We’ve all been there. You sit down to write with deadlines and goals and dreams fresh in your mind, and suddenly your brain empties. Your fingers freeze over your keyboard, and the blinking dash on the screen mocks you with every second that passes. Here lies the telltale signs the infamous writer’s block has found you once again.

But I come bearing answers. After journeying far and wide, risking life and limb in the perilous jungles of writerdom, I’ve finally uncovered the lost pantheon of writer’s block—that dreaded nemesis of every writer’s existence. And in this pantheon of half-written books and dusty notebooks, I’ve met and documented the dastardly deities that exist just to mess with innocent writers like you.

Now, before we dive into my findings, I know what you are going to say: Bekah, I’m just a human writer. How can I defeat these otherworldly beings? Fear not, dear friends, for with these exclusive godly introductions, I offer the key to their downfall—their Achilles heel, if you will—and if you follow these tips and tricks, you will soon defeat each of these deities and the blinking dash that mocks you with its repetition. Stick with me, kid. You’ll go places.

I’ve risked a great deal to reveal this information to you, so without further ado, please let me introduce the accursed forces behind our every writerly strife: the gods of creative chaos.

Analyzia: The Goddess of Overthinking

First on our list of introductions is Analyzia, the goddess of overthinking. Analyzia’s divine domain resides in the blank page, in the swarm of mosquito-like thoughts buzzing through your brain at the most inconvenient of moments, slurping the productiveness from your veins like sugar water. Her favorite trick is making a simple concept suddenly complicated and confusing, leaving you running circles trying to get out of the plot hole you’ve walked yourself into. She constantly sings an off-key chorus of, “Are you sureee you want to make that your final scene?” and “I feeeel like you’re missing somethiiing!”

How to Defeat Her: Don’t think; just write! This goddess is terrified of “word vomit” and the beautiful creative freedom that comes with getting that idea in your head down on the page. This is especially important in the beginnings of the writing process—consider Analyzia officially evicted from these early stages. Kick her to the curb if she tries to edit before your story has the chance to fully get out of your brain. While this can be hard at first, like a muscle it gets stronger with consistent use. Just remember your words are worth writing, regardless of what Analyzia thinks. You can edit and revise later; for now, have fun and let your imagination run free and true.

Procrastius and Tangentius: The Twin Gods of Procrastination and Tangents

You know that friend who recently got out of a toxic relationship and said she would never talk to him again, only to mention weeks later they are back together, happier than ever, and this time will be different? Yeah, that’s me with Procrastius. You’ll recognize this sneaky trickster in the buzz of your phone when you get a notification, in the tantalizing smell of hot coffee at the coffee shop down the road, and in the sudden overwhelming enticement of every single tab open that doesn’t have your book draft open. His divine domain resides in excuses and delays and is magically summoned any time a writer utters the following enchantment: “Oh, I’ll have time for that later.”

Procrastius’s twin brother, Tangentius, on the other hand, really, really wants to be your friend, but is sometimes just not good for you. Like his twin, he specializes in detours and wildly off-topic thoughts. His divine domain resides in your search engine history; one second, you’re writing about a character’s internal monologue, and the next, you’re googling the history of medieval sandwiches.

How to Defeat The Twins: If you’ve been caught in Procrastius’s snare, don’t worry; we’ve all been there. Just like avoiding your toxic ex, the goal here is to be proactive and purposeful with your decision-making. Document your daily work patterns while being reflective and honest about when you are most productive, and when you are most likely going to text Procrastius and ask him to come over. When you feel yourself itching towards your phone, internet browser, or even another writing project—eliminate those distractions. Put your phone in another room. Close those tabs. Write yourself a sticky note about what you want to work on in that other writing project and set it aside for later. Another thing Procrastius hates—setting achievable daily goals. Starting your day off with a sticky note of realistic goals you can cross off as you go—it’s like garlic to a vampire for Procrastius.

As for Tangentius, occasionally he can lead to some fruitful discoveries, but often at inopportune times. So, to effectively use the awesome yet deviating powers of Tangentius, I would suggest writing down all the tangents he gives you in a notebook before refocusing back on the writing at hand. Set a timer, write your spiel, and then go on a fun adventure with Tangentius once your daily writing goals have been achieved.

Perfectionia: The Tyrant of Perfection

This deity, unfortunately, is one all writers are well acquainted with. Perfectionia is the supreme overlord of the pantheon of writer’s block, the big kahuna, the final boss. Her divine domain resides in the expectation of flawless writing, constant self-criticism, and lingering self-doubt. Perfectionia’s power invades both ends of the writing journey; if she catches you near the beginning of the writing process, the weight of her demands to be perfect right off the bat can paralyze creativity and steal the joy of working on your passion project. If she catches you near the end of a project, she can trap you in a purgatory of never-ending, relentless revision. In both traps, she loves to whisper, “Not quite good enough” in your ear, over and over again. She is a deity we all face.

How to Defeat Her: EMBRACE IMPERFECTION. Perfectionia might always be whispering in your ear, but the good news is you don’t have to listen to her. Instead, you can embrace the beauty of the journey, knowing your progress as a writer is the most powerful thing in the world. The progress you make and the journey you take is something Perfectionia can never take away from you. So, tell Perfectionia to take a hike. Write that messy first draft. Get those dreams on the page. Celebrate every word you write and know it drives this deity absolutely bonkers to see you embrace the journey and focus on progress rather than her own whispers for perfection. Write that story the world longs to hear—because we do indeed long to hear the imperfectly perfect stories you’ve yet to tell.

