Eugie Foster

Eugie Foster calls home a mildly-haunted, fey-infested house in Metro Atlanta that she shares with her husband, Matthew, and her pet skunk, Hobkin. After receiving her Master’s degree in Psychology, she retired from academia and became a corporate computer drone. When her company asked her to leave the phantoms and fairies in the south and return to the dead-cold lands of the Midwest, she said "no" and decided to try her hand at being a professional writer. She writes fiction that ranges from children's folktales to science fiction to erotic horror.

Eugie is an active member of the SFWA, winner of the Phobos Award, Managing Editor of Tangent, and Submissions Editor for The Town Drunk. She has been nominated for the British Fantasy and Pushcart Awards, and her fiction has been translated into Greek, Hungarian, Polish, and French. She has sold nearly seventy short stories, and her publication credits include works in Realms of Fantasy, The Third Alternative, Paradox, Apex Digest, Fantasy Magazine, Cricket, Cicada, and anthologies Hitting the Skids in Pixeltown, edited by Orson Scott Card; Sages & Swords, edited by Daniel E. Blackston; and Writers for Relief, edited by Davey Beauchamp—a charity anthology to benefit the survivors of Hurricane Katrina with contributions from Brian W. Aldiss, Gardner Dozois, Joe Haldeman, Nancy Kress, and Larry Niven.

Visit her online at www.eugiefoster.com.

1). What was the earliest story you remember reading, and how does it influence your writing today?
The very earliest? I honestly can't say with any certainty. It was probably something like The Cat in the Hat or Where the Wild Things Are or Winnie the Pooh, all still favorites of mine, I might add. I adore whimsical everything—stories, illustrations, furniture. Anything that can pull off charming, clever, and beautiful gets top marks with me. But as far as books that really made an impact on me when I was little, I remember Charlotte's Web (which can still make me cry), Stuart Little, The Little Prince, The Wind in the Willows, and The Cat Who Went to Heaven as all being elegant tales that whisked me away to places of magic and wonder. And when I re-read them when I was older, they still resonated with me. Since I write a lot of fiction for children, I try to remember that what I loved then, I still love now, and craft stories that appeal to everyone, not just my primary target audience.

2). Describe for us the atmosphere in which you like to read.
Actually, I can and have read just about anywhere—in cars, on boats and planes, under a shady tree on a white sand Jamaican beach, in bed, at the table during meals, on the other side of a door with people shouting in the other room, on camping trips, and stranded by the side of the road. My surroundings don't matter so much as what I'm reading. Although if I had my druthers, I suppose my ideal reading setting would be a well-lit couch I can sprawl on, with a fire burning in the background, my husband sitting beside me and Hobkin (my pet skunk) curled up on my lap. Ambient music would be nice, and maybe some tea and a bowl of chips to munch at hand. But that's a lot of work to get right. If I can see the pages and I'm not in mortal agony, I'm good.

3). William Hope Hodgson's The House on the Borderland, M. P. Shiel's The House of Sounds, and Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of Seven Gables are all well known literary examples of atmosphere and inanimate objects used as actual characters to facilitate psychological equilibrium in the imagination of the reader, or of the human characters within the work itself. Having the benefit of a wonderfully unique perspective in that you are a psychologist, an editor and a reputable writer of fantastic expression, how would you compare the execution of this technique amongst these three and how would you implement this yourself?
I don't consider myself a literary academic; I leave the deconstruction and analysis to the folks who get into that stuff. But there's definitely something very compelling about the house-as-antagonist in all those works. It's an effective technique, utilizing something as pervasive and encompassing as the physical manifestation of a person's haven, sanctuary, and refuge—and thereby the core of their innermost sense of security and stability—and making it a hostile and malevolent force. There's such an inherent vulnerability in an unwelcoming environment; it creates instant creepies and tension. And it's effective not just with the scary house trope, which is still very popular as can be seen by all the haunted house stories and movies, but also in such tropes as space travel and space colonization. Space is, after all, pretty inhospitable, even without having to contend with amok computers and grumpy aliens. There are also invasion stories, like those dealing with star-born, warlike extraterrestrials, or ones that are not science-fictional that have plot points revolving around home invasion or war. Basically, anything which threatens the deeply-rooted need people have for a shelter, a stronghold even, that protects them against the unfriendly outside, is a potent story construct, whether it's used as setting, plot device, or character.

