#anyway my original fiction really is all about memory it's always framed around memory. wild!

[marnz]

@dngrcpckwithmurdericing asked: my duuuuuude! for the meme: please tell me all the things you love about writing original fiction! i'm so excited to read what you write, and i wanna hear more about how much you love it and what you love about doing it :) :) :) xx

ahh thank you so much for this question and your kind words!!! 😭 it’s hard to put my finger on what, exactly, I love about writing original fiction. I had to think about this a lot, so please forgive any pretentiousness in this answer.

 I was recently talking to @straykind​ about how reading an amazing work of art feels like the writer is reaching out a hand and inviting us to try and write as well... writing can be so lonely but there’s also a kind of community in it, because you’re creating a world and connecting to readers. I love making things that I love, such as writing about nature or writing a relationship with banter and people who grow and change together. 

I also frankly sometimes write out of spite, like yes I’m going to write about disability, yes I’m going to write about seattle the way countless writers write about NYC, yes i’m going to write about folks like the queer punks i ran with in college, yes i want you to understand how salmon is a keystone species and this greenery is built on death, etc. sometimes i write something as a response or reaction, like wow...this concept was so cool and you fumbled it as hard as possible, this is how i would handle it. I love writing as defiance and writing as stewardship and writing as art, as honoring and cherishing something the way Garth Greenwell describes in this essay about why he writes gay sex.  

when you write about something you make it real and sometimes it feels necessary and important to write about trauma and recovery this way, and to look at people with deep tenderness. once i went through all of the comments i’ve amassed on my fanfic over 11+ years of writing it and over and over again the comments said the same thing: these stories were written with care and compassion for the characters. which, i suppose, has always been my mission and my project: to look at someone’s terrible choices, the tragic things they’ve been through, and their joy, their laughter, their deep inner world, because it is a way to acknowledge everyone’s humanity. or perhaps more accurately not just acknowledge but to memorialize. to say you’ve made it, you’re here. i think this is why so many of my stories are about memory.

this is also why I’ve always been drawn to underworld stories. memory is a kind of underworld that we’re constantly navigating because it lays on top of the present. memory makes our world. i love writing stories that are cathartic in this way; I value stories that function as safe spaces to experience emotion the world tries to pack away. everyone has their own katabasis and their private horror and joys but when you write or read you’re united with the world. writing is a way to process, sure, a way to stay sane, a way to tell amazing stories, but it can also be an act of love. 💜

[goatsandgangsters]

Autumnal asks! Cider, harvest, spice (the correct answer for which is my old living quarters you now gaze upon out the window)

cider - a food that you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

pickles. used to hate them. now I’m the “eats the pickles of everyone who doesn’t want theirs” person at restaurants (back when we still went to those)

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

okay I don’t want to drag myself too hard here by giving you names. but I’m sure there’s a noticeable pattern on my blog where my favorite type of fictional character is “absolute bastard with a tough exterior and some kind of angry/cool/aloof persona, who isn’t actually as tough as they project and probably actually a dumb loser nerd on the inside (with some unaddressed pain and probably a mean dad?)” ...... like a piece of bruised fruit. a particularly surly piece of bruised fruit, with an angry face drawn on it in sharpie. and it’s mad because it’s the mean little plum that’s been left at the bottom of the plum barrel. 

which is not me in the slightest! I have a gooey marshmallow center, which pairs with my equally marshmallow exterior. and also my dad is great. but, you know! sometimes you just gotta love the bastards (the reminder that messy people are still loved) who have softness inside (the narrative catharsis when the forbidden soft spot shines through). I equally love “character you thought was slick is a loser nerd” as much as I love “character you thought was a bastard Hurts Inside” and I love when they’re the same person. angry fictional bastards have the most fun, I love them dearly, and I wanna watch ‘em break a little just to get put back together again. you know. for the emotional catharsis. the narrative tension. 

spice - have you ever encountered a house that you believed to be haunted?

of course I have, I’m from Pennsylvania, that’s why this is going under a cut because it’s about to get LONG

first of all, I DON’T REMEMBER YOU MENTIONING THAT YOUR PREVIOUS APARTMENT WAS HAUNTED. I will wave at the ghosts from my window. 

HAUNTED HOUSE: PENNSYLVANIA

But, as stated, I’m from Pennsylvania, which is Especially Haunted as far as US states go. It’s not Maine, but it’s up there. There was a ghost tour on the street that I grew up on. It was not a ghost tour for the town or for the neighborhood. No, it was a ghost tour of the street. Granted, this is the same street that once housed Washington’s troops during the Revolutionary War, so there’s a lot of ghosts accumulated. Fortunately, my house was one of the newer ones on the street (built in 1888) and it was not haunted. 

But my friend two doors down, her house was built in 1750. And it was HAUNTED! (I want to note that it wasn’t even on the ghost tour. The family was asked by ghost shows multiple times if they could film there, but the mom said no because she didn’t want to annoy the ghosts). 

I never encountered anything specific there myself, besides feeling completely uneasy in the older parts of the house (and that unease would instantly dissipate as soon as I went into new construction additions that had been put on the house). Especially late at night, the old parts just felt... bad. I once went home barefoot because I left my shoes on the other side of the house and I refused to cross the house alone in the dark to get them. 

There was something... wrong with the basement, also. I don’t remember the specifics of this, but I remember something about the shadow of a man who only appeared on the wall in December and would proceed down the stairs over the first week of December and then vanish, or something along those lines? (I’m not still in touch with the neighbor, but I texted a mutual childhood friend, who also recalled something about a man on the stairs specifically in December without my prompting). Their dad always claimed that there were Revolutionary War soldiers buried in the basement, which I don’t think was true (there are 100+ buried farther up the street though). But I never went in the basement! It was the only part of their entire house where we NEVER went! They had a repair guy in the basement once. He left. Because he got too freaked out down there. 