Triumph Awaits

Before we part, let me tell you the greatest discovery I made when I found the pantheon of writer’s block: these deities of creative chaos, despite what they would have you believe, are far from all powerful. They cannot defeat you. Not if you don’t let them. Because no matter how hard they scheme and trick, they will never be able to stop your creativity, your passion and joy, nor stamp out the writerly spark that makes you keep coming back to the stories that make your soul sing. And remember that every time you sit down to write—it’s a victory. Because even though these gods of creative chaos will always try to derail your progress, you grow stronger with every battle. Because, in the end, your stories are your weapons, and victory is always just a pen stroke away.

Yesterday the doctor clipped
            a piece of tissue from my cervix.

I fainted, came to, dined
            on ice chips. Bled and bled.

Venus, not Earth, is another word
            for beauty.  The doctor dabs my wound

with the coagulation ointment that she said
            I wouldn’t need, probably.

I fear the things inside of me.
            Pain’s shadow writhes like a maggot.

“Men have no idea what we go through,”
            says the doctor, handing me water.

I hear the word mutated. Childless
            at 33, a heightened cancer risk,

my uterus lies fallow before an angry god.
            Like the wax woman I keep

my eyes shut, like her I swoon.
            Like her, I tear a fang from the moon.

What exactly makes an epic, “epic?” What makes a journey “heroic,” and a hero “divine?” Much like human anatomy, every epic is defined by a set of parts. Some parts may be missing, while others could look different; but each part is unique, and its structure remains largely the same. It’s the tropes codified in these epics that form the body of modern storytelling—high fantasy, space operas, comic book superheroes, you name it. The survival of this structure into the modern age is truly a testament to the timelessness of epic.

From Arthur’s crown to Achilles’ heel, every part has a role to play. Journey from head to toe with me as I navigate the anatomy of an epic poem.

Hands of Beowulf: Divine Hero

At the center of every epic is the divine hero. Either they’re a god’s (usually half-mortal) offspring, or they’re protected by a patron god. These hands are named for Beowulf, the divine hero of his namesake. In his case, his patron is the Christian God, whom he believes granted him his “mighty strength.”

In this Old English epic, Beowulf realizes he can’t harm the monstrous Grendel with a sword, so he declares instead that “hand-to-hand / is how it will be.” He eventually triumphs over Grendel by ripping his arm from his shoulder. Beowulf makes a point of thanking his God throughout the poem, doing so even in his last breath.

Arms of Gilgamesh: Tasks of Superhuman Valor

No hero’s journey begins without a mission. From Hercules’ Twelve Labors to Jason’s journey for the Fleece, each epic hero has their own equally epic tasks to complete. These arms are named for Gilgamesh, the Mesopotamian hero-king of the Epic of Gilgamesh. Using his superhuman strength, he single-handedly built ziggurats, walls, and orchards for his beloved city of Uruk. 

Godlike in appearance and feats, his initially lecherous character made him fall short of divinity. He meets an equal in the wild man Enkidu, and they quickly become inseparable. Enkidu’s death at the hands of the gods spurs Gilgamesh to find the secret of immortality; through these perilous quests, he learns grief, humanity, and how to use his strength for honest kingship.

Legs of Odysseus: Travel Across a Vast Setting

But what fulfillment is a quest without a long and arduous journey? Whether geographical, cosmological, or between space and time, the hero must traverse through a vast setting to complete their goals. These legs are named for Odysseus, the cunning Greek hero-king of The Odyssey, who runs, swims, and sails his way back home.

Odysseus’ ten-year homecoming voyage from Troy to Ithaca is perhaps the definition of “hero’s journey.” The gods observe his journey, and their constant intervention is to both his benefit and detriment—it all depends on who’s at the helm. Only after a long, long decade does he finally return to Penelope and Telemachus.

Eyes of Cú Chulainn: Omniscient Narrator

Every epic poem needs its storyteller. An omniscient narrator, all-seeing and all-knowing, is the backbone of every heroic tale. These eyes are named for Cú Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster, demigod hero of Ireland’s Ulster Cycle. Revered and feared for his battle fury, he was said to have seven fingers, seven toes, and seven pupils in each eye. These pupils, associated with the evil eye, symbolize both clairvoyance and destruction.

Cú Chulainn’s most famous episode is recorded in the Táin Bó Cúailnge. In this tale, Queen Medb of Connacht wages war against Ulster for the capture of Donn Cúailnge, a stud bull. A curse on the Red Knights of Ulster leaves them unable to fight, leaving only Cú Chulainn to fend them off. His bold and bloody defense buys the Knights time to recover, and Ulster prevails over Connacht’s forces.

Heart of Gawain: Moral Code

An epic poem is no good without an overarching moral code. The lessons a hero learns across their journey are just as definitive as their feats, and it’s only through enduring them that they become a symbol of greatness. This heart is named for Sir Gawain, a Knight of the Round Table and Arthur’s closest companion. Described as “good / […] like gold well refined,” he was renowned for his humility, spirituality, and chivalry.

Gawain’s encounter with the Green Knight is his most recognized tale, and certainly his most virtuous. The Knight challenges Arthur’s court to behead him, promising to return the blow a year later. Gawain steps up to the challenge, and in that year, his integrity and honor are repeatedly tested—sometimes in pretty “un-knightly” ways. Though Gawain has his highs and lows, he remains loyal to his code of honor and Christian morality. It’s his repentance of his sins that convinces the Green Knight of his goodness, and he spares him.

Understanding the anatomy of an epic poem means understanding story itself. Although it’s by no means a static set of ideas—and perhaps there’s some I missed!—it’s important to remember that mythology and folklore are the reason we write stories today. For more tales inspired by epic heroes, look no further than the latest issue of F(r)iction.

Many of Batman’s Rogues Gallery terrorize Gotham City forcing Batman to uses scare tactics on these criminals. There is a slight difference between terror and horror. How does Batman: Full Moon represent that difference?

