You just turned in the manuscript for “Lowboy� – your next, and third novel, to Farrar, Straus & Giroux. How does that feel?

For me it’s always a combination between the relief of actually, finally, seeing the end in sight. And the beginning of anxiety about what’s going to be done with the book and how it’s going to be received by people, of course. There’s always this sort of postpartum depression, wondering whether your baby’s attractive enough.

You teased us with the excerpt “In the Tunnel� which appeared in the Granta’s “Best of Young American Novelists 2,� of which you were an honoree. Give us a feel for the story of “Lowboy.�

It basically follows a couple days in the life of a teenage boy who suffers from schizophrenia, who’s convinced he has to lose his virginity in order to save the world.

Aren’t we all?

Well I certainly was! I mean, last year when I was still trying to lose my virginity...

Right, at the tender age of 35?

Better late then never [laughs].

Your past books – “Canaan’s Tongue� and “The Right Hand of Sleep� – are teeming with very dark characters; what is the draw for you?

I really don’t know. In real life I’m actually a fairly goofy guy. People complain that I can’t have a serious conversation – and I’m trying very hard in this interview to have a serious conversation.

Writers are best left alone in a room with a keyboard?

Yeah, that could be. But it’s odd, because my books tend towards the [pauses]. They tend to be pretty dark, I guess. That’s sort of a cheesy way to talk about your own books, but for want of a better word – instead of saying ‘depressing’ I’ll say ‘dark.’

One thing about your work is your preference for aliases or nicknames instead of actual names for characters – you have “the Redeemer� and “Lowboy� now. Where does that come from?

That’s an interesting question. I haven’t really thought about that.

I’ve always been interested in aliases and nicknames. I mean, I write under a pen name so it’s always had appeal to me. When I was growing up I was a comic book fanatic and I really had this obsession with the super-hero name and the secret identity, like Peter Parker and Spiderman. There always seemed to be a thrill to that, a power to that, which was kind of inexplicable.

Because you could take them anywhere, without the baggage of identity?

Yeah, in the same way having a penname is very liberating because when I’m writing I’m not unconsciouly asking myself, ‘Would I say this?’ I’m a fairly self-deprecating person and that’s not necessarily the best quality when you’re taking risks as a writer.

Do you dare share your real name?

No, it’s my secret identity. But it’s not that hard to figure out.

The Brooklyn scene is full of comic book fanatics – Lethem, Whitehead...

We’re all a bunch of comic book nerds. It may just be as simple as the fact that nerds tend to be into comic books and most novelists tend to be nerds.

Your books have been very well received; you won the Whiting Writers’ Award in 2001 for “The Right Hand of Sleep� and, now, named one of America’s best young novelists by Granta. Talk about the impact of those awards on you professionally and personally.

Well the two are sort of connected. My two books tend to have been critically well received but they weren’t big blockbusters. In both instances, having something like that helps the people whose job it is to promote you as a writer have something to promote. But, really, more importantly, just the fact that it’s very easy to feel that you’re just writing these books and you’re slaving over them and then they go out into the void and no one is reading them. No one gives a shit, frankly.

And then when things like this happen, particularly when you don’t know how they happened – I mean, both of those things came as a total surprise. I was like, ‘Jesus, someone must have read those books!’ Particularly with the Granta list, I didn’t know how much I needed it. It really gave me a boost with this third book, to finish it.

And it has opened doors for you.

Well, yeah. I started writing for the New York Times Magazine once a year, which is really fun and a wonderful mini-sabbatical from novel writing. I’m probably – not definite, yet – but I’m going to start writing for Esquire and a couple other magazines, which is good because it helps pay the rent.

Congratulations. And that will give us more of your work to read.

It’s exciting stuff, too, because I’ve always been a culture junkie. The journalism I do is generally cultural stuff – profiles of bands, directors, things like that – and I’m in a really great position right now to pitch ideas and profiles of artists I admire and to meet them.

Have you done much journalism and nonfiction work in the past?

No, I really haven’t. It hasn’t really been an interest of mine until recently. I don’t see myself writing much book-length nonfiction; I enjoy reading it, but it’s not really something that excites me. Even though my books don’t necessarily qualify as realistic fiction – the imagination involved in writing a novel is what excites me most, as opposed to nailing down the most convincing and realistic and naturalistic details as possible.

I’ve always been a huge Nabokov, Herman Melville, Amis – I’m a big Murakami fan. The novels I tend to read for my pleasure tend not to be realistic novels, and since I have that sympathy, it doesn’t necessarily translate to nonfiction, if that makes any sense.

You’re now in Park Slope, via Washington D.C., Texas, Alaska, Chile and Buffalo...

I’m really mostly from Buffalo. I was born in D.C. but I spent my childhood in Buffalo.

I’m from south of Buffalo originally too. And when I was living there and working, I felt like the only book-writer in the entire city...

Well, when I was there I wasn’t really writing. I was there up until high school and I didn’t really start – [pause]. I actually wrote quite a bit when I was in grade school and I was really into science fiction, and I had these little precocious attempts to write when I was in grade school. Then I made the painful discovery that no one took these attempts at writing seriously [laughs].

As a matter of fact, I was trying to write a thriller once and I showed it to my parents, the first few pages. It was a murder mystery in the Eric Ambler-style, and I remember the first sentence – it was about this rich man who got murdered and everyone had a motive – and the first sentence was, “Jerome Withers was, without question, the most obnoxious old fart in the village.�

And my parents were always very supportive, but they read it and said, ‘Honey, this is really wonderful, but are you sure you want to use the word ‘fart’?’’ And I realized that they were patronizing me, and I found that so humiliating that I stopped all attempts to write until I was in college, basically. So I didn’t do any real writing in Buffalo, in any serious way.

And now you’re in Park Slope, surrounded by writers.

I didn’t actually move to Park Slope with any community of writers in mind. I’d been living for a couple years in the basement of warehouse in DUMBO under very, very uncomfortable circumstances, but it was free, so that was nice. I was just so sick of living like a hobo and I wanted to be close to a park. I consciously decided to move where the yuppies live, so I looked for the highest concentration of three-wheeled jogging-strollers and that’s where I went.

Well, you found that in Park Slope.

Now I have a playground right across from my house and the noise just drives me crazy all day long.

More inspiration and rage for your dark characters, indeed... Having moved so much in the past, do you feel that urge again?

Interesting enough, having moved a lot there was a sort of restlessness, but I didn’t necessarily enjoy moving every year or so. And I’ve been somehow connected to New York for over 10 years now – And I’ve lived in my apartment in the Slope for over six years now. I’m pretty happy here, aside from the playground, so I don’t see myself moving anytime soon.

Well keep writing. When can we expect “Lowboy�?

A year from now.

Can’t wait. In closing, anything you want to add?

[pause] Yeah, I’d like to add that Green-Wood Cemetery is about the best place to get work done in the city.

Are you writing up there?

I’ve been going there regularly, whenever the weather’s good, to revise. It’s like a beautifully maintained park, minus all the people. I think it’s one of a handful of truly beautiful places in the city. Maybe you shouldn’t put this in or it’ll get ruined.

Too late... You’ve been blessed, John, best of luck.

I feel like it was just a random luck of the draw. It hasn’t always been like this.

Brad Lockwood is the award-winning author of five books, including Tested XX and Wink. The audio version of his novel Sellout is now completed, and available at www.podiobooks.com.

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