Meagan Lucas’s Dark New Fiction: “I Was Tired of Hiding the Ugly”

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In 2019, Meagan Lucas floored me with her debut novel Songbirds and Stray Dogs, a gritty tale of one woman’s fight for survival amidst generational poverty and depravity, written by an author who not only openly embraced the Southern grit lit tradition, but knocked down some of its conventional walls with the authenticity of her female characters. With her sophomore release from Shotgun Honey, Here in the Dark, a collection of sixteen stories rooting her firmly now in the crime fiction world, Lucas’s work is even more startling and more unapologetic. It is, and she is—read on and you’ll see why—absolute fire. 

Steph Post: I’m going to start with the obvious—and something I’ve written and spoken about quite a bit in the past: Badass Women. And you write them like no one I’ve ever read. Your female characters, always at the center of your work, are tough, but also vulnerable. They’re scrappy in a way that women aren’t often portrayed, but which resonates with me so deeply. They’re not afraid to do what needs to be done—including bashing in the hood and taillights of a cheater’s pride-and-joy truck—and you’re not afraid of writing them in all their desperate, mascara-running ugliness. What draws you to these characters? And how are you able to write them so well, so authentically? 

Meagan Lucas: Steph! Thank you. That means so much to me coming from you. I’ll never forget reading the first page of A Tree Born Crooked, putting the book down, and saying, “ho-ly shit.” I’m not sure how to answer this question without admitting that I, personally, am a hot mess, but I’m afraid that might be part of it. I didn’t grow up wanting to be a writer, I was always a reader. I came to writing in my 30s to survive postpartum depression, and part of that was learning to be real honest with myself. I wanted to explore all of the difficult things I was feeling, and I was tired of hiding the ugly. So, from the very beginning of my writing journey, I was drawn to writing about women who were dealing with these same feelings as me, in these terrible, but often realistic, situations. I’m not really interested in heroes (ahem heroines), or princesses—I want to write about myself and people I know. Also, while I might not call myself an adrenaline junkie in a traditional sense, I’m bored with my own work unless I’m pushing boundaries, trying something new, or scaring myself with my own vulnerability. As a result, we get a lot of these very real women characters who usually have a piece of me in them, and usually a piece I’m not all that proud of.

Steph: Okay, if I wasn’t already enamored of you and your work, I would be now. The fact that you want to go there—to dig into the ugly, the underbelly—and also admit that it’s a side that comes from you as well, is what I think we really mean, or should mean, when we talk about an author being “authentic.” I think all too often when authors “write what they know,” they only write what they’re comfortable with. You write what you know, but don’t flinch. You don’t shy away. It’s one of the reasons I think Here in the Dark is so powerful. Not a single story flinches. But while I admire this so much about you, I can imagine some readers have found your work troublesome. Have you ever had someone tell you that you went too far? Or that your stories are too much? I’m thinking of the equivalent of “you should smile more, honey,” but from a reader critiquing your work. 

Meagan: I have had plenty of people tell me I cuss too much. Or ask why I don’t write anything happy. Or ask if I’m *okay,* assuming that there must be something wrong with me to be able to write what I do.

Steph: Oh my God, same!

Meagan: And you know, that’s fair. I guess I’m flattered that it’s reading real enough that people assume I must have experienced all these things. But more than anything, I get people pulling me aside after readings, or sending me DMs, telling me they thought they were alone before they read my work. They didn’t realize that someone else might feel the same as them. They didn’t realize that they were allowed to talk about their feelings, let alone publicly. Last year I had the pleasure of presenting at Western Carolina University’s Spring Lit Fest. I read “The Only Comfort” and “Sitting Ducks,” both of which are in this collection, and after, a student hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder for five minutes. This spring when I read “Glass Houses” at the Appalachian Studies Conference, I had many people come up to me and share that they had experienced similar trauma as a child. It feels like the harder the story was for me to write, the more people connect with it and I think that says a lot about us as a society. A lot of us are yearning for a connection, and I get it, that’s one of the reasons I started writing; I was looking for community.