In the case of Batman against his adversaries, terror is a weapon. He can use their fears and insecurities against them. In the case of Batman battling a werewolf, there is no reasoning. The werewolf is operating from blind rage. He can’t negotiate or rationalize.

Besides the werewolf in Batman: Full Moon, you also write a vampire comic series called Killadelphia. What do you believe is the staying power of the classic monsters? 

The variety of packages vampires fit in. You have sexy vampires, grunge vampires, gothic vampires, sparkling vampires, karate vampires, and at least a dozen more. Each goes about the vampire life (or unlife) in their own unique and specific fashion—which makes for unique storytelling.

You have talked in videos about building horror through the narrative as opposed to using jump scare tactics. How do you collaborate with other creators to convey this to an audience?

In comics, I typically partner with artists that are great at building mood and tension in their work. As well, you’re limited in comics as to what you can do—no sound or camera tricks, so you make the most of what you have via the chemistry with your collaborators.

In your weekly podcast series RUN FOOL!, protagonists are known for having common-sense reactions to horror in the stories. When did you start addressing genre tropes in your writing? 

We have all seen horror tropes time and time again, so deviating from them has been a creative goal since the start. I believe the more relatable a character’s actions and decision-making process are, the more empathy and connectivity can be built with an audience.

Your upcoming Kolchak: The Night Stalker comic is based on the classic concept of no one believing reporter Carl Kolchak’s encounters with the supernatural due to lack of evidence. How would a hard newsman like Kolchak function in today’s world of misinformation, where mundane news stories are doubted in favor of conspiracies?

Great question. I think Kolchak would have a cult following on social media. He’d find more allies in his work. That said, I think law enforcement and the mainstream media would shun him.

What other projects do you have coming out and where can our readers find you online?

Working on a miniseries for HBO and a duo of horror films for studios. Besides that, my RUN FOOL! podcast and comics fill up my day. As well as life.

What insights did you gain about the relationship between different artistic mediums when adapting Freedom House into a solo art exhibit? How did this process influence your writing?

Well, I learned firstly that creating visual art is not easy (haha). Fun fact: I have art directed all my book covers thus far. I’m good at knowing what looks good but was not so good at making it happen with my hands before these exhibits. Regardless, I first tried painting and was making a lot of hogwash; I then tried digital collage which proved to be more successful. What helped with the transition of poems in Freedom House from the page to digital collage was reminding myself they are two separate art forms simply speaking to each other.

I’d ask myself, “What do I imagine when I read this poem?” and then recreate that with stock images I could find online. It was challenging but rewarding because I pushed myself to do something I thought I was “bad” at! Much love to Prizer Arts & Letters and the Dougherty Arts Center for being open to my ideas and giving me the space/time/resources to debut Freedom House: An Exhibition.

You’ve received numerous awards for your poetry. How do you view the role of recognition in your writing journey, and does it impact your creative process in any way?

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t keep me going. There are days I don’t feel like writing, or feel greatly bewildered by something I’m writing, or feel like I’ll never write again; it’s all par for the course.

Writing is also a profession filled with rejection. At one point, I was getting a rejection letter from a literary magazine or press at least weekly. A yes can feel like salvation when you’ve gotten a hundred nos. Every award I’ve gotten has at least fifty no’s in the shadows of it. Those yeses, alongside having good literary friends and a true passion for telling untold stories about the people I love (including myself), are the things that have really kept me returning to the desk over the past fifteen years.

You tackle many serious topics in your work yet are still able to provide a glimmer of hope for the future for Black queer and trans lives. What role does community play in your writing practice? How does it sustain or build you up?

Community is how I even started writing. I had a group of high school friends who loved going to an afterschool thing called “poetry society” and I wanted to hang out with my friends, so I started going with them. And now I’m a poet—just like that! I think you cannot be a good writer if you don’t have people— in books or IRL or in your phone—that encourage you to go harder.

Outside of friendship, I love having local open mics, reading series, literary organizations, indie bookstores, and a robust library system where I live, giving me ample opportunities to learn and listen to and read creative writing (check out my literary Austin list!).

And even outside of the literary sphere, I’m in a city where several stellar Black and queer folk like Aira Juliet, Gothess Jasmine, Tarik Daniels, Joe Anderson, and many more are making space for Black queer futurity and art. Hope and community are essential to literature and life.

Pretty does a great job at braiding poetry into various sections as well as bleeding into the prose. How has poetry inspired you to express intense, passionate emotions when talking about issues important to you?

Well, poetry is the language of the heart. I learn that from every poet I read and every poet I’m lucky enough to be friends with. We’re working in a medium that intentionally explores things previously thought of as unknowable, unsayable, and the like. I turn to poetry when I have a feeling that can’t be relayed in everyday speech; poetry inspires me to be my most honest self. So yes, I brought those impulses to Pretty, which is a book that tries to pin down many fleeting memories I have of my life—which has been marked by racism, queerphobia, domestic violence, state violence, and many other hard things, unsayable things. Life asks a lot of questions of us. In Pretty, I answer some of those with prose and poetry.

The publishing process can feel intimidating. What was that process like for you and what advice would you give to aspiring authors?

It has been beautiful in some ways (AKA: meeting really giving editors and such). It has also been degrading in others (AKA: being asked to pay fees for people to consider my work, anti-queer/anti-Black editors, etc). For this reason, it is essential you send your work to literary magazines and presses who are invested in your voice (rather than what they think you SHOULD sound like). They should also have a diverse staff, and (in my opinion) not charge you out the wazoo just to read your work. You shouldn’t be going broke trying to be a writer.