As far as implementing it myself goes, I do have a story where a sentient house plays a key character role. "Souls of Living Wood" (which will be appearing in the forthcoming Modern Magic anthology published by Fantasist Enterprises) utilizes a house with a personality and a pronounced sense of history. It's not antagonistic, per se, but it is a central and salient character.

4). How have you seen the horror genre evolve since you first became interested in it?
I guess the biggest change I've encountered since I started reading horror is that some of it has gotten much more graphic—the sex, the gore, and the taboo topics. I don't think there's such a thing as inviolable subject matter anymore. And while I applaud a lot of the thoughtful works that examine powerful issues like incest, rape, and child abuse, I find that a number of the "extreme" horror works I see don't strive to create a potent and compelling story, so much as they try to gross the reader out. Me, I'm not into horror for the squick factor. Yes, I've written some pretty graphic stories, but I strive to—and I hope I succeed at—only making any scene as explicit as it needs to be. There's enough that falls into the realm of horrific to write about that evocative doesn't need to be gratuitous.

5). If you had to name the most influential writers of the twentieth century, who would you choose and why?
Here we go with the deconstruction and analysis again! How about instead of the most influential writers, I touch upon some of my favorites and I'll leave those better equipped and more inclined to decide how influential they are? I'm a huge fan of Tanith Lee, Ray Bradbury, and Harlan Ellison. Their use of prose and imagery is nothing short of genius; the stories they write are so lush and vivid, I can utterly submerge in their writing and lose myself for days on end. I guess it shouldn't be surprising that the first ones that I think of have received acclaim for their short stories, being that so far it's the primary length I work in. I'm also very enamored by the works of Orson Scott Card, Robert A. Heinlein, and Frank Herbert, well Dune pretty much, but that's such an extraordinary work Herbert tops my list of favs. I am in awe of their ability to meld story, theme, and fascinatingly three-dimensional characters into their writing. I also want to include Joss Whedon here, although he's not a literary writer—he does the Hollywood stuff exclusively. But that man is a dialogue genius. He hasn't received the sort of acclaim he deserves. And I also really like Douglas Adams, Robert Asprin, and Harry Harrison for being able to make me laugh. It's so hard to write humor, especially clever humor, and the world needs more levity and whimsy—funny stuff that isn't cruel or mean-spirited. People take themselves way too seriously.

6). If you could be a single mythical creature, what would it be, and what about it appeals to you the most?
A god. Definitely a god. Infinite cosmic power, immortality, a bevy of minions to get me tea and do the dusting, and religious immunity from governmental persecution. Plus there's the omniscience. I'd finally know the answers to all the questions that bug me, like the whole dark matter thing, and what the topology of space is and whether there's extraterrestrial life out there (and if there wasn't, I'd create some). Not to mention finally being able to comprehend how our speakers and DVD player are wired, what my pet skunk dreams about when he makes those cute little snuffing noises in his sleep, and that whole "what is the sound of one hand clapping?" thing. Then there are the miracles. I'd be able to cure cancer and poverty and fix up the environment. I could create a new energy source that was clean and plentiful, and make everyone nice so people would stop wanting to blow each other up. And on the purely fun side, I could do things like create brand new colors, give animals (and maybe stuffed toys) the ability to talk, and make places, people, and creatures in the world as beautiful and magical as the ones in my head. And don't forget the smiting. I would so get busy with the smiting. People who abused puppy dogs and kittens would finally get their comeuppance—I'm talking brimstone, sand paper, and wasabi sauce. And there'd be some real fairness in the world. If you're an asshole to someone, you immediately get smacked by the cosmos (i.e. me).

So yeah, being a god would definitely have its perks. All would love me and despair! Mwahahahaaaa!

7). Would you say you have much in common with James Tiptree Jr., and would you care to cite her as an influence? Please explain.
Well, I'm very much in awe of Alice Sheldon, a.k.a. James Tiptree Jr., although I came to know of her and her works fairly late, so I'm not sure if she was as much of an influence on me as writers that I discovered when I was a wee, small girl. But yeah, we were both born in the Midwest, shared a fascination with human behavior and cognition—thereby pursuing an education in Psychology—and obviously that whole SF writer thing. And I'm also a strong proponent of her manifestly staunch and unfaltering right-to-die sentiments. She was a profoundly intelligent and fearless woman, and an inspired writer. If I can have as distinguished a writing career as she did, I'll consider myself very fortunate.

