Fabian Garcia is a current PhD student and former diplomat with an extensive educational background and international experience across multiple countries and continents. Madness, All Over Again is his debut novel, succeeding the publication of two Spanish-language short story collections: Casa de fieras (2016) and El ojo de agua (2019). When he’s not studying, writing, or pondering how we understand—and construct—our reality, Fabian enjoys the outdoors and playing chess. He lives in Ontario, Canada, with his wife and their two children.
About Madness, All Over Again
Madness, All Over Again is a hard-to-put-down, touching read about honesty, human connection, and what it means to be “mentally sound.” It blends philosophical and psychological exploration with dark humor, offering an intellectually rich, yet entertaining, reflection on contemporary societal issues. With engaging, relatable characters, it invites readers to explore complex themes in a fresh, compelling way. If you enjoy thought-provoking literature with a twist, this book will challenge your perception of reality and keep you hooked from start to finish.
The interview
Why do you write in the genre that you do?
Honestly, it happened by accident. As an undergrad, I was drowning in reading assignments—hundreds of pages a week. One day, instead of reading, I picked up a pen and started writing. That’s how my first short story came to life.
Years later, while living in South America, I published two short-story collections. The first came out weeks before I moved to New York to work at the United Nations, and the second at the onset of the pandemic. Because of the timing, both books were released under unusual circumstance and, in a way, have always felt like orphan works to me.
During the pandemic, I started thinking deeply about isolation, the role of technology, and the strange, often irrational discourse that surrounded us. I had this short story featuring a character named Milo—sharp, flawed, and oddly relatable. He had such a strong voice that it was easy to stick with him. He was going through an existential crisis, much like many of us at the time.
The story grew into Madness, All Over Again. I spent nine weeks writing it, channeling everything I was feeling. It became a form of therapy—my way of making sense of things through fiction.
Do you keep a notebook of ideas?
Absolutely! But it’s more than just ideas—it’s packed with quotes, citations, short story outlines, random drawings, pictures… you name it. It’s closer to a chaotic diary that I’ve been keeping for over 20 years.
There’s no real structure of specific purpose—just a place to capture whatever sparks something in me. It’s really about documenting the explosion of unintended creation, a kind of archive for my own reference.
Do you have a muse?
Inspiration comes from many places. Sometimes it’s a good book—Jean Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation, for example, really struck a chord with me. His exploration of disconnection from reality influenced The Matrix (a film he famously refused to endorse), and that same feeling of alienation played a big role in shaping my novel.
But more than theory, what kept me going while writing Madness, All Over Again were my two kids, Daniel and Alex. My earlier short stories were in Spanish, which they don’t speak fluently, so I chose to write this one in English, hoping they’d read it someday. I wanted them to laugh at Milo—the sharp, sarcastic narrator—and his roommate Fergus. Both are smart, witty, and endearing characters in their own way, stuck together in a psychiatric hospital after life knocked them off course. Through all their misadventures, they help each other face fears, trauma, and the absurdity of it all.
There are moments, references, and inside jokes in the book that only my kids will fully catch. They became my muse—not just as readers, but as emotional anchors. What began as a broader exploration of disconnection and identity eventually turned into something more personal: a challenge to see the world (and ourselves) with compassion. The novel suggests that even when reason falls short, empathy might still guide us through.
Are you more of a fan of plot-driven stories or character-driven stories?
It depends on what I’m writing. When it comes to short stories, I lean toward plot. I focus on keeping things tight—clear ideas, strong images, and concise structure that delivers impact in a limited space.
But with my novel, it was the characters that took the lead. They brought psychological and philosophical depth to the story. Through them, I was able to explore timely and socially relevant issues, but in a way that felt natural—accessible, even funny at times—thanks to a layer of dark humour. The characters gave the novel its soul.