The mutual friend also told me she experienced weird dreams where voices told her they wanted to talk to Sarah. And she never thought anything of it, because no one named Sarah lived there. As an adult, she found out that our friend’s mom—who went by Sally and didn’t want to film ghost shows for the sake of the ghosts—was actually named Sarah. One time a bead curtain (y’know, it was the early 2000s) went absolutely WILD when no one but my neighbor was home. It may have even broken, if memory serves? 

HAUNTED HOUSE: LONG ISLAND

A house we rented one summer at the beach was definitely haunted. Nothing menacing, but similar to the above, I always felt super nervous and creeped out in the old part of the house, but would feel instantly relaxed in the newer addition. My uncle smelled pipe smoke constantly, in a family where no one smoked (nor did the owners). My dog spent that summer barking at nothing (and she was not a barker, despite being a beagle). I don’t know how old that house was, but it did have a fire once because there was an article about it framed on the wall. I don’t think anyone died though? But that house had... some vibes which were not ordeal. 

HAUNTED DORM: BOSTON

I believe I’ve told you the story of Shaft Girl, the ghost who opened my dorm room door my freshman year of college? 

So (and there are a few college people who follow me who can corroborate this story) the dorm I lived in in college was built in 1920. I don’t remember the particulars of her origin story, but the upper floors were haunted by a ghost nicknamed Shaft Girl (I thiiiiink she was supposed to have been the daughter of an architect or engineer or something, who fell down the elevator shaft and died during construction? She definitely fell from the upper floors into the elevator shaft and died, because that’s why her name was Shaft Girl). 

One time, I was watching a movie in my dorm room with two friends. One left, but I left the door unlocked in case he wanted to come back. And these were those heavy dorm room doors—the kind that does NOT stay open, they swing shut right away, and they’re generally pretty heavy and loud. So my friend and I are sitting on my bed, watching the movie. And the door opens about 45 degrees. It swings towards us, so we can’t see who’s holding the door open. But no one came in. It just... stayed open. And we go, “um.... [Friend Who Left]?” 

The door closes. We immediately get up and open it. No one is there. My dorm room was at the end of a very long hallway. And no one is in the hallway. We didn’t hear any other door open or close before we looked (remembering that these are college dorm doors, so you HEAR them), and we looked pretty quickly. There’s really nowhere anyone could have GONE that quickly or that quietly. So naturally I was freaked out, the friend stayed over because my roommate had already left for winter break, I went home in a couple of days, and I didn’t think anything more about it. 

THE NEXT YEAR—AND THANK GOD SHE WAITED UNTIL I WAS NO LONGER LIVING IN THAT ROOM TO TELL ME THIS—A FRIEND FROM THAT FLOOR TELLS ME A STORY ABOUT SOMETHING WEIRD THAT HAPPENED. Her dorm room was near mine at the end of the hall. She was coming home from class, the floor was pretty empty and quiet, and she stopped to look at the bulletin board. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a girl with long hair in a white dress standing at the end of the hallway, right in front of my dorm room (and I expressed my gender very different my freshman year of college, so that conceivably Could Have Been Me). So my friend turns to say hi to me, but no one is there. She keeps walking to the end of the hallway to return to her room and... no one is there. Again, it’s the end of the hall, and there’s nowhere anyone could go without either the loud open-and-close of a college dorm door or the emergency exist stairs that set off the alarm when opened. 

She tells me this one night. AND THE STORY OF MY DOOR OPENING BY ITSELF COMES RUSHING BACK. AND THAT WEIRD THING I NEVER THOUGHT MUCH ABOUT SUDDENLY TAKES ON NEW MEANING. BECAUSE HEY, APPARENTLY SOMEONE ELSE SAW A GHOST HANGING AROUND MY DORM AND WHO ONE TIME OPENED THE DOOR. Those are the only two particularly creepy incidents I know about with this dorm. But yeah. It freaks me out. 

HAUNTED RESTAURANT: MANHATTAN

OH AND HOW COULD I FORGET!! I was seriously about to post this without THE BEST GHOST STORY!!! How could I forget that one time @meyerlansky and I were on a date in John’s, The Historical Gangster Restaurant You All Know And Love From Boardwalk Which Was Actually Frequented By Actual Real Life Gangsters. You know, this one (and they actually sat us at that table too, which was aaAAAA). And coincidentally, it was Charlie’s birthday. I want to clarify, we did not go on a date for Charlie’s birthday—but I was home from college for Thanksgiving break and meeting up in Manhattan was the most convenient for us at the time. 

Anyway. Here we are in this historical restaurant, frequented by historical gangsters, on historical Charlie Luciano’s birthday. We talk. We eat. We pay our bill. We loiter. We talk. And then we start deliberating on whether or not we should get going. 

And very suddenly, the candle on the table goes out. It didn’t look like the oil burned out, and despite being by the door/window, it didn’t feel drafty at all. Maybe the oil did burn out, but the timing of it was impeccable. It was literally “do you want to go?” /CANDLE OUT. 

And we booked it out of there pretty fast! Because being paranoid people, our first thought in the gangster restaurant was that gangster ghosts were... threatening us or warning us or something. So we book it, we go home, and later that night, I’m recounting this story of being in the historical gangster restaurant on a historical gangster’s birthday and suddenly the candle goes out and—oh, I realize. That’s what you do on birthdays. You blow candles out. 

SO I’M NOT TRYING TO SAY THAT CHARLIE LUCIANO’S GHOST ONCE THIRD-WHEELED ONE OF OUR DATES, but like... it’s possible. And honestly, he would.