This revision is going surprisingly well. I’m at the point where I know exactly what I want this story to do and how to get there, so this time around I’m enjoying the scene craft. Some people like to polish as they go, but I like to work in layers from the big picture down to the details. I find that a lot of the world building and character details come in while I take breaks between drafts.
Oh Jenny Han and “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before”, thanks to you I’m having a crisis. You reminded me that how we see ourselves is not always how the world sees us.
I mostly live in my head. I’m in the worlds I’m creating or the work that I’m doing. It always surprise me when the world intrudes, and it means I’m also a walking disaster. I break things, and when people I know suddenly say hello, I’m often too surprised to do anything but squeak and turn away, embarrassed.
I was also a painfully shy child, and all my life I assumed that I was invisible. Somehow when I became ‘not so shy’ the second part never really left me. It’s often easier to feel invisible, because then I don’t feel cripplingly self-conscious. If I were invisible, I could act any way I pleased. Anonymity offers a strange kind of confidence.
But the truth is, I’m not as invisible as I always thought. I get so lost in my own head that sometimes I’m the one guilty of not paying enough attention. I have some amends to make.
The Last Time I Lied by Riley Sager
The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang
I Believe in a Thing Called Love by Maurene Goo
Hollywood Homicide by Kellye Garrett
Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo
Hero by Samantha Young
Monstress Volume 3 by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda
What makes a monster? Though everyone might have a different answer, to me the monstrous is a metaphor for the unknown, or the uncontrollable. You throw salt over your shoulder, or leave milk out in a bowl, just in case.
Monsters have always been with us, and despite the technological advancements of the modern world they remain at the periphery our collective imagination. Why is it that humans still see things in the shadows, go looking for bigfoot, or creatures in Loch Ness? Monsters have always appealed to my imagination, no matter how terrified I might be of the dark.
Making Monsters is an anthology that explores monstrosity through a collection of fiction, poetry and academic essays.
Why do you think that monsters from the ancient world are such an enduring source of inspiration for creative writers and artists?
Djibril: Even though there are no totally new stories, there is a kind of fetishization of originality and inventiveness in the literary world, especially I think in the speculative genres. Don’t retell Verne or Tolkien, come up with a totally new setting and plot and character types and source of evil and magical/pseudoscientific weapon. But when it comes to the monster, somehow the familiar, especially if it’s ancient, may be that much creepier? I suppose it has so much history to draw on, so much existing resonance that you only need to hint at it, show a silhouette against the window, whisper a suggestive word, and the reader already feels the frisson of fear that they’re expecting. David Wengrow pointed out in his presentation at the “Why do we need monsters?” event that preceded the Making Monsters volume (and his 2014 book The Origins of Monsters) that since the first images of hybrids and monsters were created in the administrative seals of the Ancient Middle East, humanity spent the following five thousand years being strikingly conservative and non-creative in the design of such monsters (griffins, sphinxes, dragons, chimaeras, minotaurs are all relatively unchanged over several millennia). Having said all that, the three most popular monsters in modern horror writing and cinema—the vampire, the werewolf, the zombie—while it can be argued they have classical analogues, are not in any meaningful sense classical monsters or based on ancient mythological models. So maybe an author can think of themselves as being a bit more original when they write about a Satyr or a Gorgon instead…
Is there a monster whose story you would like to rewrite, and if so what kind of story would you tell?
Djibril: This isn’t the sort of answer I’d like to hear at all, but the last two or three times I’ve written “monster” stories, I’ve either given them a new, science-fictional rationale, totally rationalised or euhemerized the monstrous and supernatural elements, or turned them around to make the monster the misunderstood protagonist of the piece. So I don’t want to do any of those things… but perhaps I would tell the story of a Minotaur or Medusa, who has survived (or been reborn after) their famous demise, and continues to be a destructive, monstrous, villainous creature, dangerous to humanity, but it has its own complex motivations, believable decision process and morality, and challenging dénouement to face. It would be their story, but they would not be sanitized or humanized for it. That’s probably the kind of story I’d try to tell.
How do the contents of Making Monsters reflect the editorial mission of Futurefire.net Publishing?
Djibril: As with all of the anthologies FFN has published (Outlaw Bodies, We See a Different Frontier, Accessing the Future, TFF-X & Fae Visions of the Mediterranean), and indeed the magazine issues, the stories, poems and other content are selected to fulfil some or all of three criteria. Firstly there is the theme of the volume, if any: in this case classical monsters, with a worldwide focus, and retold or reimagined with a speculative dynamic. Then the story needs to be beautiful and useful—by which we mean both that it should be a pleasure to read, stylistically, linguistically, poetrically, and also that it should transcend pure entertainment, and have something to say that is bigger than its surface denotation (in a way that’s easy, since all writing is political, right?). And finally we want to produce a body of work that is social-political, diverse and representative, subversive and queer, inclusive of cultures and languages and genders and disabilities and neuroatypicalities that we see in the world around us. Not every story or poem needs to be an “issue” or an “own voices” piece, but the collective will be a delicious cacophony of issues and voices and subcultures that sings of progressive and socially responsible hope. The monsters in this volume, the world’s original outcasts, are the perfect vehicles for the sort of story that FFN wants to amplify, and this anthology ticks all of our boxes—in spades!
What’s your next project with FFN?
Djibril: We don’t have a specific “next project” lined up just yet. We have one more (unthemed) issue of The Future Fire magazine due out this year, and next year we’ll probably have a relatively quiet time. We have our four magazine issues scheduled, and we’re thinking that one or two of these might be themed and/or guest edited, but nothing confirmed yet. (I have at least a dozen ideas for themes or anthologies, but as always any project will be led by who is available to collaborate with, and so may involve none of my ideas!) We may also be building up our speculative poetry offering, also to be specified. No big anthologies or crowdfunding campaigns planned for 2019—although we could be surprised by an opportunity, which is how it usually happens! At some point in the not-too-distant future though, we will be following up on our Mediterranean-themed anthology of 2016, one of our aims for which is to achieve much better coverage of North Africa and the Near East than we did in Fae Visions.
Praise for Making Monsters
“…elegantly show[s] how we’re still using monsters to make sense of our fears and our dreams.” Helen King
“I had not expected to be as emotionally moved by the monsters as I was when I read through this volume.” Mathilde Skoie