8). What musical style(s) do you prefer?
I enjoy quite a range of music. It varies pretty widely from day to day, depending upon my mood and what sort of listening experience I'm looking for. I adore Loreena McKennit, Simon & Garfunkel, and Stone Soup (a defunct little band in my old Midwestern stomping grounds with Carrie Newcomer as the lead singer) when I'm in a folksy, mellow/melancholy mindset—often good for writing fantasy and folktales. When I get my goth on, I toss on The Crüxshadows, The Changelings, or Dead Can Dance to take care of my ambient/dark wave/techno fix. Then there are the times when I've got an itch to hear some basic rock like Sting, Led Zeppelin, and Traffic. And when I'm craving something sophisticated and complex, I turn on the classical—my favorite composers being Prokofiev, Tchaikovsky, and Bach.

9). If you had one wish, what would it be?
To never lose anyone I love.

10). What was the last good movie you saw, and what made it so for you? What do you look for in a movie?
Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I've been a fan of Wallace and Gromit since A Close Shave when I saw it years and years ago broadcast on the big screens as filler before the Masquerade at Dragon*Con. My husband, Matthew, and I rushed to rent The Incredible Adventures of Wallace and Gromit after the convention and then bought the DVD. But I was disappointed with both Chicken Run and Cracking Contraptions, the follow-up projects from Aardman Studies. Both were fun, but lacked the magic and sheer inspiration of the first W&G shorts. So I went into Were-Rabbit with lowered expectations. Then, of course, I spent the whole time in the theater either giggling like a bubblehead, dying from laughter, or convulsing in delighted squee-spasms. Killed me dead, it did—the humor, the charm, the whimsy. It was brilliant. Absolutely the best animated film of the year. And the claymation bunnies completely stole the scenes they were in.

11). In your opinion, would such wonderfully fantastic tales such as Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis or Guy de Maupassant's "The Horla" do well in today's market place? Why or why not?
Yikes, a marketing question! I try to avoid dwelling on the vagaries of marketing, especially with regard to the publishing industry. I have no idea why some authors and works get published and are immensely successful, and why others don't or are relegated to the dreaded "midlist" if they see print at all. Likewise, I have no clue why some of my stories sell the first time out, and others that I think of as some of my best-written, most poignant and thoughtful works languish unloved, bounced from editor to editor. If I tried to write to sell, instead of simply writing what I want to write, I'd be paralyzed by bewilderment. Down that path lies madness, and undoubtedly really nasty writer's block.

But okay, on the subject of Kafka's Metamorphosis, it's a surreal work, even more so once you realize it's somewhat autobiographical—obviously a metaphorical autobiography since Kafka did not, as it were, turn into a giant roach . . . And it explores universally relevant themes like isolation and capitalism expressed by a lot of heavy symbolism which publishers and critics usually get excited about. So I'd think that it would probably receive some nods if it were published for the first time today.

As far as "Le Horla" goes, well, I may be biased because of my interest in psychology, including dementia and hypnotism, but I like it. Certainly the subject matter of an invisible something which may or may not be menacing all of mankind, and the whole "is the protag insane or is there a real danger, etc." aren't novel or fresh concepts like they were when de Maupassant wrote "Le Horla," which would be a strike against it if it landed on some editor's desk today. But with its examination of paranoia and how it evokes an eerie unknown, I can see it appearing in Weird Tales or some similar publication.

12). What can we look forward to from Eugie Foster in the not too distant future?
That's always a tricky question to ask a freelance writer—a freelance anything, really. My agent is currently shopping around my middle-grade novel, Shao Huan: The Soul of a Badger, and I'm working on the usual assortment of works-in-progress. I've got several short stories that are slated for publication in the near future from places like H.P. Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror, Cricket, the Bash Down the Door and Slice Open the Bad Guy anthology published by Fantasist Enterprises, and the So Fey anthology edited by Steve Berman and published by Haworth Press. I'm also hip deep in writing a couple novels. (A couple because my muse is not always cooperative and I find myself bouncing from one extended work to another between my short story efforts.) I'll also be doing what I can to promote Writers forRelief: An Anthology to Benefit the Survivors of Katrina, a charity anthology I've got a story in ("A Little Soul Music") edited by Davey Beauchamp with contributions from Brian W. Aldiss, Gardner Dozois, Joe Haldeman, Nancy Kress, and Larry Niven, as well as a bunch of other talented writers. And of course, folks can always find me at Dragon*Con where I'm the director and editor of the on-site newsletter, The Daily Dragon (http://dailydragon.dragoncon.net/).