It’s hard to admit that this ugly stuff is me, but I also know I’m not alone. Many of us are hurting. Many of us are survivors. There is this quote, that’s been attributed to everyone from Banksy, to Cesar Cruz, to David Foster Wallace that says that art should “comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable,” and I guess I’m pleased that I have a tendency to hear more from the disturbed that I’m comforting, than the comfortable who are being disturbed.

Steph: Damn, you might have just given me chills, because you actually own up to that quote. You don’t talk the talk, you walk the walk. Okay, diving into your latest work—you are a prolific short story writer, but, of course, a collection can only house so many. How did you go about choosing the sixteen stories that make up Here in the Dark? Was it an organic process or were you building around a specific theme? 

Meagan: I noticed, a couple years ago, that my short work was moving away from straight literary fiction, to pieces that embraced genre fiction, like crime or horror. I think it’s entirely a reaction to the fact that the novel I had just finished writing, Soft Animals—currently being shopped by my agent—is very literary. Instead of placing these stories in my regular lit mags, they were getting picked up in crime or noir anthologies, which lead me to reading more crime stories, and trying new things. My work has almost always included some aspect of lawlessness, but I was now writing more stories that included law enforcement, or mystery, or elements of horror like monsters or gore. And so, I started thinking about my obsession with writing about women and girls, and how a collection of crime-ish stories about women would be a collection that I would really like to read. Because of my lit fic background, I think, my work is usually more interested in the why of the crime, than the how; more character than caper you could say. So, as I was looking through my portfolio of stories to curate this collection, I was looking for pieces that connected the experience of being female, with crime, but so often women are just portrayed as the victims of crimes in more traditional crime writing, so I wanted to do something a little different, to see women in all types of roles.

Steph: Yes! I’m so glad you brought this up. I love that your female characters are more often than not the criminals, not the victims of a crime. And when they are the victims, they’re ambiguous. They’re not just the faceless “dead girl” who springboards the story into action. Nor are they the pretty “final girl,” still standing at the end. Your “girls” are women who fight, who make questionable choices and who aren’t always redeemed by the last page. Aside from drawing on your own strength and experiences, are there any characters in fiction or film who match your ethos on this and who have inspired or encouraged you to keep writing women this way?

Meagan: I’m just really drawn to complicated people, I think. And not enough of these “people” get to be women in most media—although, I think that’s changing. I love books where the female characters are not traditionally “likeable.” Dorothy Allison and Bonnie Jo Campbell are my heroes ’cause they’ve been doing this since forever. More recently we have work from: Laura McHugh, May Cobb, Kelly J. Ford, and Heather Levy. TV wise, I’m loving Yellowjackets—these complicated, incredibly flawed women who are over 40 and interesting and not traditionally beautiful but still have great sex lives.

Steph: Ohhh, Yellowjackets is on my “to-watch” list!

Meagan: I think Abbott Elementary is doing this, too. I’m encouraged by what’s coming out of Reese Witherspoon’s production company, and that obviously people want stories about women who aren’t always young, beautiful, rich and perfect; they aren’t always the victim or the mastermind. I’m also loving independent publishing more and more. I think some of the most exciting books are coming from small presses; they are much more willing to take a risk and that makes me want to write something challenging.

Steph: Still focusing on short stories in general, in addition to this collection you’ve also published a novel, Songbirds and Stray Dogs, which first introduced me to your work. How is your approach to writing short and long forms different? And do you prefer one over the other?

Meagan: Steph, this is such a tough question! I love that with a novel the author is really able to dig deep, that those characters become actual people in our minds, almost like our children. And I like that novels sell! Short stories though are so much fun—they are the perfect place to try something new, or something scary, push some boundaries—because a short story is only a couple of months of my life, and not years the way a novel is, I’m less afraid of failure. I’m also really, really drawn to how a short story forces the participation of the reader in a way that a novel can’t. Because the author is only giving the reader a tiny piece of the short story, they have to bring so much more, especially to endings. I love the endings of short stories, and I think that my readers can see that even in the ending of Songbirds and Stray Dogs. Ben Percy says in his essay “Designing Suspense” (Thrill Me) that people who read short stories love endings that make them want to gargle with Drano or nosedive off a skyscraper, and people who read novels want a gladder, luckier closure, and I just personally feel much closer to the former.

