November 7, 2025
Today we are excited to announce we’ve acquired Of Monsters and Menses, the debut collection by Maisie Culver, screenwriter of Hysteria!…
Back during the height of the pandemic, when the HWA held a virtual version of their annual StokerCon, Cynthia Pelayo was one of the first authors who really welcomed me to the fold, who made me feel like I belonged and that I was part of something bigger than myself and my work alone. I’ve never forgotten that little bit of kindness, and it’s informed how I interact with other authors, especially those in an earlier stage of their writing careers. Cynthia (or Cina, as she’s known by friends) is someone who’s worked incredibly hard, overcome adversity, and still makes time to give back to her writing community in a variety of ways.
And, on top of all that, she is a Bram Stoker Award and International Latino Book Award-winning author and poet. She never backs away from who she is as an author and her writing voice rings all the truer because of this stance. She isn’t afraid to break down barriers and give a voice to those who might not always have a chance to speak, both in her fiction and in the way her writing career has evolved. Her works include Lotería, Children of Chicago, The Shoemaker’s Magician, Forgotten Sisters, Vanishing Daughters, and more. She challenges norms, expectations, and biases, making herself and her writing undeniable. Would that all writers were as fierce and as passionate!
Cynthia lives in Chicago with her family. The city and its influence are embedded in her works. Her Chicago is a place of crime, horror, mystery, secrets, magic, and imagination. Through prose and poetry, her use of the fairy tale as a conduit for today’s horrors has helped cement her place in the contemporary horror and crime genres. It was an absolute pleasure to chat with her about another writer who worked in multiple mediums and never settled for easy or comfortable answers (or any answers, as the case might be), playwright, poet, and novelist Samuel Beckett.
Who is your favorite author and why?
I don’t have a favorite author. I think the idea of favorite anything is a bit peculiar because we’re always shifting, changing, and growing. At least, we should be. It’d be odd if my favorite author were still the same author from 5, 10+ years ago. I’m a different person now than then, and the themes and concepts that stood out to me 5, 10, 15+ years ago aren’t all necessarily relevant to me today.
However, for this discussion, I think the author I’ve been thinking a lot about lately is Samuel Beckett.
When were you first made aware of this author and when were you first drawn to their work?
During my MFA in Writing, I took a lot of coursework on playwriting and theater. I was a dramaturg on some productions. I remember, for one course, seeing the syllabus and finding that the works of Beckett were going to take up the bulk of that semester. I came home and grumbled. I had told my husband days before, “As long as I don’t have to read Beckett for that course! Anything but Beckett.” And, well, if you speak aloud what you don’t want, often that’s what you get. This is why you always have to speak aloud what it is you do want.
I hadn’t read any of Beckett’s works beforehand, but I had this perception of them as being grim and bleak and dire. I absolutely loathe nihilism and pessimism. I avoid any art that has a philosophical viewpoint that everything is bad and everyone is bad and this is all bad. That negativity is not my outlook on life at all, and, because of that, I avoid anything that takes this position.
So, I had stayed away from Beckett’s works because I believed that’s what they were—hopelessness. And, for me, there is nothing for me to engage with if the art says, “This, life, means nothing.”
I couldn’t drop the course because of scheduling conflicts, so I started with Beckett as many people do, with Waiting for Godot. I was completely transfixed, and today Beckett’s one of the authors I admire the most.
We think of Waiting for Godot or Krapp’s Last Tape as being these works about depression and despair; but what I’ve come to learn about Beckett is that what he does is strip away everything, in order to show us (humanity) that we already have everything we need to survive, we have ourselves and each other.
Now, a “quick” note on absurdism (since Beckett falls into the category of absurdism): the philosophy of absurdism states, in part, that the universe and our very existence is meaningless, but, again, my personal spiritual and philosophical viewpoint does not align with this as being meaningless. I am here, typing this out to you right now, Patrick, and others will read it. There is meaning in that.
So, I continue: yes, the universe is vast, infinite even. Yes, we’re born without any real, clear direction or meaning, and what often happens is that we’re programmed by our parents, by communities, by society and its rules to be what they expect us to be…though, many of us do break out of those parameters through rebellion. Many of us may also wander, unsure of what it is we want or who we want to be. I can go further, but let me stick to this point…
When thinking about the absurd, there are three responses to this philosophical viewpoint that people who love to celebrate nihilism conveniently choose to forget. We can choose to respond to absurdism in one of three ways:
I personally believe there is just no definitive roadmap that dictates “This is the way to live a life.” Or, “This is what gives life meaning.” I think it’s up to us to make the decision about what to do with all of these possibilities.