It’s also critical, vital even, to gain a literary community; you can’t write a book and expect people to come out of the crevices to support it. The literary world is a give and take thing. Many of us are doing a lot for very little pay, but we do it because we LOVE words. Make genuine connections with your local bookstores, open mic programmers, literary orgs, etc.

Do not expect people to givegivegive and you taketaketake; make yourself useful to your local community. Also, get some discipline (I say as a non-daily writer). Put time on the calendar to write, then actually write when that time comes along. Find publishing opportunities via Chill Subs or something like that. Also, when your book inevitably comes out, remember it is a privilege to make it that far. Rejoice in it.

Looking ahead, how do you envision your writing evolving in the future? Are there specific themes or projects you’re eager to explore that differ from your previous work?

Man, I hope to always be trying to surprise myself. I hope for the fun and excitement I get from writing and publishing to always outweigh the necessary confusion and unnecessary frustration. I’m currently working on two projects that I got a 2023 National Endowment of the Arts fellowship for. I’m also applying to a whole bunch of stuff. We’ll see!

Have you ever read something and wished you could ingrain the words in your head forever? Stamped into the wrinkles of your brain, the words floating in proper orientation, your spiraling thoughts frozen into coherent ones. I’ve always been enamored with language—the way it can convey ideas, the way it can be sounded out, and the way that we can play with it. Below are five books with experimental writing that just work. Each one reassesses the way we think about how language can be used to describe things—the normal every day, the heightened close-eyed view of any action, the grief within living, spellbound fantastical stories, and more. 

Dicteé – Theresa Hak Kyung Cha

Infamous for being difficult to read and understand, this work by Korean author, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, blends together autobiography, fiction, poetry, image, and art through opaque language that resists explanation. The book is divided into nine parts with each chapter aligned with one of the nine Greek Muses. Cha, an artist who immigrated to the United States, attempts to reconcile her identity and trauma through splitting and recreating language to evoke the feeling of unbelonging. For me, its language cycles in my mind, the repetition of words dictated by some voices difficult to forget. 

To learn more about Dicteé and an introduction on one way to read it, this blog post provides a helpful explanation.

Quote from Dicteé: “Forget and would be forgotten close eyes and would be forgotten not say and they are forgotten not admit and they are forgotten like sins say them they are forgiven forgotten and they are forgotten.” 

Imagine a Death – Janice Lee

Janice Lee follows the lives of a writer, a photographer, and an old man as they navigate the survival of death and their own grief. Imagine a Death uses innovative prose with sentences that continue for pages to induce the experience of healing upon the reader. Each of these characters struggle to heal, and in turn, cycle through the days left within their lives in an almost repetitive fashion. Imagine a Death is hauntingly beautiful and real in its portrayal of the human condition in both our ability to move through trauma and inflict trauma onto others. 

Quote from Imagine a Death: “She was only nine years old at the time, and hadn’t yet learned that the world was large and to be alone in the face of unknown treason could push one to endure unspeakable things, to constantly become in the process of retaking and reclaiming, hadn’t yet learned that death meant gone but not gone in forever and utterly wiped from existence, which is what she thought and which would have been easier, but gone in terms of all physicality and tangible evidence, yet the ghostly memories that haunt and taunt and tease and affect the core of one’s actions in such a way to push one of the brink of a binary existence….” (p. 30)

Fish in Exile – Vi Khi Nao

Vi Khi Nao explores grief in the context of the loss of a child. Her language creates billows of imagery and strangeness arises in the form of distortions of reality—or is reality indeed distorted? With allusions to Greek mythology (the main characters are named Ethos and Callisto) and a large dose of what most might consider weird, Fish in Exile uses language to explore grief and heal inside it. 

To learn more about Vi Khi Noa and her philosophy behind writing, this interview on our website is a great place to start. 

China Cowboy – Kim Gek Lin Short

Twelve-year-old La La desperately wants to be an American-country singer sensation, but she’s also beholden to her family, who makes money by stabbing and stealing from American tourists. When her family steals from Ren, a thirty-five-year-old man, he kidnaps and abuses La La in a manner that evokes Lolita and Humbert Humbert. But even in death, La La survives—aggressively, dangerously, sneakily—and she always wins. La La’s perspective and Short’s usage of language to describe La La’s dreams and experiences reclaims her agency in a situation where she might otherwise have none. The prose is horrifying, gross, phenomenal, and feisty in a want-to-close-the-pages-and-forget kind of way, but also in a finish-in-one-sitting-and-reread kind of way. 

Pamela: A Novel – Pamela Lu

Pamela journeys through identity and self-expression through a tale of friendships. The names are shortened to letters, with the narrator being “P,” and the rest of her friends being different letters such as “L,” “R,” “YJ,” and so on. Through this, she decentralizes the pronoun “I.” With all the character names shortened to one letter, “I” turns from the first person into almost another character. In less than one hundred pages, Lu deconstructs the way we consider language and forms a new understanding of the first- and third-person perspective.  All five of these novels provide a different perspective through which to experience life and life’s emotions—grief, trauma, suffering. By disrupting conventional language structures through haunting, cyclical narration like that of Imagine a Death’s or fragmented, poetic imagery in Dicteé, these authors evoke human experience within the reader. We are pulled into the emotional and cultural dislocation of the story. I hope these novels inspire you to embark upon a journey of reading (and maybe even writing!) experimental writing, where disrupting the rules is celebrated. 

How did you stumble into writing? Into Fish in Exile’s writing style or another writing style that you loved embodying? What was the revision/editing process like, did you have to negotiate with the editor?

