I was already feeling it in the months leading up. As it was, I'd been practicing social distancing long before the lockdown. 

Call it a presage, but I was observing my landscape and noticed a certain disconnection already....

Dianne: Did you set out to write a collection with interconnected themes, or did the stories naturally come together that way?

Ben: Not right away. After about three stories in, I stepped back and looked at them from a distance and thought, Wait a minute. These stories are all taking place in the same town with the same technologies. Why didn't I see this to begin with? And from there, I carried the momentum into subsequent stories that further explored the intricacies and eccentricities of this city.

Dianne: How do the characters in your book experience loneliness differently? Are there any characters who surprised you in the way they evolved?

Ben: So I look at myself and dissect the different parts that adapt to loneliness, the advantages and disadvantages, and then I dissect the various desires. Each character has a desire, doesn't he or she? Whether it's sexual, whether it's the paradoxical desire to be wanted yet left alone, whether it's the desire to run away from something to be anonymous, whether it's the desire to have any space. I feel like everyone has been to a crowded restaurant, let's say, and thought, You know, it would be nice if all these people were to disappear, and I could eat my dinner with the whole place to myself. 

The Morgan character surprised me a little because, at first, she came across as just a bratty twenty-four-year-old who came to group therapy and tried to rouse everyone's emotions with her rebellious nature. But she was coming across as too much of a caricature without a backstory. I interact with people regularly and think, Oh, she's just that grumpy bank teller, and in the story of my life, that's all she is because that's the only time I see her is when I go to the bank. How often do I stop to wonder what her home life is like? So when I explored Morgan's character further, I found more depth and color beyond her tattoos and rubber boots.

When I explored Morgan's character further, I found more depth and color beyond her tattoos and rubber boots. 

Dianne: Your collection paints loneliness with differing tones (sinister/melancholic/hopeful); was that intentional from the start?

Ben: I tried my best to mine for as many traits of Periscope City as possible. And in doing so, I didn't want to write something that resembled an essay on the city. What I mean is, what sounds like an essay. And instead, let the characters paint it with their outlooks and remove myself as a distant narrator. That's why every story was told in the first person.

 

Dianne: First person is tough to write well, in my editorial experience, but I think you did wonderfully. I think authors try it because it feels more personal to them as authors. And I wondered if there is a particular story in this collection that feels most personal to you.

Ben: I would say the story “Periscope City” feels the most personal because of the character Joel's conflict between wanting to be alone versus wanting to be desired. Joel had a certain way of observing things peculiar to him in the city that he thought were absurd yet convenient, such as the self-help alcohol machine at The Hideaway. He compares it to the machine he sees at movie theaters. It takes me back to a bygone era when movie theater attendants used to actually pour the sodas for me behind the counter. Will this technology carry into bars sometime in the future? We'll see. If I'm looking through Joel's eyes, I see it as both a relief and a sad sign.

 

Dianne: I think I agree with that. Imagine a world where self-checkout becomes self-bartend-er. I like that you think that way. The atmosphere in each of the stories is so different, but it builds the fabric of the city. How did you approach creating a sense of atmosphere in your stories?

I think atmosphere is everything. 

Ben: That's an interesting question. I think atmosphere is everything. Without it, the characters have nothing to do, nothing to feel. As I started sketching this town, I thought of hyperbolic elements that distort the current reality. I placed this city in a barren part of Utah, where weather changes from heat to rain to snow. It's a city built for isolation for those who go to be isolated. The technologies are there for the characters to stay isolated, yet they're under constant surveillance for testing. So while they're alone, they're being watched, and I get that sense these days because people are gravitating closer towards being isolated while everything is getting closer to being monitored. I noticed, working from home, that I was being watched closer than when I was working in the office.

Dianne: I understand that feeling too, Ben. I had a job like that very recently. And I worked in Zoom with studens who suddenly found themselves virtual, instead of in my classroom, who were quite spaced-out, or just, weird, online. We don't adjust to things as well as we think we should.

Were there any books, films, or real-life experiences that influenced the way you wrote about isolation?