Steph: Okay, diving straight into the collection right in front of me. Every story within Here in the Dark is a firecracker, but I’d have to say that I’m partial to “Picking the Carcass” and the title story, “Here in the Dark.” I first read “Picking the Carcass” in an advanced copy of Jacked: An Anthology from Run Amok Books and I was delighted to see it included in this collection. Your writing—always—is blistering, raw and unabashedly authentic, but in “Picking the Carcass” there’s just a tinge of perceived Magical Realism. Reading it, I was reminded of Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle. While there’s an explanation for why Janelle begins to find gold nuggets hidden inside dead animals, there’s also a slight suspension of disbelief. Janelle is firmly grounded in the reality of desperately trying to take care of her family, but also caught up in the absurdity of finding this wealth, as though she were a heroine in a fairy tale. Are you deliberately playing with readers here? Are you flirting with the fantastical while writing such down-to-earth stories? And, if so, why?

Meagan: I think that magical thinking pairs perfectly with desperation. Who among us, when faced with an unwinnable situation doesn’t start dreaming about “what if I found a treasure?” When we look at fairytales, this is such a common trope—for the needy to find golden eggs, or magic beans, or a house made of candy. And then, of course, because all of us raised in a certain economic background have learned that if it seems too good to be true, it is. And then that, too, is a really fun (and heartbreaking) idea to play with. This never happens to me, I never start with the title, but with “Picking the Carcass” that’s where it began. I was thinking about that phrase and motherhood, and how especially when my children were younger and they needed me so badly, I just felt like there was nothing left of me, and I wanted to explore that metaphor so I started mixing it with that fairytale trope, and out popped some sort of magical realism, which definitely is a departure for me.

Steph: And then we come to the concluding story “Here in the Dark.” From the very first paragraph, I thought to myself 1) holy shit and 2) Meagan is as brazen as they come. Your protagonist Cora, just out of rehab and desperate to get some loving from the man she imagines spending the rest of her life with, is unapologetic, but so are you as her author. I love how you so bluntly write about female desire and women’s complicated relationship to intimacy and sex. Cora’s attitude towards Lee, but more so, her own introspection of her wants and limitations, her expectations and their inevitable, disastrous conclusions, feels at once so familiar and so fresh. In short: I’ve spent time with many “Coras,” but I rarely see them in fiction. Are these types of characters something you deliberately set out to create? Or do they seem natural to you? And have you felt any push-back from writing about women with such honesty? 

Meagan: Cora is a character from my first novel, Songbirds and Stray Dogs, that I felt never really got her due and I get lots of questions about from book clubs. So she’s been living in my head for a long time, and when I decided to revisit her, I knew I only had this one chance to do her justice. I think, too, that as I’ve aged, I’ve gotten stronger not only as a writer, but as a person. I give a lot fewer fucks about what people think of me, and that enabled me to really do her right. I think Cora needed me to turn 40 before I could write her story.

Steph: That’s fascinating! And, yet, makes so much sense.

Meagan: I mentioned earlier that I’m embracing being terrified of my work—pushing boundaries, being vulnerable. That’s how I know I’m doing the work that I want to, when I’m scared, and honestly, that last phrase, at the end of the first paragraph of “Here in the Dark” scares the shit out of me. It’s so…honest. It makes me blush. It makes me feel naked in front of a crowd. But, I tell my students, when drafting, to pretend that no one is going to read their writing.

Steph: This reminds me of Stephen King’s metaphor about writing with the door closed. When you’re ready, you can remember your readers and open the door, but you should always start with the door closed. 

Meagan: To be as vulnerable, honest, and brave as they can—to write that one true sentence—because they can always revise something to be tamer. And that line is just so perfectly Cora. Shortly after I wrote it, I saw someone on twitter asking people to post the first sentence of their WIP, and so I thought, what the hell and put it up, and the response it got was so good – particularly from women – that I knew it needed to stay, no matter that my grandmother is probably going to read it.