Fill in the blank: “People will like your book if they like stories about…”
…complex yet relatable characters who turn their lives around without losing who they are—told with a good dose of humour and a deeper, universal thread running beneath it all. If you enjoy stories that make you laugh, think, and maybe feel a little less alone, you’ll probably enjoy this one.
What are your thoughts on typewriters?
I grew up around typewriters. My grandfather was a journalist, and I still remember the sound of him pounding away on the keys as he wrote the next day’s editorial. As a kid, typewriters were part toy, part treasure—tools with weight and purpose, but also full of mystery and charm.
We still have a vintage Remington at home, probably 80 or 90 years old. It belonged to my wife’s grandfather, and it carries the same nostalgic elegance as the ones I grew up with. For me, typewriters aren’t just writing tools—they’re symbols of human connection and a time when writing felt slower, more deliberate, and somehow more intimate.
Would you rather own a bookstore or run a library?
I’ve never thought about it, but I’d probably choose to run a library. There’s something meaningful about helping it grow and evolve—making sure books are shared, returned, and passed along. That way, stories are not lost, and there’s no need to mourn the ones that go missing… at least not for too long.
How do you name your characters? If you write nonfiction, do you ever change the names of your characters, and if so, how do you decide what names to change them to?
I usually come up with three or four names that feel right intuitively—something about the sound or vibe that fits the character I have in mind. Then I ask my wife Ana to pick her favourite, without telling her anything about the character. She chooses purely based on aesthetics, which brings a fresh perspective.
Once a name is chosen, it sticks. I never change it. After all, what’s in a name, right?
If Hollywood bought the rights to your book, would you want it to be turned into a movie or series?
A movie, for sure. One intense, emotional ride that people can experience together—and then talk about over dinner with friends, maybe while sharing a nice bottle of wine.
Who is your dream audiobook narrator?
Definitely not AI. Someone human, with texture and emotion.
Do you try to hit a certain page or word count with each writing session?
Not at all. Some days I only manage a paragraph; other days, a whole page comes out in minutes. I prefer writing slowly, letting the right tone and rhythm emerge naturally.
Do you have any writing rituals?
No real rituals, but I often feel a bit of apprehension before I start. Once I begin, though, the process takes over completely—it’s immersive and intense. Everything else fades away, and my mind locks into the writing.
It’s kind of a total abstraction. I become someone else in that moment… and I’m not always sure I like who that is.
Who is on your Mt. Rushmore of greatest/inspirational authors?
There are so many brilliant writers and teachers that narrowing it down to just four feels impossible—and even a little unfair. That’s also why the Mt. Rushmore metaphor feels so revealing: sacred Indigenous land repurposed to honour figures of power and conquest, while its original meaning and traditions were meant to be erased or forgotten.
So instead of naming four well-known authors, I’d rather pay tribute to the ones we never got to know. Maybe they were poor, vulnerable girls and boys—marginalized, disabled, or denied an education. Writers whose magnificent voices were never heard, whose words were relegated by the publishing industry and never made it to the page, but who carried within them stories, insight, and beauty the world never had a chance to witness. They should be our true inspiration.
What is the most unique way that an idea for a piece of writing has come to you.
In a dream. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it stays with me—like a message I need to unpack on the page.
Are you a big reader? Do you own a large collection of books, or are you more of a borrower?
I’ve always been a big reader, but not much of a collector. I prefer borrowing books and passing them along once I’ve read them. I like the idea of books continuing their journey.
Have you ever gone away to work on a piece of writing? If not, where would you go if you could?
I haven’t gone away to write, but I often take long walks in nature to reflect and think through ideas. But when it’s time to actually sit down and write, I always return home. That’s where the process really happens.
How do you measure the success of your writing career?
Of course, every author hopes their work becomes a bestseller, but for me, success is about more than just sales. I want my writing to make readers question how they see their world. One of my favourite quotes is from Franz Kafka:
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply… A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”
The joy of reading should go hand in hand with deep reflection. A truly successful book does both—it entertains and challenges you to think differently.
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