Nightmare Magazine Issue 7 Read online

  Did you start in photography or in graphic design?

  I guess when I first started out, graphic design was my predominant area of interest, although I started taking photos round about the same time. My interest began after finishing school and going on to do an art foundation program, a one-year course here in the UK that sets students up for a degree in the creative arts. I was introduced to the whole notion of graphic design and photography at the same time. This was back in 2000, when photography in colleges was still very much taught on 35mm film SLRs and with darkroom techniques. I feel privileged to have had the experience at the time as it taught me valuable lessons on how to operate an SLR—back then we were shooting on Pentax K-1000s and everything was a very manual process. It taught me the correlation between film speed (ISO), shutter speeds, and aperture, and to this day, I pretty much shoot ninety-eight percent of my work in full manual mode on my Canon 5DMkII.

  But initially it was graphic design that fueled my creative efforts, and I went on to study the subject on degree level at Central St. Martins in London, UK. Long story short . . . it took me six years to complete the degree, since I dropped out after the first year to pursue my love of music before returning three years later to finish the last two years of my degree. I bought my first digital SLR in my third year of studies, and I was instantly hooked. Due to my background in graphic design, I was already very much at home with image manipulation and switching over to an all-digital workflow, which allowed the whole process to speed up immensely. Being able to shoot with a visual feedback via the display on the camera and instant transferal of RAW images into Photoshop opened up the doors to digital image making.

  Nowadays, my work has shifted more into photography-based image making, but I can’t honestly say that my background in graphic design doesn’t play into my work in a big way. Most of my work is quite conceptual in the way that I usually have a pretty good idea of what the final image should look like before shooting relevant elements. While shooting my elements, I do always keep processing options in the back of my mind, so realistically photography and manipulation/processing are not only of equal importance to me, but definitely help define one another.

  All in all I have been working with digital art of sorts for about thirteen years now. I started back in 1999 with Photoshop 4, and scanning negatives and prints from 35mm SLR cameras. Christ, when I think about it that kind of makes me sound like dinosaur.

  For your photo compositions and digital art, you photograph as much of the originating images and textures as possible yourself, rather than relying on stock libraries. This seems like quite a lot of work. Why do this—that is, what is the benefit to you or to the work? Do many other artists in your discipline work this way?

  To me it’s important in taking ownership of my work, and I think it also helps define a personal style. When shooting my own photography, I can control everything in accordance with the brief, so lighting, composition and models are chosen rather than using stock images, which inevitably means making sacrifices one way or another.

  There was a point a couple of years ago when I got quite focused on my processing techniques to the point where I honestly considered concentrating on that part of my workflow entirely and simply keeping photography as a snap shot career, but I very quickly realized that I would never be able to fight the urge to try and shoot my compositions myself and also started to see that the desire to drive my Photoshop work also meant me wanting to improve as a photographer. I also really enjoy the technical aspect of studio lighting and understanding the effects it has on subjects and scenes.

  The way I see it, the current generation of photo artists sit in three categories. There are those who have a love for the pure art of photography, and don’t really think photography should be “messed” with. Then there are those who concentrate much more on the “art” side and create fantastic scenes and compositions often incorporating very complex illustration and analogue media, but don’t shoot much themselves. And then a lot of us like myself have a genuine passion for both, and one helps define the other. I consider it the best of both worlds.

  What is the greatest number of original images you have ended up compositing into a single final work?

  Honestly, I don’t keep track of how many source images are used to create a final composition, so it’s hard to put a finger on a particular piece. The whole creative process is based on a vision for a final piece and as such the amount of source images can vary from anything between two and a dozen or more initial photos.

  As a result, the amount of time putting a composition together will vary. I’ve never had a problem spending excessive amounts trialling new techniques, so I’m used to sinking a lot of time into a single image. I have also in a way “wasted” a lot of hours, although I tend to think of it more as educational time. These days, I will usually spend about twenty-plus hours on a single image, and that’s just processing time. A lot of time is spent doing cut-outs, masking, dodging and burning and playing with different processing techniques before honing in on finer details, such as weathering effects, lighting, localised sharpening and overall tone and contrast. Add to that the time for conceptualization and photography, projects can often run into more than thirty hours. I’m not sure how other people work, but I find that the process for me almost needs to be quite drawn out in order to allow for a lot of experimentation. Even though the concept dictates the final outcome, there are a lot of tools and processing options available these days, and I think it’s important to keep trying new ideas in order to progress one’s own skills and style.

  Many of your works don’t merely suggest a narrative, but drip with it. Do you feel like you are telling stories? And where does this omnipresent dark edge come from? Germany?

  That’s a great question! First off, yes, I do feel that some of my images carry a message or an emotion. I often refer to my work as “escapism” in style . . . it ties into a fascination of the concept of reality. I’m amazed at the ability that humans have to look at the same thing but feel very polar emotions, be that through religion, politics, art, language or any channel of communication really. One man’s god is another man’s devil.

