As I wrote this story, I was mulling over legacy and inheritance, how the way I experience the world now is affected by the way Chinese Americans were treated then. The panic around the bubonic plague resonates with that of the COVID-19 pandemic and the subsequent wave of Asian hate, for instance; questions of femininity and labor persist as well.

Many of the attacks aimed at trans people are aimed at removing us from public life. Banning us from restrooms (or forcing us into restrooms where we know we’ll be unsafe), taking away our drivers licenses, forcing us into the closet if we need passports . . .

It was absolutely intentional to not just critique the “traditional” three-act structure but to expose its inherent violence through the story’s very bones. For women like Mirlande, who is undocumented, Black, and Haitian, that very structure gaslights on a narrative level.

I read and watch a lot of horror. I’m really interested in the genre and how it provides a vehicle for grappling with experiences that can be difficult to name and contend with otherwise, including experiences of physical porousness, boundarylessness, and vulnerability.

Community is important—essential, even—but community is built on patience, tolerance, adaptability, generosity, understanding. Conformity shatters too easily. Don’t build community on conformity.

The big thing is that fish are gross. They are slimy and weird and I hate their creepy eyeballs. They scare me and I think they should scare you, too.

I think there’s definitely something to the cyclical nature of trope and subversion within storytelling, whether it’s in horror, comedy, romance, or any other genre. The saying goes that there are no new stories under the sun, but there’s always a new way to tell them.

The writing of the story is an exercise in scaring myself.

I’ve always been interested in the idea of the absurd and doomed endeavor. A useless task undertaken on faith, perhaps, or even just lack of imagination or options is fascinating to me. These are also dramatically interesting situations to put people in and see how they react. Here, as I wrote Bailey and found a counterpoint in Heck, the kind of energy it would take for her specifically to persevere began to emerge.

The narrator is driven to pursue her passion, but often our passions and the mundane need to make a living refuse to align. The termite lab is a space for dreams just fallen short. It’s close to the mark but still misses the heart.