I started as a visual artist before transitioning to writing, which eventually became my focus. My journey into the literary world began with Vanishing Point of Desire. Later, as a graduate student at Brown University, I wrote Fish in Exile over the course of three years. During that time, I was in a domestically abusive relationship and needed to create a coded language to express my pain without my partner, who often read my work, understanding its meaning. The experimental and cryptic nature of Fish in Exile became a way to process that pain.

My partner was highly intelligent and perceptive, qualities I also attribute to many readers. I wrote the book in sections, often in a single breath, but the gaps between sections required lived experiences to inform the writing. It wasn’t simply a matter of drafting—it was about gathering the emotional and empirical depth necessary to give the manuscript life. While the work is deeply rooted in realism, a manuscript can’t open itself into a vector of empirical data without support, even if it is real or experimental.

How do you propose a writer get this life experience?

I wouldn’t recommend pursuing a dangerous life. Experiences, in my opinion, can be overrated. They aren’t something to chase—they should come to you naturally, like an Amazon package you’ve ordered. With deep reflection, you don’t always need to endure hardship or gather empirical evidence to gain insight. Through practices like intensive meditation or processing emotions privately, without external societal input, experiences can become secondary. Instead, the essence of your existence can emerge from introspection.

This approach seems to echo what Emily Dickinson and other successful writers did. Many introverted writers delve into the layers of their consciousness to explore experiences internally, rather than relying on external, material ones. Today, we live in a world that’s highly focused on optics and outward appearances, but it wasn’t always this way. Sometimes, the act of seeing is itself an experience—one that differs from the experiences of movement or emotion driven by the legs or the heart.

Feel free to disagree, but I heard writers always loop back to write about the same topics over and over again. Different iterations, perhaps, and with different nuances, but the core of the person sometimes stays the same. Would you say this happens for your writing? What ideas or themes do you find yourself returning to?

In poetry, repetition shapes the rhythm and structure of the piece. Similarly, when fiction writers—or writers in general—grapple with unresolved subconscious issues, they may rewrite the same story from different angles to uncover a new perspective on an experience or event. This process mirrors a human tendency to seek out specific textures or emotions, repeatedly re-entering a space of trauma, tragedy, joy, or pain. It’s akin to listening to the same song on repeat, not merely to explore its narrative but to relive the texture of the experience.

This repetition can also resemble savoring a favorite dish—enjoying it again and again until the palate is dulled, until the experience reaches a point of saturation, allowing the individual to finally let go. In storytelling, this cyclic repetition becomes a mechanism for coping with trauma, indulging textural preferences, and pursuing transformation.

When transformation occurs, the writer—or individual—moves forward, leaving the repetitive cycle behind to begin anew. This shift creates space for forgiveness and renewal, where the past no longer dictates the narrative. A writer capable of crafting diverse stories demonstrates a profound ability to forgive, release the past, and embrace fresh narratives, reflecting personal growth and resilience.

What is your philosophy for teaching creative writing? And, what advice would you offer to aspiring writers looking to get into the publishing industry?

I think the process is fluid—there’s no definitive right or wrong way to approach it. That said, there are plenty of ways to go astray. When it comes to teaching, I have mixed feelings. I deeply care about my students and their futures, but I hesitate to encourage them to pursue writing as a vocation. It’s an incredibly difficult path, one of the hardest lives to lead.

If a student has a talent or background in something else, like math or finance, I’d advise them to pursue that first and create space for writing as a passion—like a mistress you visit in secret, rather than making it your primary partner. There’s nothing inherently wrong with pursuing writing full-time, but there’s a reason a mistress is called a mistress: it thrives in its own space.

I believe writing should be pursued quietly, not as a primary career. While there are successful writers, I’m speaking about the vast majority of people, not the rare authors who achieve fame and wealth. For most writers in the literary world, survival itself is expensive. Competition is fierce; when I apply for teaching positions, there are often 200 applicants for a single opening. The odds aren’t just unfavorable—they’re daunting.

This challenge extends beyond jobs to publishing. If your livelihood depends on writing, you’re at the mercy of others accepting your work, which can take years—even decades. That dependence can lead to desperation, and desperation isn’t conducive to creativity.

There’s no shame in pursuing writing if you’re financially secure, married to someone with resources, or otherwise supported. But for working-class individuals who need to put food on the table, it’s a far more precarious choice. I don’t believe suffering is necessary to create art. Struggling to survive—sacrificing your health, skipping meals, living with constant anxiety—only drains the energy that could be directed toward creativity. Having stability and meeting basic needs allows your mind to focus on art, rather than survival.

Your poem “Sitting Room and Woodshed” recently appeared in the Cassette Issue of –ette Review. How did the concept for this poem come to fruition?

It’s named after one of Frances Glessner Lee’s “Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death.” Originally, there were twenty “Nutshells,” which Lee meticulously crafted. These crime scene dioramas were meant to help police officers hone their observation skills. “Woodshed and Sitting Room” had been missing for decades until 2005, when it was discovered in a storage area of Lee’s summer home at The Rocks in New Hampshire. In my chapbook, The Adorable Knife, it was my intention to honor Frances Glessner Lee’s own attention to detail in crafting these and to imagine possible “solutions” by giving voice to the stories told in the crime scenes. This poem was written for -ette Review and doesn’t appear in my chapbook.

The concept came to fruition by observing the crime scene, reading the witness statements, and imagining the poem from a fictional standpoint through the eyes of the daughter of the man who died mysteriously. He’d been an alcoholic, and the daughter had to take care of her invalid mother because he was irresponsible. The poem doesn’t “solve” the unexplained death but leaves the reader with the emotional rage of the daughter.

You mentioned it as your intention to imagine possible solutions to the crime scene dioramas crafted by Frances Glessner Lee. What drew you to these dioramas? Do you use them to hone your own observation skills?

