 about megan taylorMegan Taylor is the author of four dark novels, How We Were Lost (Flame Books, 2007), The Dawning (Weathervane Press, 2010), The Lives of Ghosts (Weathervane Press, 2012), and We Wait (Eyrie Press, 2019). She has also had a short story collection released, The Woman Under the Ground (Weathervane Press, 2014). In addition, her more recent short stories have been placed in several competitions, and appeared in a variety of publications, including Dark Lane’s 6th and 7th anthologies and Neon. Megan lives in Nottingham, where, when she’s not playing with her own fiction, she enjoys running creative writing workshops and courses. Could you tell the readers a little bit about yourself? I’m very lucky that a lot of my life involves writing. As well as being the author of four novels and a short story collection, I also run creative writing workshops and courses. While my writing has often been described as dark, a few years ago, I found that the short stories I most enjoyed writing were increasingly horror stories. Once I gave into the urge, I couldn’t stop. My latest novel, We Wait (Eyrie Press), is unashamedly a ghost story. I enjoyed writing it so much. Why horror? What is appeal of the genre to you as both a fan and as a writer? Why? I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve loved horror since childhood. The thing I enjoyed the most about sleepovers with friends was swopping spooky stories, and I’m also very grateful to my dad. His packed bookshelves included a lot of horror classics and he’d often let me stay up late watching scary films. Looking back, I think the appeal was originally about the shivery thrill, as well as a fascination with the things that might be hiding in the dark, a desire to look beyond the everyday. I’m not sure much has changed… As LBGTQ+ fan and writer of horror, how did you first became immersed in the genre? I think it could be argued that Gothic literature, with its history of playful transgression, was perhaps one of the earliest genres to address ideas of sexuality that didn’t conform to the supposed norm. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla was published in 1872, and the homoerotic threads running through Dracula aren’t exactly subtle. While these days LGBTQ+ characters are clearly no longer excluded from literature in the way that they once were (and in contemporary horror, they’re certainly thankfully not all monsters anymore), I like to think that horror, with its fascination with particular psychologies, and drawing issues, often literally, out of the shadows, still has the potential to be powerfully inclusive. The term horror, especially when applied to fiction always carries such heavy connotations. What’s your feeling on the term “horror” and what do you think we can do to break past these assumptions? Obviously, the field is huge, ranging from body-shock to the uncanny, and we all have different preferences, but I have no personal issues with the term “horror”. As one of my first loves, which I’ve kept on returning to, and that now seems to have me firmly back in its grip, I’m very happy to declare myself a horror fan. I’m also always happy to argue with strict mainstream/ literary readers who have no idea about how they might be missing out. A lot of good horror movements have arisen as a direct result of the socio/political climate, considering the current state of the world where do you see horror going in the next few years? My first thought when answering this question was about how zombies became such a huge symbol for mass consumerism in the twentieth century. While the raw impact of those ever-hungry, mindless creatures might have started to wear off, consumerism doesn’t appear to be going anywhere, and it will be interesting to see where horror takes this next. And with the ecological disaster that we’re all facing no longer confined to the realms of science fiction, I have no doubt that many horror creators, like everybody else, will have no choice but to respond. The role of women in horror has also changed remarkably over the last century, and is continuing to change, and I find that incredibly exciting, particularly when it comes to film. I was thinking about this recently re-watching Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook and Julia Dorcournau’s Raw. I also only just got around to watching Alice Lowe’s comedy-horror, Prevenge, which I really loved, a dark and weirdly joyous film. What are the books and films that helped to define you as an author? There are so many – too many to name them all! I like to try to read widely, including a lot of contemporary literature and psychological thrillers as well as horror, but most of my favourite films remain horror, including classics like Rosemary’s Baby, The Shining, The Birds and Don’t Look Now. I also love a lot of Daphne Du Maurier’s writing, and I’ll always be grateful for the time I spent as a teenager devouring both Stephen King and Joyce Carol Oates. But one of the biggest influences on many of my recent short stories, and certainly my latest novel, is Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. I first came across the story through Robert Wise’s 1963 film version, The Haunting. It was one of the films I watched as a child and it had a profound effect. As much as I totally loved all the garish Hammer Horrors and spent a sleepless night after watching Carrie, there was something about the black and white and all that pounding on the walls that got to me in a way that no other film ever had. When I came to read Jackson’s incredible book a few years later, the effect was even more extreme. As I sat in bed reading by lamplight, even at the beginning of the novel as Eleanor winds her strange fairytale-like way to Hill House, I had the most unsettling physical sensation of a black cloth descending over the back of my head, or as if there was somebody watching me from behind – although there was only the bed frame and the wall at my back. By the time I came to the novel’s famous hand holding scene, I felt almost as completely undone as Eleanor. Without realising it, I learnt so much about the psychological resonance of ghost stories when I read The Haunting of Hill House. With its blurring of reality and emotion, it’s had an enormous and enduring influence on my writing. What aspects of writing to do you find the most difficult? I think the hardest part is dragging yourself out of the writing hole and back into the day-to-day when you’ve been totally immersed. Are there any subjects that you would never write about? That’s a really interesting question. Although I have particular themes I find myself returning to, I don’t think I’d ever like to put any rigid restrictions on my imagination. It can often feel like ideas find you, rather than the other way around, and I wouldn’t like to turn any away. Having said that, it’s quite unlikely that you’ll find me writing a neatly tied-up, overtly happy ending – but you never know… Writing, is not a static process, how have you developed as a writer over the years? I like to think we don’t ever stop learning. As well as leading creative writing workshops and courses, I still like to attend them, and I believe that there’s something to be gleaned from every story we read, whether good or bad. Each narrative demands its own way of telling, whether that’s about point of view or tone or style, and I think