Conversation with Grace R. Reynolds

Grace R. Reynolds is a native of southern New Jersey, where she was first introduced to the eerie and strange thanks to local urban legends of a devil creeping through the Pine Barrens. Since then, her curiosity with things that go bump in the night bloomed into creative expression as a dark poet, horror, and thriller fiction writer. Her short fiction and poetry have been published by various presses. She is the author of two poetry collections from Curious Corvid Publishing, Lady of The House (2022) and The Lies We Weave (2023).

Grace is the author of “Uranium Girl” from Radon Issue 8.

Q: What was the New Jersey legend about a devil creeping through your nearby forest that drew you into horror writing?

I grew up near the New Jersey Pine Barrens, where our state cryptid, The Jersey Devil, lurks! The Pine Barrens are full of strange phenomena, such as The Blue Hole, abandoned structures, and perhaps a gateway to another dimension. It’s a peculiar place that invites a person’s imagination to run wild.

Q: How has your experience with Horror Writers Association been since you joined?

Overall, I’ve had a positive experience as a member of the HWA. I’ve connected with other authors who I see as mentors and friends in the industry. Like any professional organization, I think it's important to focus on what you want from membership. I’ve taken a few classes with Horror University online and volunteered my time with the organization. I hope to see it continue to grow and progress in a direction that is beneficial for its members.

Q: Many authors forgo using Instagram because they are text-focused and don’t believe they have much to offer a visual platform. How have you approached using the site as a marketing tool for your writing career?

There’s something to be said about creating and engaging with readership in a visual space. It’s more personal and, I think, offers a better way to connect with readers. Take Bookstagram, for example, the sub-culture of readers on Instagram who share and review what they’re reading with others. They are so creative with their photos, reading lists, and graphics. I recognize the time spent curating a visually appealing feed for Bookstagram.

I started marketing my writing on Instagram, so it is where I am most comfortable. In 2020, I joined “Poetry Instagram” with thousands of others online struggling with COVID, lockdown, and feeling disconnected from the world. Poets would volunteer to host Instagram Lives, where they would read submitted poetry from other accounts out loud. This could be as short as 30 minutes or as long as four hours. People stuck around in the chat and communed with one another in a virtual space. 

Instagram poetry gets a bad rep, but it was a beautiful experience to come together with people worldwide. Not everyone is there to be the next Rupi Kaur. Writers want to feel seen and understood by someone else, like sending a radio signal into space. Is anyone there? Others use it to practice a second language. It’s a really cool space to engage with others.

Q: Tell us about your poetry collections from Curious Corvid Publishing called Maybe You’re the Murderer and Midnight Blue?

Midnight Blue, my chapbook of chronic illness poetry, was released on September 13! I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome in 2009, but I have lived with it probably since 2006. Diagnostic delay for patients with chronic illness can take about three to four years. I have never incorporated my feelings about living with invisible illness into my writing. So much of chronic illness is conditioning oneself to be amenable to others and to mask our symptoms when we are having a bad day. The poems came through like a fever dream in the summertime in Texas, and I wanted to explore that. How could this place, where I struggle with heat intolerance, be so healing for me in other ways? It’s taken me so long to be comfortable sharing my experiences with it, and I want others to be comfortable sharing their experiences in a way that is both cathartic and validating for them.

Maybe You’re the Murder is a work in progress! I wanted to explore the title concept in its many facets, from the processes of decomposition in nature to war to environmental terrorism and beyond. As I continue to write the collection, it changes shape. So, it might be a little while before I feel ready to share that with the world, but I’m so proud of it thus far.

Q: Gothic undertones play a significant role in your poetry. How do you use this aesthetic to enhance the emotional and psychological weight of your stories?

Apart from its rich history, the Gothic leaves so much room for writers to explore contemporary themes. Much of my work explores justice, or a lack thereof, and identity. Who are we when we strip away the societal frameworks that keep us stagnated? What secrets do we unveil to learn about ourselves? I particularly enjoy the Feminist Gothic works written by Shirley Jackson and contemporary counterparts who write Horror or Horror adjacent works.

Q: What drew you to the emotional and riveting story of the “Uranium Girl” from your Radon poem?

I think anyone, particularly millennials who remember living through 9/11 and thereafter, has a paradoxical view of the world that is both hopeful and brimming with nihilism. Social media only exacerbates this. We see other nation-states use “bigger army” diplomacy and are outraged while also ignoring the suffering of others outright.  There’s a disconnect between who we are as consumers and who we are as part of the human collective.

Poetry is inherently political. I want to see more of this in the speculative sphere and imagine futures where current world events play out and leave us. Who do we become? What are we? I think that’s why I’ve become so drawn to transhumanism lately. Apart from the very real desire to not be in pain (I had spinal surgery in December 2023) and how cyborg life might help with something like that, I want to know what’s stripped away when we give so much of ourselves away for something ‘greater.’ What is the cost to abate the masses and buy our silence?

Q: What advice would you give to emerging writers who want to tackle complex themes like trauma and healing in their work?

I would tell them it's important not to downplay their own trauma and to be honest with their feelings, no matter how ugly they are. There are truths to be found in ourselves with this type of work. There’s a fantastic essay written by poet Donna Lynch in the book Writing Poetry in the Dark titled “Writing From the Wound.” I often think about that essay when tackling these themes in my writing. It reminds me to be brave.

Q: Where is your favorite place to write, and where does inspiration strike you most often?

While I share an office with my spouse, he is an avid gamer, and I can’t sit next to a mechanical keyboard for long without being overwhelmed by sound. I have a notebook for poetry that moves around the house with me, and I enjoy taking a laptop to work at the kitchen table. I live in a wooded area, so it’s nice to be close to nature and witness it as I write.

Q: How do you decide which format—short story, poem, or chapbook—best fits the emotional arc or narrative of a piece?

My short stories, lately, have often been inspired by musical pieces I’m listening to. I can picture a scene and build a story around it. Sometimes, if I don’t think a short story is working for me, I’ll experiment and break it down into verse. The same can be said for my poetry. If I start something I can’t figure out how to finish, I will stretch it into a short story to see if it better serves the narrative.

With respect to chapbooks, I can only speak from my experience with Midnight Blue. Chronic illness is something I’ve only just begun to feel comfortable discussing with my peers and in my writing. A shorter format felt most appropriate for me in this scenario, as if I could dip my feet into the waters this way without feeling like I had to confront all my thoughts, feelings, and symptoms that are too difficult to describe all at once.