Steph: Okay, I’m not going to lie, posting that line on twitter—”But it wasn’t her hunger for drugs or alcohol that had Cora sweating on the sidewalk in front of Mountain Rehab, but her desperate need to sit on Lee’s face”—that’s ballsy as hell. 

Meagan: “Here in the Dark” is really honest about sexual desire, and that does feel bold to admit, that I feel those feelings and I know I’m not alone. But this whole collection is terrifying to me. It’s so intensely personal. I stomp all over all the topics that it’s not polite to bring up – money, religion, body image, sex – it’s all in there. It’s a departure from my first novel, it’s a lot more political, a lot angrier, and vulnerable, and honest, and a lot less subtle than my previous work. It’s a risk, but I think it’s one worth taking, if only so that I can show my students, and my children, that even though I was afraid, I still did it.

Steph: And it’s a risk that I think pays off for sure. You’ve got something in these stories that I haven’t seen elsewhere and I’d put money down right now that you’re going to make a name for yourself by writing about women as women. As we truly are, when confronted by the true reality of our lives—raw-edged and multi-faceted, reckless and yet exceedingly capable of survival. Are there any “impolite” topics that you didn’t touch on in this collection, but which you still want to write about? Is there a new or different thematic approach you didn’t get to explore in Here in the Dark, but which we’re sure to see in some future work?  

Meagan: Oh yes!! I recently had a story published in Dark Yonder called “Big Bob’s Donuts at 3am” about a stripper who just wants to be seen as a person, but it’s really about the male gaze and the constant sexualization of women. I have a story coming out in Rock and a Hard Place called “The Stillness at the Bottom” that might be the most brutal story I’ve written, and it’s about misogyny and the pain of bringing daughters into a world that is so obviously against them. These pieces aren’t in Here in the Dark but a new collection I’m putting together that I’m calling Furies.

Steph: I am sooooo here for this, by the way. 

Meagan: It’s angrier than Here in the Dark (if that’s possible!) and I’m working on pieces that explore the foster system, fatphobia, same-sex domestic abuse, believing women victims, and the complicated ethics of emotional adultery. My novel work-in-progress is about police corruption, BDSM, politics, immigration, poverty and racism—so I guess you could say I’m still not going to be a hit at the next family dinner.

Steph: Probably not! But still, if you’re getting glared at over the sweet potato pie, remember this: you’re inspiring the hell out of readers and writers, new and established alike. I’m so excited for the rest of the reading world to discover Here in the Dark, Furies, Soft Animals and all of your work to come. 

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Here in the Dark is available from Shotgun Honey, July 14th, 2023. 

Meagan Lucas is the author of the award-winning novel, Songbirds and Stray Dogs and the forthcoming collection Here in the Dark (Shotgun Honey, 2023). Meagan’s short work can be found in journals like Still: The Journal, Cowboy Jamboree, BULL, Pithead Chapel, Dark Yonder, Rock and a Hard Place. She is Pushcart, Best of the Net, Derringer, and Canadian Crime Writer’s Award of Excellence nominated and won the 2017 Scythe Prize for Fiction. Her novel Songbirds and Stray Dogs was chosen to represent North Carolina in the Library of Congress 2022 Route 1 Reads program. Meagan teaches Creative Writing at Robert Morris University. She is the Editor in Chief of Reckon Review. Born and raised on a small island in Northern Ontario, she now lives in the mountains of Western North Carolina.

(Author photo: Ellie Navarro)

www.meaganlucas.com 

Steph Post is the author of the novels Miraculum, Lightwood, Walk in the Fire, Holding Smoke and A Tree Born Crooked. She graduated from Davidson College as a recipient of the Patricia Cornwell Scholarship and holds a Master’s degree in Graduate Liberal Studies from UNCW. Her work has most recently appeared in Garden & Gun, Saw Palm, and Stephen King’s Contemporary Classics. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, a Rhysling Award and was a semi-finalist for The Big Moose Prize. She lives in Florida. 

www.stephpostfiction.com 

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