it’s important to keep reminding myself of that, to treat every piece of writing as something new. And at the same time as I’ve hopefully learnt to gain a little more perspective about my stories, I think it’s essential to never forget why I wanted to write in the first place – for the sheer love of disappearing into it. Many CIS white male authors use LGBTQ+ characters in their works, what’s the mistake that they make when trying to portray these characters? Apart from being an uneven and problematic film on other levels, I found my eyes continuing rolling while watching Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs. There’s an outmoded, tired sense of a predictable type of male gaze in the way the female leads are repeatedly depicted – far too many clinging bloody vests. A good example, I think, can be found in Paul Tremblay’s The Cabin at the End of the World. To have two central gay protagonists was an interesting choice and I think Tremblay managed it well. Moving on to getting your work read by unwashed masses, what do you think is the biggest misconception about LGBTQ+ fiction? That it’s niche and will only appeal to LGBTQ+ readers. Such a very old fashioned, narrow view will keep readers trapped when there’s so much diverse and amazing work out there. There are as number of presses dedicated to LGBTQ+ fiction, do you view these as a good thing, or do you think they help to perpetuate the ongoing exclusion from mainstream presses? As an author who is very grateful to have been published by several incredibly supportive independent presses, I think the more presses and opportunities out there the better. Independent publishers often back books out of a love for the work rather than having to be confined by the sometimes rigid or cynical decisions made by marketing departments that have come to dominate so much of mainstream publishing. I’m not saying there aren’t incredible books still coming out of the mainstream – there clearly are – but many independent presses can be particularly proud of showcasing alternative perspectives and marginalized voices, adding to the richness of what we read. And here is the million dollar question do you agree with movements like this and things such as Women in Horror Month? If so how would you like to see sites such as Ginger Nuts of Horror tackle diversity? As a reader, I feel excited by movements like Women in Horror as they’ll often mean discovering new writers, and that’s always brilliant. It’s great that Ginger Nuts of Horror is striving to be inclusive and wide ranging, and I’m very grateful to have this opportunity to talk about LGBTQ+ issues in horror. The most common phrase you hear when people object to active movements to encourage all forms of diversity is “I don’t care about the sexuality, gender, color etc etc of the writer I only care about good stories” what would you like to say to these people? I have some sympathy with the sentiment – ideally, I think that art, in whatever form it takes, should stand separately from the artist – but it becomes more complicated if used as a defense against active movements that are striving to provide a balance that is still sadly lacking in the mainstream. If there was an even playing field out there, things might be different, but while voices remain sidelined because of issues such as gender, sexuality, race, disability and class, I think movements championing diversity aren’t only positive, but essential. To many writers, the characters they write become like children, who is your favorite child, and who is your least favorite to write for and why? I love them all, even my more seemingly unlikable characters (actually, sometimes I love those ones the best), but my favourites are always the characters I’m currently writing. Once a novel or short story has been published and my characters have been sent off into the world, they no longer belong to me in the same way that they once did. For those who haven’t read any of your books, which of your books do you think best represents your work and why? I’d love people who enjoy horror (obviously the majority of people reading this) to give We Wait a try, particularly if you like a haunted house story. If you prefer short stories, you might like my holiday horror, Waiting for the Rat, released as a chapbook single by TSS Publishing. Can you tell us about your last book, and can you tell us about what you are working on next? We Wait, recently released from Eyrie Press, is a ghost story that explores awakening sexuality and repression, family secrets and betrayal and love. Here’s the novel’s blurb: The wealthy Crawleys can’t abide a scandal, so when fifteen-year-old Maddie’s behaviour causes concern, she’s packed off to the family’s country estate, along with her best friend, Ellie. But while Maddie is resentful, Ellie is secretly thrilled. A whole summer at Greywater House, which she’s heard so much about – and with Maddie, who she adores… But from the moment the girls arrive, it’s clear there’s more to the house and the family than Ellie could ever have imagined. Maddie’s aunt and her bedridden grandmother are far from welcoming – and something has been waiting at Greywaters, something that flits among the shadows and whispers in the night. As the July heat rises and the girls’ relationship intensifies, the house’s ghosts can’t be contained, and it isn’t just Ellie who has reason to be afraid. Three generations of the Crawley family must face their secrets when past and present violently collide. I’m currently working on my fifth novel, which was meant to be a psychological thriller but is becoming increasingly paranormal. I’m also still writing and releasing short stories. I have nearly enough for a second collection, which would be exclusively horror, so I’d love to start putting that together soon. What was the last great book you read, and what was the last book that disappointed you? I don’t want to talk about a book that’s disappointed me as I’m very aware that one reader’s poisoned chalice is another’s cup of delicious tea, but I think, for me, one of the most exciting voices in contemporary horror belongs to Catriona Ward. I enjoyed her debut, Rawblood, so much that I started reading her second novel, Little Eve, with trepidation – only to possibly love it even more. I’m looking forward to her next book very much. We Wait by Megan Taylor The wealthy Crawleys can’t abide a scandal, so when fifteen-year-old Maddie’s behaviour causes concern, she’s packed off to the family’s country estate, along with her best friend, Ellie. But while Maddie is resentful, Ellie is secretly thrilled. A whole summer at Greywater House, which she’s heard so much about – and with Maddie, who she adores… But from the moment the girls arrive, it’s clear there’s more to the house and the family than Ellie could ever have imagined. Maddie’s aunt, Natalie, and her bedridden grandmother are far from welcoming – and something has been waiting at Greywaters, something that flits among the shadows and whispers in the night. As the July heat rises and the girls’ relationship intensifies, the house’s ghosts can’t be contained, and it isn’t just Ellie who has reason to be afraid. Three generations of the Crawley family must face their secrets when past and present violently collide.   the heart and soul of horror interviewsComments are closed.
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