Ben: I believe the first film I ever watched that captured isolation was 2001: A Space Odyssey. As a young man, I didn't quite understand Kubrick's subtle depiction of loneliness in such a slow-moving film. Then, at the end—not that I'm going to spoil it for anyone—I got the sense that when the main character was alone in space, I thought, Man, is that what my future is going to be? Dude, all this technology is going to separate me from everyone else. 

And then I watched The Lonely Guy, one of my favorite—if not my favorite—comedies ever. Of all the brilliant scenes that paint the lighter side of loneliness, one that stands out the most is when the Steve Martin character, who hates loneliness but is pushed into it by circumstances, goes alone to a restaurant, and right after he tells the host that he's eating alone, the whole restaurant pauses to stare at him as he's being shown to his table. A spotlight shines on him. And as he sits, the busboys rush to take away all the plates and utensils from the table except for his. When the waiter takes his order, Steve Martin's character, Larry (always a comedic name to me, I don't know why), pretends that he's a food critic to give an excuse as to why the heck he would dine alone. 

As far as books go, I've read mostly novels and such narrated by loners. Dostoevsky's novels aren't exactly full of scenes with socialites, the same with Knut Hamsun, Albert Camus.... One of Bukowski's famous lines was how there are worse things than loneliness. 

And in real life, I tend to enjoy going to movies or out to dinner by myself and never feel insecure about being alone. I've had friends who were quite the opposite. They couldn't stand to go anywhere by themselves. They needed me along as a blankie in case anyone were to spot them alone somewhere like at the mall, as if being alone there made them a loser. I never understood that insecurity.  

 

Dianne: Well, I love Steve Martin, and those authors. Not quite sure I loved 2001. I think my boyfriend at the time oversold it. But I loved those books, and I think that's why your book resonated with me. It was almost like it called me back to Steppenwolf by Hesse. 

When you were writing, did you find yourself feeling the emotions of your characters as you wrote?

...sometimes they became too personal for comfort.

Ben: At times. I got too close and had to back away because I didn't want any tangents to derail the stories, and sometimes they became too personal for comfort.

 

Dianne: I'm a bit "confessional" when I write sometimes, and that is something I am wary of too. How do you balance giving insight into your characters’ internal worlds while maintaining mystery?

Ben: If we're talking background, or backstory, I've written long enough to know instinctively when to take my foot off the pedal. All the characters, save a few, have come from different parts of the country to Periscope City. There's a character in particular from Naples, Florida, who's estranged from his family. In earlier drafts, I included everything there was to know about his history, about his life in Florida, before he was confined to a wheelchair. But then I thought, You know what? The readers don't need to know this. They just need to know he's in a wheelchair, and he was forced alone because of whatever reason. It's in my head, but if I were to digress for too long into the whole family dynamic, the reader may have thought, Okay, you didn't need to explain all that. I get it, bud.

 

Dianne: Sounds like my daughter these days, "Say less, Mom." I hate to ask this, because I want the answer to be no, as a greedy fan of your work, but, were there any stories or ideas you had to leave out of the final collection?

Ben: Yes. There was a short story that took place in one of the hotel bars where the character was spilling his life story to a robot bartender about him being cancelled in Hollywood as a documentary filmmaker. It turned out that his family hated him; his father was connected to the mob and lived in Hawaii and ended up murdering the actor who'd cancelled his son. The short began with the filmmaker recounting a dream he had the night before about him running into Kurt Vonnegut at a grocery store and throwing him down a flight of stairs, and he asked the robot bartender to analyze the dream. So, in essence, the whole scene was of him telling these flashbacks and dream sequences to the robot bartender. 

Anyway, so I submitted this story to an online writing community for a critique, and everyone hated it. One of them just wrote, “I'm sorry, but this isn't for me.” Not even putting forth the effort of giving it constructive feedback. When everyone in the group implied that they hated it, and after I realized that other characters in the collection were already connected to that part of the world, I wasn't very confident in showing it to anyone else. So that, along with many other stories I've written, was thrown into the recycle bin, at least for this project. But who knows? Maybe I'll revisit it someday and turn it into something better, or include it in some other project as an extension to a larger story. You hear a lot about never throwing something away just because it doesn't fit a larger narrative; this may fit another one.

