Meet Sean Madden | Novelist

We had the good fortune of connecting with Sean Madden and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Sean, how do you think about risk?
I grew up playing the board game “Risk” so whence I refined into a mature adult I couldn’t help but gloat an appetite for conniving varietals. I’m pleased to make risk’s acquaintance, I’ve worked a desk job in corporate finance for 13 picket fenced years, and I didn’t begin living until I went hell’s bells and buckets of sludge on my Microsoft Word processor. My existence is in a tryst with it. Life summates to one’s expenditure of time and squeezing in writing roughly 3,600 pages over the past 14 years on the heels of a full-time stress obsessed career has been an unfashionably punctual party pooper, I’ve sacrificed all of mine doing this. You must be willing to forfeit having a girlfriend, starting a family, staying out late with the lads at the bar, garrulous socializing is the adversary of individuality. All writing is a docile endeavor, I do mine alone in my bedroom, I work weekends, I lose sleep, my clothes are stuffed with sticky notes, it’s insalubrious. Long form doesn’t transpose to Instagram with any degree of aptitude believe me I’ve tried, it’s the exact opposite of content, these are novels that take years of stretching the recesses of imagination for idea generation, it’s thankless. I count syllables. I’d give up if opportunity cost wasn’t such crickets. When I see blue, feel despair and the failure finagles, I reread Terrence Malick’s “Knight of Cups” Wikipedia reviews: Be Free Be You. Nobody else is outlook not so lucrative doing this.

Can you open up a bit about your work and career? We’re big fans and we’d love for our community to learn more about your work.
There’s a YouTube video that I revisit often and fondly of Charlie Kaufman giving a lecture about screenwriting where he recounts a scene from “Serpico” of Pacino uncomfortably schmoozing with his girlfriend at a NYC bohemian loft soirée jury-rigged to the rafters with ostentatious artist types. The group goes around in a circle introducing themselves in the vein of “I’m a painter but I work in a restaurant” and “I’m an actor but I work in an office” then they arrive on Al and he goes “I’m a cop. I work for the police department.” This makes me laugh it entwines perception with identity. I work in finance. I hardly feel like an artist I wouldn’t classify it as imposter syndrome I don’t have tangible agency in the community our nexus is tenuous that’s what sets me apart I’ve been living a life which is where Ralph Lauren told Charlie Rose influence comes from. That absence of validation grants me cult hero stature. I’ve never seen more demand for workplace mockumentary humor yet all the writers went to Harvard they’re Lampoon legacies they’ve never worked a real job in their lives I’m the genuine article. To quote my ladies man Made coach Josten J, I’ve learned “I am him and they are them.”

I’m excited for my Olivia Rodrigo GUTS World Tour beach towel I’ll be chilling like a villain on next to Malibu Pier all fall. I just saw her at the Kia Forum. I’m amped for two new Lynne Ramsay films—the greatest contemporary director—her work shatters me. I can’t contain my enthusiasm for Sean Baker’s “Anora” which looks fantastic I want to see Mikey Madison walking carpets this awards season. Whisk me to the new Clipse album produced entirely by Pharrell Williams fingers crossed for multiple Ab-Liva verses. Eager to break ground on “Rain Œuvre Shine,” my next book, an experimental epic sequel of sorts. I haven’t gotten anywhere I haven’t even started.

Writing isn’t easy button you can take a picture in a second, record a reel in a minute, paint a picture in a day, make an album in a week, shoot a film in a month, writing a novel is an NDA, prepare to sign your twenties away. There’s no tech oligarch incubator to cheerlead you on, zero money, I’ve opened hundreds of solicited rejections from publishers, I landed an agent who I think was trying to scam me out of 32 grand for a movie treatment can’t confirm he evaporated into distant air, I can’t get a deal to salvage my life despite I don’t collaborate. Blue check artistry’s by association cool homeschooled in phone codependencies they haven’t the recognizance to face reality. They’re lethargic, unsharp, sardonic flash in a panhandled flute, I alchemize pain into champagne carpe per diem. I do me, there is no you, I can apprise anecdotal evidence for all of my material interests, what separates me from the Carhartt vanguard? I reach—I don’t preach to them: Everything can happen, everything is possible and probable, time and space do not exist, on a flimsy framework of reality the imagination spins weaving new patterns.