  To me there’s an importance in seeking out extremes. It helps us define our space and place in the universe. You need to understand the importance of pure black in order to define bright white. As such, I’ve always had an interest in the darker side of art. I realised from a very early stage that close-ups of flowers weren’t going to cut the mustard for me.

  I guess a lot of my early inspiration also stems from album cover art. My dad introduced me to artists such as Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, and Pink Floyd. I remember marveling over their cover art, which is something I’ve always found to be a real source of inspiration to me. Artists such as Storm Thorgerson effortlessly managed to bridge the gap between photography, design, and art even back then before the days of digital SLRs and Photoshop.

  And although I’ve never really considered it before, maybe my nationality does somehow play into my work as well? I mean some of the traditional children’s bedtime stories in Germany are pretty messed up if you think about it: There’s one called “Struwwelpeter” where in one of the stories there is a kid that suck his thumbs, and when refusing to stop, has his thumbs cut off! Hansel and Gretel? They throw an old lady into her own oven!? The idea that these childhood stories had an impact on my visual output cracks me up, but who knows? It’s got me thinking for sure!

  What is your dream project?

  It would probably have to be an album cover for a big artist. Someone like Lady Gaga. With a big budget, lots of crew, and tech and an insane concept! I like to aim high.

  Originally hailing from Northern California, Julia Sevin is a transplant flourishing in the fecund delta silts of New Orleans. Together with husband RJ Sevin, she owns and edits Creeping Hemlock Press, specializing in limited special editions of genre literature and, most recently, zombie novels. She is an aut
odidact pixelpusher who spends her days as the art director for a print brokerage, designing branding and print pieces for assorted political bigwigs, which makes her feel like an accomplice in the calculated plunder of America. Under the cover of darkness (like Batman in more ways than she can enumerate), she redeems herself through pro bono design, sordid illustration, and baking the world’s best pies. She is available for contract design/illustration, including book layouts and websites. See more of her work at juliasevin.com or follow her at facebook.com/juliasevindesign.

  Interview: Sarah Langan

  Lisa Morton

  Sarah Langan’s first novel, The Keeper, was published in 2006 to acclaim both within the genre (it was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award) and by the mainstream press (in The New York Times, Terrence Rafferty called it “the only horror story I’ve read recently that finds adequate metaphors for the self-destructive properties of anger”). The follow-up, The Missing, received a starred review in Publisher’s Weekly and both the Black Quill and Bram Stoker Awards. Her most recent novel, Audrey’s Door, was published to more critical acclaim in 2009. Langan has also produced award-winning short fiction (her story “Afterlife” appeared in issue number one of Nightmare), and recently published the novella Torchsongs as part of the original e-book anthology Apocalypse: Year Zero. She’s currently completing her Master’s Degree in Toxicology and planning her next novels. Langan lives in New York with her husband, filmmaker JT Petty, and their two daughters.

  Describe your life as a fiction writer prior to selling your first novel, The Keeper.

  I was writing at night and working random jobs during the day. I was also taking undergrad science classes (organic chemistry, statistics) in order to apply for a Master’s in Environmental Toxicology. I had a roommate and a crazy landlady and was going on lots of bad dates—the usual. I couldn’t get much traction selling fiction—Chizine and a literary magazine had published a few short stories. No one wanted to touch my novel, because horror wasn’t selling at the time.

  The Keeper did well for you—it was nominated for awards, it garnered excellent reviews, and it led to the follow-up novel The Missing. Did The Keeper’s success come at all as a surprise to you?

  Honestly, I thought Keeper was an especially good book and I wasn’t surprised by its success. I think it if had been in hardcover, it might have done even better. But I was lucky to get the deal I got. Because it was horror, and horror wasn’t getting published, lots of editors liked it, but they were all afraid to pull the trigger. A major editor in the UK even told my agent that they’d thought it was Stephen King’s book under a pseudonym, and were ready to pay buckets, then realized it wasn’t his book and withdrew. Uh, okay. But it all worked out. Sarah Durand, who worked at Morrow at the time, acquired it for good money in one of the best horror deals of the year. Her second reader was Diana Gill. I was very lucky.

  Sarah championed it, got Book of the Month Club deals, and treated The Keeper like serious literature, which got enthusiasm going in-house.

  It’s taken me some time to realize that even though I’m lucky, I don’t have to act like it. Part one is getting the book deal; part two is being a business person, and keeping a life-long career going. The kinds of people who manage both aren’t always the best writers—art and commerce are a bad combination. But that’s my goal—a lifelong career.

  When you were writing The Keeper, were you already thinking about the sequel (The Missing)?

  The Keeper was finished when I sold it, in a two-book deal. I was supposed to write a sequel, but since Keeper is a pretty finite story, I wrote something interconnected, from the same worldview. I wasn’t thinking about it at all, until the two-book deal!