So, no, I don’t think Beckett’s works are grim or full of despair anymore. They talk to us about the reality of what it’s like to live in a body, the reality of what it’s like to want to find meaning in God, what it’s like to lose something or someone, and so on. The reality of life is that you will have difficult moments. There will be beauty in it, too. You just have to look.
This is the most epic recounting of a reader/author origin story that has ever been featured in this column. And with a fascinating dive into the philosophy behind absurdism to boot! I love it.
It’s clear right from the start here that Beckett’s work has had this significant and sustained effect on you, as reader, writer, and person. Do you often seek out or find yourself drawn to authors or pieces of literature that can defy expectations and biases? Would Beckett’s work have resonated as deeply if you hadn’t identified that undercurrent of hope even in the face of the bleak?
If I’m reading something for pleasure and I find it’s formulaic, I’m pretty much checking out within the first few pages. Life is too short to consume art that does not speak to me in any meaningful way.
Regarding Beckett, yes. I just don’t like people that complain or art that complains, and says: “This is all awful.” That’s so simplistic.
Alright, “This is all awful,” then … what are you going to do about it?
I’m alive. I’m breathing. What’s awful about that?
I’m not ignorant to the fact that there are awful things that occur. However, I can’t sit here and absorb each and every single bit of pain and injustice that humanity is experiencing right now. That would destroy my nervous system and my brain.
There is beauty in our lives. There is hope.
We’re literally, each and every single one of us, living miracles. There will never be another me again in the history of this world. There will never be another you in the history of this world.
Beckett, I truly believe, recognized that, even from this quote in Krapp’s Last Tape below. He recognized right here and right now is all that we have.
“Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.”
― Samuel Beckett, Krapp's Last Tape
The past is absolutely gone. It’s not coming back. Let it die.
The future? What is that? No one knows.
Each and every single one of us lives right here, in the infinite now.
Is there one particular piece of work from Beckett that you are especially fond of or that’s had a significant creative impact on you? What is that piece, and what makes it so appealing or affecting for you?
My favorite Beckett play is “Footfalls.” It’s probably just around five pages of text and can be performed in 25 minutes. I had the joy of watching it performed a few years ago, along with a series of Beckett's other shorter plays.
In the play, a woman paces along a narrow strip of light while her mother’s disembodied voice answers from the dark. It’s surreal, sad, beautiful. Each scene grows dimmer and quieter until the only thing you hear are the woman’s footsteps. I interpret it as a meditation on presence, memory, and impermanence.
Here’s a line from it:
“For I observed nothing of any kind, strange or otherwise. I saw nothing, heard nothing, or any kind. I was not there.”
It almost reminds me of this picture of a gravemarker that had no name, but said
“I was . . . somebody.”
That really does sound beautiful. And I can see parallels in your own work, that idea of giving a voice to the voiceless, of shining a light where others may not. Is that something that’s important to you as a writer? Do you feel any sense of responsibility to show readers people from backgrounds, whether via race, geography, socioeconomic status, etc., and perhaps challenge their default reading expectations?
Aspects of my body of work will always be devoted to people I believe were failed by their communities, or even by the greater community—the human race. There’s a lot of senseless suffering, and where does that come from? Other people.
Very often it’s not this snarling, anonymous monster hiding in an alleyway. It’s someone in our lives whom we loved or trusted, and who we thought loved or cared for us, that inflicted the greatest pain.
I don’t think audiences like reading about these things, because I’m pointing the finger at them, in a way, like “What have you done to contribute to fissures in society that have harmed people?”
Many of us are very quick to blame each other, to blame something or someone, but we each have to take responsibility for what we have done, or what we haven’t done, in our own lives to protect people.
How often do you revisit that particular piece or the author’s work in general? What lessons have you learned at various times from the work?
I took some time away from re-reading Beckett’s work, only recently returning to it. I think I was away from it for so long because, to me, I believe, Beckett was trying to speak to us about much more than what the average consumer of his works may interpret.
Theater critic and scholar Martin Esslin said that Beckett’s works weren’t these doom-and-gloom pieces of art. Esslin said:
“On the contrary: the starkness of [his] reminders of the evanescence of life and the certainty of death, [his] uncompromising rejection of any easy solution or cheap illusion of comfort ultimately has a liberating effect; such is the nature of man that in the very act of facing up to the reality of his condition his dignity is enhanced; we are only defeated by things by which we are taken unawares; what we know and have faced up to we can master.”