As soon as I learned the Nutshells existed, I was obsessed. Since I was a child, I’ve always read detective stories, thrillers, and horror novels. I used to read books that presented a crime scene mystery and left it to the reader to deduce what happened based upon the information given. I look at these Nutshells the same way I would look at artwork and write a poem about it. This type of poem is called “ekphrastic,” which is a way of being in conversation with another work of art by creating a new work that describes it. I am also trained in fine art, so I have a particular connection with visual art and love to imagine what the artist was thinking when they created the work.

“Mother-Me,” another one of your recent poems, appeared in the Fall 2024 issue of Thimble Literary Magazine. The main theme seems to revolve around the way women are perceived. Did this theme develop as you wrote, or did you set out to write a poem centering around it? 

This poem came from a prompt that used a Camille Dungy poem as its basis. Her poem repeats the word “little” over and over and speaks to her unborn child. The prompt is to write a poem of repetition in which you speak to a particular person who is unlikely to reply. In the case of my poem, I used the word “only” as the repeating word to describe myself as a mother. “Mother-Me” came out of not only identifying myself through my work as a mother, but also through the ways others label and judge women for their mothering and existence as female. There is a layer to it that describes the emotional need I have to be “mothered” myself. As the daughter of a wonderful mother, the phrase “Mother-Me” is a cry to go back to my childhood when I wasn’t a mother yet and my mother would comfort me.

In addition to publishing individual poems, you’ve also written several chapbooks. How did writing a chapbook differ from writing individual poems? Do you prefer one over the other?  

Well, this is a complicated question, but the short answer is “it depends.” When I found out the Nutshells existed and that there were 18, I knew I could write a poem for each one and that would be a chapbook length work. I got most of them published individually in journals before the chapbook came out, so that’s the only one I’ve ever written with the solid intention of being a book by itself (though I didn’t know at the time it would stand on its own).

With my full-length books, I had published poems in journals and had enough I knew I could put them into a book. In fact, the book was too long, so the press (Nixes Mate) published the manuscript as two separate books: STARLAND and Sleep in a Strange House. These poems are more autobiographical.

What book are you most looking forward to reading in 2025 and why?  

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar. This is a novel written by a poet I admire. It has surreal aspects and the protagonist, who is an Iranian American, struggles with addiction and grief over the loss of his mother.  

The publishing process at times can feel more daunting than writing poetry. What was that process like for you and what advice would you give to aspiring authors? 

The process can be frustrating and time-consuming, but ultimately rewarding. First you have to really practice writing, revising, and revising again. All the while, keep reading the work of other poets. Take a workshop. Find a group who might want to read and share work together. Next, submit to journals your work might be a good fit for. Reading work in a journal before submitting is a good idea. Don’t expect to make any money. Keep track of where you submit and which poems you’ve submitted. Good places to look for opportunities to get your work into journals are New Pages and Chill Subs.

Ultimately, don’t give up. As long as you find writing rewarding, you should keep trying. I have been writing since I was in seventh grade and I’m still learning new things!

*SPOILER ALERT* This review contains plot details of Hombrecito.

This title was published on June 25, 2024 by Riverhead Books.

Hombrecito is a beautifully written debut fiction novel by Santiago Jose Sanchez that captures the essence of coming of age and explores the multifaceted nature of being queer. Illustrating the complexity of human connection from familial to romantic relationships, the novel follows Santiago as he journeys through various worlds in search of his identity. This journey is centered around displacement after his mother brought him and his brother to Miami from Colombia as children. In this novel, Sanchez captures the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly in a way that forces readers to question what identity means in an intersectional setting.

A perfect example of coming of age, Hombrecito encapsulates the main character’s journey of self. I enjoyed how Sanchez laid out a story where the protagonist grows and experiences new chapters of his life. Santiago’s adolescence is dependent on maintaining his relationship with his family. But, as he matures, this focus changes and his identity becomes dependent on different things like his relationship with men, his home country, and himself. In each section of the novel, we witness a different side of Santiago. At the start, Santiago is a young, scared child trying his best to acclimate to the US on his own. During this section, we see him become more curious about himself and his sexuality. We come to understand the struggles he has with himself and the dark inner workings of his mind. And we watch him go from a shy little boy into somebody willing to seek answers in his own way, learning from mistakes but also understanding what it means to drown in them. This added complexity further builds out Santiago’s intersectionality in the world. It allowed me to care about his journey, and I found myself rooting for him the entire time, wishing him the best, being proud of his accomplishments, and feeling his sadness.

Sanchez also did a great job capturing the immigrant experience and how the connection to one’s homeland can be complicated, often influenced by exterior and interior factors. I was drawn to Hombrecito because it spoke to my own identity and experiences. I, like many others, want to see myself represented in the novels that I read. As someone with many immigrant relatives, including my own father, the various struggles Sanchez writes about like moving to the US at a young age, having a parent who is constantly working, and struggling to learn English, realistically reflects the life of an immigrant. As a result, most of Santiago’s journey centers around the grief he feels about leaving Colombia. With grace, Sanchez discussed what it’s like to feel detached from one’s culture and constantly look to fill that void without resorting to stereotypes or overused tropes. I appreciated how Sanchez discussed the back and forth feeling of not being American enough or Colombian enough. The experiences were authentic and honest and elevated the story.

Without spoiling too much, I loved the ending of Hombrecito. It connected the themes discussed throughout the novel for Santiago’s story to come full circle, but now ending in his mother’s perspective. We see his mother come to terms with who she is, highlighting her immigrant experience, especially as a single, working mother. This ending helped redeem her character and allows readers to create their own impression of her rather than base it entirely on Santiago’s perspective. It showed how any person, at any point, can experience their own coming of age as she attempts to come to her own understanding of who Santiago is. In particular, the ending explores acceptance, growth, regret, and all the beautiful, ugly things that make humans so complicated.

