As a contemporary horror author, what is it about stories like Jennifer’s Body and Juno that resonates with you? Why do you think they remain important stories for people to consume today?

I don’t yet identify as a contemporary horror author, though I write a lot of horror nowadays. I identify more as an author of speculative fiction. I think this distinction comes from a social place—of wanting to learn more about the history, cultures, and discussions happening among horror writers.

I enjoyed both Jennifer’s Body and Juno like I enjoy most media, from a place of deeply personal sensibility. I liked how they both approached adolescence and girlhood; they were written and produced by the same artist, Diablo Cody.

I wouldn’t say both stories are important for people to consume. Advocating for media in terms of importance is one way to sift through the attention economy, but I’m more interested in whether I enjoyed these movies and why. They did spark something for me, and I was interested in entering conversation with them. Both movies explore the difficulties of female adolescence under patriarchy, and navigating and nurturing relationships with boys and men under such complex societal and interpersonal pressures.

There is a great strength to basing a story around a popular moment in cultural history, or around a specific reference point, such as a cult classic film like Jennifer’s Body. But do you risk saddling your piece to the timeliness and relevance of the reference material? How do you strike a balance between paying homage and carving out your own unique corner of the horror realm?

Yes, it is a risk to navigate, but I wanted to be in close and direct conversation with these two movies, so it felt right to draft in that direction. I had a lot of fun writing this narrator who, at the same time that I was digesting the movies, was also digesting what the movies meant to her and trying to use them as reference points to navigate her own life.

A reader might feel like in order to better enjoy “Jennifer’s Daughter” they should seek out the other works, but I don’t think this is a must. Artists have always referenced and conversed with other works of art, and for me, missing some referential knowledge doesn’t stop me from taking away something meaningful from the art. Additionally, I was conscious of making my story accessible to people who both have and haven’t watched these movies by providing context to some of the references I made.

For how I struck a balance between paying homage and creating a unique work, I started with inspiration from the two movies, but as I was drafting, I knew that would only act as a springboard for me to explore my own thoughts, experiences, and impulses. The story shaped itself pretty naturally over the course of my drafting.

At its heart, this is story of the damage people do to each other and how that damage echoes down through the generations as parents try to protect their children from becoming the monsters they are. This story is an excellent commentary on the subject and something of a condemnation of isolationist parenting, so it leads me to wonder: Do you believe it is possible for parents to protect their children from generational trauma or from the damage that plagues them? If so, how can we carve a better path for the future generations?

It’s possible for parents to protect their children from their generational trauma, the same way someone can work to prevent passing on their trauma to their friends, or their partners. How to carve a better path for future generations is too big a question to answer here satisfactorily. I’ll say: We need better clean air infrastructure. We have got to stop infecting, and repeatedly infecting, children with COVID.

One of the most endearing messages in this story is the connecting power of stories. How do you think stories, especially those that are “forbidden” and macabre bring people together in unique ways? Do you believe that horror has any specific benefits in this regard?

I’m interested in stories that excavate disgust and shame. I’ve always found those emotions very fascinating, to read and feel, to elicit in others through my writing. I find to go there, to write about whatever abnormal, unpleasant, secret, shameful thing, feels vulnerable and risky. I’m often very impressed by writers who do it.

Interrogating and exploring disgust and shame is also a political project of mine. Rhetoric eliciting both emotions, and eliciting the associated deflection and secrecy, is used by hegemonic powers in such widespread and insidious ways to marginalize whole populations, our neighbors, ourselves. It’s useful to be able to create deflection and secrecy. While shame, like all emotions, can be helpful, it can also not be.

I do think there can be a catharsis in writing and reading stories about the forbidden and macabre, because you’re looking the deflecting, uncomfortable thing in the eyes, without being in any real-world situational peril. Horror is very well-equipped for that. And reading these stories, and discussing them with other people, can create self-understanding, catharsis, community, and agency.

You mention several influential stories in this work, but surely all your favorites didn’t make it on the page. If you were to go back in time to prepare your teenage self for the coming future, what stories would you guide them towards and what are a few of your favorite contemporary books or films in the horror genre that you consider “must consume” for the modern generation of isolated dreamers and outcasts?

I wouldn’t have guided my teenage self toward anything! I think she unfurled in time, and she became me, and I’m always unfurling too. For contemporary horror, my palate of recommendations is quite specific to me, and picked up piecemeal from what I’ve come across. I really enjoyed Serious Weakness by Porpentine Charity Heartscape, as well as many of their interactive fiction games, like With Those We Love Alive, Howling Dogs, and The True Legend of Tails Prower. They write themes of desire, disgust, gender and patriarchy, and disability so well. I love an abject atmosphere.

Talking about abject atmospheres and more girlhood, I would recommend Tamsyn Muir’s short story “The Magician’s Apprentice” and novelette “The Deepwater Bride.” Another big unsettling favorite is the short animated film “Twins in Paradise” by Vewn on YouTube.

I’m sure that, like me, our readers will be eager to read more from you after finding this story! Where can people find you and what other projects do you have in the works/forthcoming right now?

Thank you! I have two short stories forthcoming. “The Seam Ripper Above God’s Navel,” solicited for Enter Here: An Anthology of Portals, is horror about a god-killing trans scientist, his little gloopy child, and a giant portal machine powered by certain navels. It will likely be out by the time this interview goes live. You can nab a copy at the Kickstarter.

I also co-wrote a story with Simo Srinivas forthcoming in Diabolical Plots, titled “We Burst Across the Theoretical Gore,” and that’ll be free to read online. You are sweet damp roadkill. You are also a mountain lion. You are also the ravenous car.

And lastly, if you’re looking for more Nightmare from me, my first story here was a flash fiction published in Issue 142 at a wee 395 words, “Automaton Boy.” Your pregnant automaton boy. Orientalism. The shrapnel.

In my spare time, I have been writing long-form. You can keep up with my work at my website, sarasmessenger.com!