I WROTE IT ONLY FOR YOU: An Interview with Joshua Mohr
At its essence, this story is about existential amnesia. What do we need to remember? What do we want to remember? And what’s the difference between them?
Rebecca Gransden lives on an island. She is published at X-R-A-Y, Burning House Press, Expat Press, Bruiser, BULL, and Ligeia, among others. A new edition of the novella Figures Crossing the Field Towards the Group is released May 2025 at Tangerine Press.
At its essence, this story is about existential amnesia. What do we need to remember? What do we want to remember? And what’s the difference between them?
In retrospect, it’s obvious to me that I’m writing about my desire to feel a part of something greater than myself. I know that’s an impossibility, however.
All-American Murder isn’t bad, but it’s almost an extraterrestrial product, a movie made for humans by something that has no relationship to the physical universe.
Everyone believes there’s something more out there. And if we were just braver, had more time/money/whatever, we’d Don Quixote it up.
Where neighbors handed warm zucchini bread over fences, a 10-year-old drove me around a farm in a rusty truck, and I most likely met a serial killer.
Like Terminators or cockroaches, dive bars will always rise again. They’re one of the last bastions of organic and spontaneous social connection.
I enjoy the wish fulfillment of making up a controlling, overbearing asshole and then torturing him by making everything go wrong no matter what he does.
I knew I was going to love it when the head started to vomit guns. The tone felt like a Monty Python film. Is that a common comparison?
There was this thing near San Antonio when I was in high school called the Elmendorf Beast that killed livestock. It turned out it was just a coyote with mange.
Video, broadly speaking, is the medium people interact with most on a daily basis, so I think contemporary fiction has some obligation to engage with it (if aiming to render the world as it exists).