Editorial
Editorial, November 2016
Be sure to check out the Editorial for a run-down of this month’s nightmarish content and to get all our news and updates.
Be sure to check out the Editorial for a run-down of this month’s nightmarish content and to get all our news and updates.
Jazmine was a bit of a departure for me as a character, and I have to admit she was fun to write. As a polite and kind person, as I like to think of myself, it’s oddly liberating to try to access the mind of someone who has unthinkable impulses and explore the monster within us all. In that way, she’s somewhat similar to the protagonist in my short story “The Lake,” who literally becomes a sea monster as an outward manifestation of her predatory nature.
Too often, when it comes to Black and minority writers, this definition of horror is often twisted and contorted until it is no longer acceptable. Or more bluntly, Black and other minority writers are not allowed to simply create a “horrific emotion” within their (white horror) readers and be welcomed into the fold, instead there are always more and higher hoops that these writers must jump through (hoops dictated and controlled by the mainly white male readers and writers) seemingly with the sole purpose of excluding them.
There are a lot of shows about filming in allegedly haunted sites. My influence was the UK show Most Haunted, where buildings were visited by the regular presenter, a historian, a parapsychologist, and a medium. I always found watching the mediums especially interesting. The controversies around the show are well-documented, and Martha grew from those. I liked the idea that she’d suppressed a lot of herself to survive, and I wanted to write about that.
Victor LaValle is the author of the short story collection Slapboxing with Jesus, three novels, The Ecstatic, Big Machine, and The Devil in Silver, and two novellas, Lucretia and the Kroons and The Ballad of Black Tom. He has been the recipient of numerous awards including a Whiting Writers’ Award, a United States Artists Ford Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Shirley Jackson Award, an American Book Award, and the key to Southeast Queens.
I’m all about the interplay between the “natural” horror of current events and the “supernatural” horror of ghosts and demons. I think the combination makes for a richer, truer story. I also think that, frankly, it’s important to remember that large swaths of the human population have been subjected to real horrors—genocide, ecological disaster, systemic discrimination—and their horror stories are going to look a little bit different from, you know, Poltergeist.
I am eleven years old when my mother asks me, Why do you have to write such dark stories? Why can’t you write something edifying? At the time, I have no answer for her, and I mistake the tight line of her mouth for disapproval. I miss the concern in her eyes, the distress in the set of her shoulders. I think about her question for many years. But at the time, I remember wondering, What is edifying about stories that don’t reflect the real world?
The entire story, not just the song, is inspired by “Cruel Sister.” There are many, many songs on the same theme, by many different titles. What attracted me was the plain, unalloyed, chilling hatefulness of the crime and the equally chilling retribution—though I carried that part a bit further in my story. The song “Cruel Sister” ends with the ghostly accusation, as does most of its ilk, but I wanted to show the aftereffects of the murderer’s horrific action. The song in “Cruel Sistah,” by the way, is loosely based on W.C. Handy’s “St. Louis Blues.”
The editors of People of Colo(u)r Destroy Horror! — Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Tananarive Due, and Maurice Broaddus — talk about their vision for this special double-issue, and share thoughts about working in the genre as creators of color.
It felt right to tell a story about a service-industry worker in the second person because such people are frequently ignored or dehumanized in their daily lives. When I worked in a movie theater, customers would walk up to the concession stand and start barking orders at me like I was a kiosk instead of a human being. So I wanted the reader to, as you say, inhabit the character more fully than first or third person would allow. There’s an immediacy and intensity that comes from second person when it’s done well.