  But it worked out for me. That tight deadline was good for my process. So was Sarah, who trusted it would be good and didn’t ask for progress reports. I love writing a book, then turning it in. Talking about partials is a nightmare.

  In discussing The Breviary, the haunted apartment building from Audrey’s Door, you said, “It’s not so much the fact of a place, but its architecture that gives it personality.” What exactly do you mean by “the fact of a place,” and what is the fact of the place in Audrey’s Door?

  Buildings, and lives, are shaped by their authors. I love the idea of an architect creating a building without Euclidian geometry, where balls always roll into odd places, and floors creak, and when you look at the structure from outside, you have no idea how it stands. A Gaudi without the beauty or respect for nature.

  For me, that’s a metaphor for a life shaped by uncertainty, like our hero, Audrey Lucas’ life. She’s drawn to The Breviary because it’s familiar. Once inside, she’s shaped by it. Like a plant inside a small, glass cage where light comes from only one direction, she grows crooked.

  What spurred you to go after a Masters Degree in Toxicology when you already had an MFA in Creative Writing (and what most of us would think of as a successful writing career)?

  I love science, and it gets me thinking new thoughts I wouldn’t ordinarily have. I need that to keep my fiction fresh. I’m hoping to find part time work when I finish my thesis, just for the exposure to people outside my ordinary circle.

  I also like the idea of being my own boss in pretty much every way. So, if I write something and the advance is low, I can make money in a field that pays better than teaching fiction writing, and maybe edit the book until it earns a better advance, or write something else. I want to be in a position where I always have options.

  You recently mentioned writing a screenplay, Glen Cove. Was that your first screenplay venture? Did being married to a filmmaker make it easier or harder to write?

  My film agent Sarah Self asked me to write a screenplay about seven years ago. At the time, I just couldn’t imagine doing it. I had too many books to write, and exams to pass. But after my second daughter was born, I thought I’d give it a try.

  It’s very hard, and not at all what I expected. I enjoyed the process, but it reminds me of solving an intricate Rubik’s Cube, whereas novels are like gnawing entire trees into pulp. They’re very different skills.

  My husband JT, who earns his living writing screenplays, and is one of the best writers I’ve ever known, gave Glen Cove a critique. Having that access is handy. But I think in the end, you go into your place, you do the work, and it’s either good or it’s not good, and nobody can do that work for you.

  My friend Sheri gave it a read also—she’s a novelist who has also written some film stuff. My agent looked at it, too, and is waiting for the next draft.

  My plan right now is to finish my thesis, then rewrite Glen Cove for May first, then finish a novel. Any novel! But most likely, The Clinic.

  The American Library Association’s Reader’s Advisory Guide to Horror included you as one of the top five female horror writers, in a section entitled “Ladies of the Night.” How do you feel about being identified by gender?

  I like it because it gives me more attention and potentially, more sales. I’m glad the author included my name and it makes me feel good.

  How do I feel about being singled out as a woman? It’s silly. Ursula Le Guin mentioned on Twitter that she’s still being called “a woman author” and she’s sick of it. Atwood, Munro, and Oates are “women writers.” When fifty percent of all writers are marginalized as “women writers,” something’s definitely broken. I’d love to know how much they earn, compared to their male counterparts. Less, I’ll bet. Wait a minute . . . Is woman writer code for “sucker?”

  Writers are in a bad situation generally right now. The gatekeepers aren’t allowed to let their tastes be the judge, advances are down, and I don’t see how self-publishing earns steak dinners unless you’re spending a lot of time in promotion. Anything I’ve written you can download for free, someplace. That means I don’t make any royalties. Maybe I wouldn’t anyway, but it ought to be my option, not some web pirate who’s generating funds from ad revenue for weird crap like raspberry diet juice that I don�
�t believe in.

  In a piece you wrote for Salon.com in defense of Stephen King, you discussed his sentimentality and noted, “. . . even as my intellect rebels, a part of me believes. He got me.” Yet your own work seems anything but sentimental; does your rebellious intellect keep you from writing in that vein yourself?

  A part of it is that I’m more self-conscious that King. He got published in college; I got told I was a crappy writer in college, and for another ten years after that. In other words, I read a lot more Updike and Carver, while he was publishing in the real world.

  Another part of it is that King’s kids were born already, when he published Carrie. I hadn’t yet had kids when I published my first three books.

  These days, I find myself saying really cheesy things that never would have come out of my mouth ten years ago, like, “I’m so in love with you. You and your sister and your daddy are my whole world.” If I’d read something like that, pre-kids, I’d have assumed it was made-up bullshit. When I read King’s IT, I figured he was drunk for half of it. Now I know that people really do say stuff like that, and the reason those sentiments connect with people—much of America—is because they’re true.

  So, down the road, expect more cheesiness (but probably not that much cheesiness).