 

Dianne: Yeah, Ben, I suggest you hold onto that story. I’ve seen plenty of online feedback groups, and led a few workshops in my day. Never trust the participants to not be envious of extra-talented or deep writing. And, between you and me and this blog, you write exceedingly well. I think you’re remarkably talented, so, you know, take another look at that story later on. You could also (and other authors with books can take note of this advice) give it away serialized on your blog: The missing story from the book: serialized in (blank #) of episodes. I read your very unusual blog because it is so unusual, but that would be an extra incentive.

To the readers of Authors Electric I want to let you know that while Benjamin Talbot’s Periscope City: Where the Lonely Go to Live Alone doesn’t offer tidy resolutions, it does offer recognition, absurdity, honesty, and maybe even connection in unexpected places. If you’ve ever wondered what it means to be alone together, this collection might just be for you. I couldn’t put it down. I found myself reading it aloud to people who, astonishingly, because I sometimes cried and sometimes laughed as I read it, loved it just as much as I did. The writing is engaging from the first word to the last. I’m glad I don’t live in Periscope City, but I loved visiting. I think you will too!

Enjoy this excerpt from the book:

Alan II

I fell out of my wheelchair again in the middle of Howard Hughes Lane. It was the early afternoon in downtown Periscope City. The sun was frying me on a cobblestone road. My lenses cracked. No one threw me a freaking rope, either. I wished for someone to hit me, just run these crippled bones over, but no cars decided to pass. An ugly breeze brushed my hair and gave me the chills. 

A pair of cowboy boots stopped in front of me with jeans over them. I turned around to see a stranger with an eyepatch—or what appeared to be a man with an eyepatch because I couldn’t see much without my glasses. He kneeled closer. In fact, it was an eyepatch. He wore a jean jacket and a gold chain with a cross hanging from it. 

“Hey, bud. Let’s get you back in this chair,” he said. 

I didn’t want his help. “Just let me die here.”   

“Relax. We’ll fix them glasses.” 

“No. I don’t want to see this chair anymore.” 

“But you cain’t just lay there like a piece of ribeye.”    

“Yes I can.” 

After he picked me up like I was a honey baked ham fresh out of the meat section, I began to whine in the wind for him to put me back down. 

Turned out he had enough strength to force me back into my chair and roll me away from the embarrassing scene. “The name’s Bobby,” he said. “Shreveport, Louisiana. What about you?” 

I didn’t need to know that. 

“Alan.”

“Where you from, Alan?” 

What did it matter? “Naples,” I said.  

“Where’s that?”   

“Florida.”  

“No kidding,” he said. “My ex is from Covington.” 

I didn’t see how that connected. 

It didn’t seem to matter. My new acquaintance wheeled me to his car, and I let him help me get into the front seat. There had to be an ulterior motive. For a minute, I thought he was kidnapping me. Who knew what weirdos lived in that city? A weirdo had the potential to steal a man in a wheelchair. By the strong engine smell, it was a vintage car. Even with my blurry vision, I could see the furry dice hanging from its rearview. 

He climbed into the driver’s side. 

“You don’t seem to belong here,” I said.

“Nah, I live here,” he said. “You think I’m visitin’?” 

“You don’t seem like a loner.”    

“What is a loner?” he asked. 

I was hoping that was a rhetorical question.

He began revving the engine and waiting for me to answer. 

“A loner wants to be alone,” I said. “You seem like a people person.”

His face was stuck to the road ahead, and he lit a cigarette. “I like to be alone,” he said. “It’s my water.”

Periscope City: Where the Lonely Go to Live Alone topped the fiction shelf for California Book Watch for March 2025.

See a video of Ben reading one of his stories:

Follow Ben on his quite different blog.

Pick up a copy of Periscope City: Where the Lonely Go to Live Alone:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Apple Books

To all who love new writing, and indie writing, buying a guy’s book, even the electronic low-cost version, is the best way to help him (her or they) put out a second book. Four bucks can keep a writing career afloat. 

Thanks for meeting Ben with me. I had a great time reading his book, and doing the interview. I hope you enjoyed the interview too.