A Point of Pride: Interview with Polly Schattel

Polly Schattel has been a film writer/director, a teacher, a journalist and a videographer. She is proudly and passionately transgender. Her first novel, The Occultists, was published by JournalStone in July 2020. Her next book, Shadowdays, will be released in January, 2022. She loves the American South and doesn’t want to hear your complaints about it. She can be found at www.pollyschattel.com.

What inspired you to start writing?

I’m not sure I can determine what got me started. It just always seemed to be. My first “book” was a story I wrote and drew (and bound together with yarn) in first grade, about Bigfoot saving a fisherman on a wild river in the northwest. I still have it around somewhere. But the desire to write was always there. Even as a little kid, I knew writers were special people—they had the true gold in their possession. But of course, I see being a writer in a larger context of being a storyteller—in various mediums (fiction, film, poetry, games, etc) we tell stories. Fiction is just one medium.

What was it about the horror genre that drew you to it?

For one thing, horror is undeniably fun. There’s a reason my eighth grade friends at lunch were gathered around the only copy we had of Stephen King’s “Night Shift.” It was a blast—it was funny and gross and hip and smart and irreverent and very very dark. Catnip for teens, and for adults who refuse to grow up. For another thing, I think we have a psychological need to face our fears, our own mortality. So it gives us that outlet, that way to consider this brief, brutal existence. It can get quite deep, if you think about it. Horror is a way for us to find meaning in our lives.

Do you make a conscious effort to include LGBTQ material in your writing and if so, what do you want to portray?

I don’t write about LGBT folks from any sense of obligation or showy need to be inclusive. There is an LGBT character in my WIP, but that aspect is part of his personality and needs to be there. It’s not grafted on from the outside. I think queer writers want queer stories, but more than anything, we want good stories. If there are queer elements to them, so much the better.

What has writing horror taught you about the world and yourself?

I confess I see myself more as a writer of horror-adjacent dark fantasy than pure horror, but to me it’s all one dark stew of imagination. Horror and dark fantasy taught me about the human animal and how we operate, both physiologically and psychologically. Horror teaches us about societal systems and institutions (usually in their upending), and our own limits, and also our quite underwhelming place in the vast scheme of things. So it’s helped me come to terms with myself, my world, my mortality, and my own little personal limited (and yet limitless) cosmos. It’s quite psychologically healthy in many ways.

How have you seen the horror genre change over the years? And how do you think it will continue to evolve?

That’s an interesting question. I fondly remember those early 80’s mass-market paperbacks with the embossed red covers and the dripping fonts. I was the kid standing at B Dalton’s magazine rack for two hours, reading the new Twilight Zone Magazine, or the new Stephen King short story (I consumed “The Raft” that way). So I’ve seen it go from this sort of cozy paperback thing in the 80’s to early 90’s splatterpunk, and then weird fiction, and the comics boom, and so on. Horror is getting smarter, and more compassionate, which is a necessary element, I think. There’s a lot of great people writing some really great stuff.

How do you feel the LGBTQ community has been represented thus far in the genre and what hopes do you have for representation in the genre going forward?

Weirdly and wonderfully, nobody cares if you’re an LGBT writer. You’re just a writer. Look at Clive Barker—he’s not only gay, he’s really gay. Much of his mythos comes from S&M and gay bars and hustling—that outsider underworld—and you can feel it in his work. Yet no one cares. If a writer tells a good story, that’s enough. I liken it to Judas Priest’s Rob Halford. Nobody cares whether Rob Halford is gay, we just want him to sing good songs.

That said, it’s always nice to see representation. And it’s nice to see some of these once-fugitive traditions in “mainstream” genre fiction. Horror and fantasy readers are some of the most open-minded, accepting folks there are. We’re interested in expanding borders. And transgressive lit teaches you to respect others and their traditions, and to value human complexity, I think.

Who are some LGBTQ horror authors you recommend our audience check out?

Queer horror, like that of Billy Martin and Caitlin R. Kiernan, is terrific, but I would also encourage readers to go back to the originals and be inspired directly from them—Mary Shelley, Sheridan Le Fanu, Oscar Wilde, and so on. Go back to the source and find your own response, your own pathway that leads to the present.

But there are so many writers these days (particularly female writers) who transcend straight or queer—think Gemma Files, or SP Miskowski, or even good old Anne Rice. These are truly interesting writers who won’t be boxed in as one thing or another—they make the boundaries of “queer fiction” look almost quaint. Also, Larissa Glasser is just a hoot.

What is one piece of advice you would give horror authors today?

My advice is simply to tell a good story. That’s it. Nobody cares if it features gay or straight or trans folk, or waiters or oil riggers or plastic surgeons. The story comes first, and if there are queer elements, so much the better.

And to the LGBTQ writers out there who are just getting started, what advice would you give them?

My advice is simply to be yourself, and don’t be afraid to dig deep—deep deep deep—to get your experience and your voice out there. We want to know your unique perspective. So that thing you may think is too vulnerable, too dark, too private, too personal to delve into—that’s the good stuff. I’m not suggesting you air your dirty laundry, just that you share your innermost fears and doubts with us. Take us to that lonely twilight place that only you know very well. Chances are, someone else also shares those fears, or at least can appreciate them. They’re more universal than you may think.