Despite all this, I do wish there were more in-depth moments that explored Santiago’s relationship with his family. The beginning and ending highlighted these relationships, but it felt like conversations were missing or readers weren’t being provided enough context. In the beginning, Hombrecito explores about the complicated relationship Santiago had with his mother and brother, but the building tension wasn’t enough. For example, the transition to Santiago’s eventual no contact with his family could have been more intentional and built-out. I hoped to read more about the conflict that led to Santigo’s decision of no contact, specifically with his brother. That lack of expansion made it feel like Sanchez was rushing through moments that could add further depth.

Additionally, Santiago’s relationship with his father also wasn’t explored enough. When it was discussed, the information about their relationship was haphazardly thrown in without consideration of how it flowed within the story. I would have preferred to see some of those moments happening in real-time rather than presented as quick background information. When conversation did occur between them there wasn’t enough context for me to feel invested in the mending of their relationship. The conversations with his father and his mother, at times, felt underwhelming and I was left desiring more.

Another underwhelming element of Hombrecito was Santiago’s coming out. This novel centers around Santiago’s sexuality and his defiance to social and cultural norms. Since family also plays a big role in the novel it would have been powerful to read how he came out to his parents. This is another example of an important moment thrown in as added context rather than a moment that should have stood on its own. This coming-out scene also would have been a great place to touch on Santiago’s intersectionality as a queer person of color. From experience, many Latinx households often have difficulty accepting queerness and can oftentimes invalidate this aspect of one’s identity.

Despite those elements, Sanchez defies the odd and plays with the emotional heartstrings of readers in this debut. They capture the essence of being human and what it means to be lost and trying to find something solid to grasp. It handles the complicated nature of family and how blood ties people together for life, for better or worse.

What do all great horror novels have in common? The ability to make a reader squirm in their seat, complex characters who constantly keep you on your toes, and (oftentimes) graphic imagery hinting at the scares to come. From the supernatural like Mexican Gothic to mysteries like Murder on the Orient Express, these horror novels (and many more) feature a nature of suspense capable of drawing readers in. Even as a horror enthusiast, I struggle to employ the same element in my writing. For writers looking to ramp up their horror, consider this list of 13 tips to make your readers scream.

1. Read, Read, Read

While this advice may seem tired and used, it’s true. The best way to step into new avenues of writing is by reading similar works in the genre. Reading allows you to see how other authors write horror to study their techniques and style. 

2. Understand What Scares You

When was the last time a horror novel really spooked you? Was it a sudden murder? A supernatural character? A mist that kills? If something scares you, chances are it’ll scare your reader, too. One of the best things writers can do is utilize what they know best (see Rule 1). Reflect on what unnerves you to help develop an even scarier experience for your audience. 

3. Know Your Villains

Understanding your characters and, most importantly, your antagonist is essential to the genre. Horror has a huge range of potential for villains: ghosts, serial killers, a trusted friend, and more. But for readers to fear your villain, you, as the writer_, need to fully develop and understand the character. Analyze your villain’s motive, their drive, and what they desire above all. Try stepping into the shoes of your villain, think method acting.

Still unsure of how to approach writing a believable villain? Consider these articles: 4 Truly Memorable Antagonists in Fiction (& How Their Complexity Makes Them Work) and The Villains’ Voices: 4 Main Types of Antagonists.

4. Worldbuilding and Setting

Setting and atmosphere can greatly enhance an audience’s sense of suspense. From the opening scene, try adding some dark ambiance to draw readers in and set the story. Maybe add a creepy neighbor in the new apartment building your protagonist just moved into or a mysterious doll that appears out of nowhere.

5. Establish Emotional and Physical Stakes

With any piece of fiction, the characters need to experience high stakes. These risks are what keep readers on the edge of their seats. They also keep them interested and invested. Reminding your readers of what could be lost is a great way to elevate suspense and create memorable characters they’ll want to root for.

6. Add Some Twists and Red Herrings

Mystery is an amazing element to consider incorporating because it helps keep your readers guessing until the final reveal. The best way to throw someone off is through twists and turns. A helpful way to do this is through red herrings. If you’re unfamiliar, a red herring is a common plot device used to mislead the readers or the characters in the story as was famously done in Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles. It’s a fun way to keep readers engaged, but also shock them at the end. 

7. Use and Rework Common Tropes

Horror features many noteworthy tropes, like the final girl or the last scare. For many horror enthusiasts, these tropes keep them engaged with the genre. It also has potential to give readers something to look forward to. Not only that, but it adds to the anticipation. So, while it may be intimidating, don’t be afraid to incorporate beloved tropes, like characters splitting up, a hidden entryway, or a dramatic rainstorm. Figure out a way to add a unique spin to really make it your own.

8. Find Your Pacing

The best thing to do for any story (not just horror) is to find the pacing. A wonderful thing about horror is how authors typically structure the story and intentionally pace their stories to make the most of suspense. It’s crucial for building tension and adding to a nail-biting plot.

9. Dialogue is Your Friend

Dialogue is a story’s best friend. It can be used to help drive the story and establish pacing. It can also be an opportunity to hide red herrings and a tool for story or character building.

10.  Don’t Always Settle for Shock Value

Sometimes, writers get so wrapped up trying to scare their readers they forget about the story. Of course, a horror story should scare its readers, but it can quickly become a part of a DNF list if it lacks dimension. Relying on shock value alone can oftentimes make the horror feel underdeveloped and result in a cheesy tale that isn’t as frightening as it could be. 

