I’d like to touch upon the world first. I loved how I got such a strong sense of the wider universe in which the story is set. How do you go about creating such a vivid universe without just dumping facts on the reader, and do you have any other works in this universe, or plans for any?

Thanks. I appreciate that. It’s tough. I don’t have a complete handle on creating universes. My unoriginal answer is that I try to think up a lot of minute details about a given world and then delete as much as humanly possible, keeping only what relates directly to the story at hand. I’m also a big believer in playing with immersion as much as possible. A character within a world is not typically going to question why things are the way they are or explain mechanics to themselves. So while it might frustrate readers to be in the dark for a bit, I like to play with context and real-world touchstones to clue a reader in rather than direct explication. A reader may not know every single word of the Bia-Peithan dialect, for example, but I think there’s enough you can piece together the tenor of what’s happening and why. The world we live in is confusing, strange, and difficult to explain, so I think it makes the most sense when fictional worlds are that way as well.

As for other stories in this universe, yes, there are actually a few. I hesitate to advertise that they tie together, because that sometimes scares readers off, but luckily, they deal with different characters and are meant to stand alone. There’s “In That Crumbling Home” in Issue 28 of Bourbon Penn (Nov. 2022), which is being reprinted this summer in The Brave New Weird: vol. 2 by Tenebrous Press. There’s also “Sweetbaby,” a Shirley Jackson-nominated novelette that was in Issue 193 of Clarkesworld Magazine (Oct. 2022). And there’s at least one more story that will be announced later this year. I don’t think I’m at the point where I want to say what these collective stories are about just yet, but I think if someone were to read them side by side, there’s a general thematic undertone and direction to the project that’s hopefully emerging with these pieces.

Thematically, I found the story to be, among other things, a fascinating examination of occupier/occupied, or oppressor/oppressed, but it wasn’t simplistic. You delve more deeply into the ways it can become difficult to separate these two, apparently incongruous, states, and you also examined how place can be a factor which neither side fully understands, but shapes them nonetheless. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this aspect, or other thematic elements you’d like to talk about.

I grew up close with my extended Korean family, all of whom immigrated to the U.S. in the 1970s and 1980s. Older members of my family, and of the wider Korean American community I grew up with, lived through parts of the Japanese occupation in the early twentieth century. Even members of my parents’ generation who were born later were aware of the stories and were very much raised in its shadow.

But during my childhood, the occupation was almost never discussed directly. Instead, it would surface in unexpected ways. Unresolved anger, preconceptions about occupying cultures, little things would come out in ways that felt, to me, completely unconnected. And because I was a kid, I was usually very baffled. Because I thought the occupation was ancient history and something that was over long before I was born.

But as often happens when you grow up, you learn more history and context, and you realize how small and uninformed your perception is. Objectively speaking, the occupation of Korea was not actually that long ago. And subjectively speaking, for people who went through it, it was not just “done.” Events and acts like these reverberate and continue to shape the world afterward. Just because one side or one authority or one view of history says it’s “over,” doesn’t really make it so. As I got older, I began to understand how malleable and fragile historical narratives could be. How the stories people told themselves about these events, why they told them, were always shifting, and not always for the better.

“Grottmata” is purposefully dissimilar to the occupation of Korea. My writing doesn’t really work as a direct allegory, here or in other stories I’ve written. But I was thinking a lot about that again—the anger of it, the poison living on and reshaping individuals, families, and communities. I think both the inspector and Gemma are characters who find solace in each other because they are trying to mediate these brutal social forces that they didn’t choose, but were born into, which is something I relate to. How are you supposed to make decisions for yourself, or even just survive, when you inherit a world other people made for you? I don’t have a good answer for that.

As I mentioned, I found the story contained wonderful through-lines within the SF/horror genres. I found myself reminded of The Left Hand of Darkness by Le Guin, and The Fifth Head of Cerberus by Gene Wolfe, among other writings. Would you care to share some of your own influences or inspirations?

Wow, that’s very kind. Le Guin and Wolfe are both big influences, particularly the latter. Everything I said about immersion earlier, I probably learned from reading and rereading Wolfe over the last few years. The Fifth Head of Cerberus in particular is a major influence on this universe and directly inspired the forthcoming piece I mentioned that has not yet been announced.

Other authors I was reading heavily at the time of “Grottmata” were Octavia Butler, Richard Brautigan, James Tiptree Jr./Alice Sheldon, Brian Evenson, and Kobo Abe. I tend to be drawn to authors who focus on the dark, strange, and surreal. I think unsettling ambiguity helps crack open something experiential in a way that other types of fiction can’t. That’s territory I’d like to learn more about as a writer, and lucky for me, there are a lot of masters of that mode.

I also see that you’ve been nominated for a Nebula, a Locus Award, and a Shirley Jackson Award. I’m sure that must be very exciting! Could you give us some insight into where we can find your work, and also, if you have time, let us know about what else you have coming out soon?

Thanks! A full list of my works can be found at bit.ly/4boIoXf. As mentioned, my story “In That Crumbling Home,” is being reprinted in The Brave New Weird: vol. 2, which should be available by the time this is published. I also have a new story, “St. Fario’s Feast,” coming in New Edge Sword and Sorcery Issue 3, also released this summer. And finally, a multi-genre short story, “The Fairgrounds,” inspired by James Joyce, Ray Bradbury, and a mishmash of other influences, is coming to Metaphorosis Magazine.

As a bonus question, for any writers out there, old or new, what has been the most important factor for you in doggedly pursuing your writing life?

I started out being a meticulous plotter, very cerebral and academic, always charting allusions and themes in controlled ways, using outlines for everything. But I think my writing became a lot more rewarding when I started letting stories develop in their own unexpected directions. I also stopped chasing story ideas and wrestling them onto the page. I learned to wait until something felt like it really needed to get out and I had to write it, rather than forcing it out. I guess what I’m really trying to say is that I’ve been learning to let my intuition and gut direct me instead of trying to force words where I want them to go. Everyone has a different approach, and that doesn’t work for everyone, but I think that’s helped me focus on ideas that matter more to me now.