Any places to eat or things to do that you can share with our readers? If they have a friend visiting town, what are some spots they could take them to?
Ooh good one see I live vicariously through the DeuxmoiWorld app so Monday we snag decaffeinated iced Americanos with a splash of pistachio milk from Intelligentsia then we hit Ratstar Vintage where Gabbriette shops roll next door towards Jacob Elordi-Olivia Jade staple Sqirl for tuna melts live a smidge do add avocado and sunflower-tahini mustard. Maybe an afternoon hike up the Hollywood hills to sunbathe in front of Griffith Observatory hit the gift shop. Early dinner at L & E Oyster Bar head to Gold Diggers for live music. Tuesday is a La Colombe play we’re climbing the trash amassed piano stairs gotta burn our calorie quota in order to day drink. Hillhurst Avenue is where the shakers move in with “The ‘In’ Crowd” we’re a couple of Phillips heads hedging our screwdrivers. First stop Ye Rustic Inn for IPA swigs paired with molten lava wings the servers there are Renaissance Faire goddesses. Cross the upbeat street to The Drawing Room if you can’t surmise I’ve a proclivity for pitch black cash only sports bars with dusty ATMs oozing Galliano simple syrup from jagged dart wounds. Harvey Wallbanger? I barely knew her! Check out that macabre puppet shop and peep the magic emporium’s inventory of masks before we let our stomachs settle at Home on the patio where we can people watch and listen to the fountain crescendo. Wednesday we invade Dinosaur Coffee I live in Silver Lake by the way the barista knows the score, standing order. Tour de force Bellevue Park and sneak in some hoops they have an indoor court at the recreation center. Venture down Sunset into Echo Park I heart Luxe De Ville I also gotta show her their top shelf selection of used furniture joints before we hop in a swan boat pedal to newly minted Michelin starlet Grá. Nightcap, where else would I be at, Black Cat for Pimm’s based Molotov cocktails answering to Null & Void boy does the bartender there has perfect cheekbones the hostess dresses so fun has Kelsey Plum eyebrows. Brittany Snow popped a squat beside me at the caboose of the bar yonder once she’s single I’m mingle prone spotted Taylor Hill sipping wine drat my Velvet Caviar gadget’s emphatic she’s spoken for. Thursday we’re thirsty for the the-a-tre sounded outwardly about Schmidt thus The Vista’s the rub Pam’s Coffy post credits to brush appendages with cinephiles they offer butterscotch flavor shots I made the Deuxmoi newsletter a few weeks prior since I photographed Jack Black at the stirrer station after we both caught “MaXXXine” matinees. The Walk of Fame’s only a skedaddle detained fancy to locate the preeminent pavement phrasing “Robert Redford” surely he has one what am I enunciating you can scarcely trust nor prognosticate an asterisk these Augusts. Lunchtime mm me Pavlov’s cave canine stave off cravings for California Chicken Café Caesar salad the death row meal of Suge’s valiant knight in shining armor on horseback rescuing main courses from a castle pillaged by grotesque warlocks. Touché off to Drugstore Cowboy yay reckon the televisions oughta relay the MMA carnage to our liking’s pastures reach for the luminous spheroids of plasma held together by gravity. Rad, dusk, bust out the Mulholland Drive roadside redux, bundled fuzzy blankets in the cab to snuggle clad reclined on my Santa Cruz bed eying the gargantuan wetting sunset. Hungry no prob it’s 4-layer lasagna nightfall circa Little Dom’s bomb obv pour a Lean Six Sigma Black Belt cosmo. Geronimo, Friday finale, Camel’s the Grand Prix dime piece I treated my keister to their tote to elope with a beach bag never looked back sans Oakley Racing Jacket sunglass. Hot to trot matching emerald matchas, let’s, doll’s gotta balk Tommy John instead texts bullpen iced vice opts orange slice they scribble it up like zeitgeist lightness in minuscule pencil lead. Our Vinyāsa pasta carcasses are hungover as Chinatown chickenpox, better detox, Beverly Hills: The land of Cybertrucks, Stanley cups, hyaluronic acid reflux and nothing Double-Double burgers sus nepotists divest in delight. She and I ignite Wilshire turnbuckles penultimate supper Alo Gym disciples sweating erudite geysers dousing devout Tahj Mowry Yahwehs while Namaste Tawny Janae dials instruction lancing our abdomens more sculpted than Katherine McNamara arrows. SUR is the call ivy violates the walls feng shui sways Whit Stillman dialogue. Classiness is in session, Christina Nadin and Paulina Vega triple date to educate our ors d’oeuvre plates on Filipino real estate and the hidden Colombia. Well will you have a glance at the timestamp, afternoon essential is Laurel Canyon my unanimous favorite sliver of limestone bitten quartz road winding the face of the globe want to show her my Oakstone Way dream A-frame abode I found browsing Zillow I intend to build a compound equipped with the world’s foremost Alo endorsed basketball court, fire pit, dress design trailer, car port and a chiropractor parlor stretching cross 2 acres I’ve been rainy day saving up my pay stubs in a swear jar. That is where I want to be I love their community the Canyon is a mirage driving those roads is exhilarating you feel like a daredevil the pavement dilates then contracts to rasp diamanté it’s mercurial it’s down-home entering the reincarnation clove. Brian Wilson created “Pet Sounds” there. Tutti groovy frutti fo sho reroute, cruising, wave to the Studio City warm welcoming committee Ventura is an outdoor mall, diving in, cannonball, this boulevard has all the fixings a salad bar could play coy for tons of fully loaded G Wagons, code’s business casual yet you feel underdressed. Soaring the skyline the sun rays blind mighty fine I met a girl in a happy hour hive who chimed Horses lies claim to the fairest Caesar in all of Tinseltown dying to confirm or deny two cents. It’s dark and fragrant grey I wish that she could stay last call approaches the fray of food truck drunken stupor troopers the auto body coddled cars emit mellow hue screechy beams nothing to lose desire chartreuse and muddled booze Bar Stella’s veranda’s a breathing muse the tempo stews. Morning is a tightrope scramble lest a complex commute to LAX on deck digress to Naturewell at my behest for an antioxidant annex. My girlfriend’s the best.

Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
This is a difficult question for me. As a longstanding underground artist, my path has been marred by nefariousness, roadblocks and the outright refusal to reciprocate by parties whose profiles I uplifted. It’s part of being a leader, it’s a harbinger for success which is coming real soon, I choose to romanticize this as destiny, writing is what I’m supposed to be doing, I know I’m the best at it, loneliness is a prerequisite, I do everything for me now. My parents are to a fault traditional and do not as much as acknowledge my work, not a word, neither a text, never a story like. To them, cubicle warring for the government is the height of luxury, small fries, I’m an onion ring guy and an unabated nonconformist, I’ve found inspiration from others along the way.

I owe an invincible debt of allegiance and insurmountable gratitude to the angelic Hilary Rhoda whom I attended Catholic school with in Bethesda, Maryland moons ago, she went on to become world renowned, she is proof of concept and a lighthouse long my cortices. Hilary is intrepid thereby integral to my magnum opus project which I completed in October, a mixed media avant garde novel towering over 1,900 pages, I couldn’t have survived it without her. The first au naturel night I spent on the floor of my empty LA on Memorial Day studio I sent her a message letting her know how reverential I find her; Honda Civic del Sol wholeheartedly hope she read it.

One other person I am obliged to Animal Style is Jennifer Ingrum. Jen stars in a favorite 2016 film of mine titled “The Love Witch” which I ranked at #2 after “Sing Street” by the criminally underfunded Anna Biller who does everything and I do mean everything she sews her own costumes I saw it at Landmark E Street where I received a tee and a questionnaire after the 35 mm screening. Jennifer is a supportive fan of “Time to Be Alive,” she is gorgeous and talented, I sent her a message on LinkedIn (renamed #LinkedIngrum) voicing my admiration for her brawn in fact I’m working on a script for her called “Attack Life,” a thriller about a wrangler who courts 18-25 year-old models for Leo-like A-listers. These two are sources of encouragement.

Website: https://www.seanmaddenmccann.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/chefdaddyaf

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/me?trk=p_mwlite_feed-secondary_nav

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@youngrobertredford

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seanmaddenmccann@gmail.com