11. Let The Story Drive

As a writer, I find it hard to let go of ideas that aren’t working because of how invested I become in them. As a result, I find it easier to go where the story takes me rather than fight against it. This leads me to exciting places and a better story overall. Don’t be afraid to kill your darlings, as William Faulkner says, and let your story take you to new, uncharted places.

12. Incorporate the Human Element

I normally gravitate toward horror that explores human complexities and incorporates psychological factors. Many memorable horror stories, like The Shining, include psychological elements and highlight human obsession, which helps add nail-biting horror. Deliberate what humans fear and what about being human is terrifying. Think about the last time someone made your skin crawl. Why? Did they say something to make your heart drop. Consider how to add those elements into your story.

13. Write, Write, Write

Another important tip I’m sure you’ve heard over a million times is to just write. The biggest way to get your story out to the world is by writing it down. No matter what, make time to get words in that journal, Word doc, or paragraph on your notes app. Just write!

If you’re ever struggling, check out some of our other amazing F(r)iction articles that can help with your writing process. We also have spookily incredible examples of pieces written by other writers in our issues.

It wasn’t the haunted house in your book, Grim Root, that I found triggering but what TV producer, Deja, puts contestants through on the novel’s reality TV show, The Groom. Can you talk about how you researched the behind-the-scenes practices of reality TV for the book?

I read some behind-the-scenes memoirs, like Amy Kaufman’s Bachelor Nation, but I also follow the reality TV news—and one of my major inspirations was the fictional show UnREAL. I also read a fair number of articles on the psychology of reality TV, how close quarters increased pressure, isolation from the outside world, etc., lead to a heightening of emotions. I’m fascinated by that side of the genre.

At one point, a someone in production admits reality TV is “…engineered that way. They work with psychologists, you know, to create the perfect conditions to evoke limerence. Isolation. Shared fear.” How does Grim Root twist this concept of “shared fear” for a horror novel?

Reality TV, like good fiction—in this case, horror fiction—is all about tension. As a writer, you treat your characters like kings in a chess game, increasing the threat from as many angles as possible, moving in until they’re backed into corners and forced to make big, blow-up decisions. Reality TV producers do the same thing to their characters; the difference is that those characters happen to be real people.

I’ve just upped the stakes for the reality TV element, making it literal life and death.

 In particular, Linda’s character is manipulated by Deja in multiple ways. Would you explain the concept of the “villain cut” in reality TV and how Deja uses that with Linda?

Good stories require antagonists, and that’s something reality TV has taken into account. A reality TV villain is usually a big personality, maybe someone who is combative, and who the producers decide will make a good “villain.” They then cut the show to make it even easier to view that person as the major antagonist of the show. There might be parts they cut where the antagonist explains their decisions, etc., to make them look as over the top as possible. It’s a known reality TV trope, and contestant contracts often state editorial can cut the footage however they want.

Deja threatens Linda with a villain cut, using Linda’s past against her. Since Linda wants to come off as a good person, Deja tries to control Linda with this threat.

Can you talk about the cycle of manipulation the contestants faced from their past relationships and how it is taken advantage of for entertainment? How are their pasts being woven into their storylines by production? 

Both Sabrina and Linda have been manipulated by family, and that’s something the producers use to provoke certain responses from them on the show. Both main characters have a fierce desire to be accepted and loved, and the producers promise that: from the Groom, and from the audience. Then they use that desire to make them do the things they want them to do on camera.

Fashion and a lavish mansion are a big part of reality TV shows, yet you included the poignant line, “Skeletons lived in bodies, not closets” regarding someone’s past. Given this is also a haunted house story, could you talk about how the location of Matrimony Manor, where the show is filmed, is also a character with its own secrets? 

Like any good haunted house story, Matrimony Manor’s own past directly affects the characters; the horror is linked to the house itself. The interplay between the house’s secrets and the character’s secrets runs parallel and reveals itself throughout the book.

Due to editing and manipulation tactics, we can’t trust the reality of these tv shows. How do the characters face their own instances of manipulation before they get to the taping of the show?

We’re all affected by our trauma, personal and generational, so Sabrina and Linda are no exception. Sabrina has been manipulated by her mom, then her sister, to believe her main goal in life should be to marry rich, when she’s always desired to prioritize her medical career. Linda, on the other hand, fought back against her own manipulations—and has paid the price. The show casts her as the tarnished divorcee, a ruined woman—and even if she doesn’t believe that, and she’s forced to pretend at that role in order to hide the things she did as a little girl.

What do you feel the appeal of reality television is for a viewer?

Reality TV relies on tropes and larger-than-life characters, as well as fantasy. Genre fiction, particularly romance and horror, also utilizes tropes—pulling people in with the familiar, then twisting those tropes to provide excitement and novelty. It’s a winning formula, and when it’s combined with this idea that the people on these shows are just like us, that we could even be one of them if we wanted, that proves seductive. I also believe the “theatrical versus reality” aspect of it is appealing, like wrestling. The curiosity of it being fake-but-not-fake, of being a fan in on the game. I admit, I watch reality TV dating shows. They intrigue me as much as they intrigue the rest of their audience base.

Grim Root holds a mirror up to a cultural phenomenon. What other horror was an inspiration for this social commentary?

Shirley Jackson was a huge influence, particularly Haunting of Hill House. I’ve also been writing stories with morally grey women characters ever since I read In the House in the Dark of the Woods by Laird Hunt. The twist comes toward the very end of the novel, where we learn an important detail about the main character’s past, which changes our view of her. Additionally, I’ve been inspired by the romance genre and the things it shares in common with horror. Marrying the two was a goal with this book.

Where can our readers find you online and check out more of your work?

I have everything I’ve ever published linked on my website, www.bonniejostufflebeam.com—and I’m still occasionally on Twitter and Instagram, though you won’t see me posting all that much