So, it’s not a regular revisiting. But those occasional looks back still offer a hearty meal in terms of content, philosophy, and meditations on life. Would that be fair to say? When you mentioned not having the same favorite author at various stages in life, does that leave room for engaging with authors and their works who give back a little something different each time/time in one’s life that they’re read?
No, I’m not a big re-reader or re-watcher. I don’t even really watch television or movies. I used to try to watch a movie once a week, but that’s now up to once a month or less, because I don’t really like any modern-day films. I don’t understand them at all and have made peace with that. I haven’t been to the movie theater since 2023, and I really don’t think I’ll ever return to watch a film in a theater again, but that’s a tangent…
I think that’s fair to say, that a look back can offer something or allow for the examination of something we may have missed initially.
At least for pleasure, I’m not reading anything published within the last 20 years. Anything new I read is for research or to blurb or just to understand the ever-shifting market and to understand where audience tastes are going.
I’m reading a lot of Russian literature right now, and at least I’m finding something engaging there. I don’t think if I’d read some of these Russian greats two decades ago I would have appreciated them as much as I do today.
Are there any pieces in the author’s oeuvre that have not worked as well for you? If yes, which ones, and why do you think that connection was not as strong?
No, but there are pieces of Beckett’s work that took time for me to fully understand. For example, I read All That Fall: A Play for Radio again in Spring. I was unable to connect with so much of it when I read it in my 20s, but, now, in my 40s, I was able to see it for what it is, an absolutely brilliant work with multiple meanings and layers, and even autobiographical elements. I think I needed a few more decades of living, in order to truly understand what he was doing there, to see that it is an exploration of meaning in the absurdity of all of this, life.
What writing lessons have you taken, purposefully or accidentally, from your “favorite” author?
That I don’t have to create something that’s easy for the audience to digest, at least not every time.
That, it’s not my job to provide the consumer with an explanation of everything occurring in the text.
There’s this growing wave of artistic literalism in both literature and film …where art feels so flat and vapid because of people’s lack of media literacy and ability to deduce meaning from symbol, and a growing failure to interpret logic and reasoning. So, what we’re seeing is these films and texts where everything has to be so explicitly stated. It’s quite frankly comical, but also terrifying that audiences are unable to draw meaning from multiple layers.
Do you have any thoughts about what may account for this shift to literalism and this rejection of ambiguity? I mean, I’ve seen it myself, particularly in online discourse about books, movies, TV, etc. It’s almost like the rush to break down barriers to access has erased any sense of trust between the audience and creators. Everyone wants to know how the trick is done rather than enjoying the magic. I guess what I’m also asking is: how do we get the shared faith between art, artist, and audience back to more acceptable levels? You know, a real softball question. Hahaha.
So first of all, what is media literacy? Simply put, it’s our ability to analyze stories that the media presents to us. Now, what is even the “media” anymore. Is media a platform owned by a corporation? Is it my posting a TikTok video of a book review?
I have a degree in journalism and worked for a time as a journalist. There were so many rules we had to follow in terms of sourcing and structuring our stories and validating details and information. I wrote for newspapers once upon a time, and I won’t bore you all with those details, but many newspapers have folded. Many magazines have closed. Television stations have consolidated. Oh, and there’s social media. Thankfully, I grew up without social media.
Now, what we’re seeing, at least in this country—I’m sure it’s in others, but let’s focus here—is that everyone wants to be validated, and so, very often, they go in search of media and other channels that support their ideas, opinions, and worldview.
Even when we think about the “algorithm,” and we’re living in a very algorithmically dictated world with social media … you also have to understand that these algorithms were created by and are managed by young, White wealthy males in Silicon Valley.
So already, what you’re seeing on your social media is manipulated by this very specific demographic.
What you’re seeing on television, listening to on the radio, or whatever you subscribe to, and so on, is dictated, in large part, by: 1. your preferred tastes, and 2. what a very wealthy, young White male dictates that you should see.
Therefore, our ability to interpret and analyze information is skewed, because so many of us are consuming content that keeps reinforcing our positions. This skewing is also shaping how we think, feel, behave, see the world, and each other.
We have never lived in a society like this, ever, and there will be consequences, many of which we’re seeing today with fake information, people’s emotions being dictated by what they see on their feeds, and so on.
This isn’t really much of an answer, but just a sampling of what we’ve done to ourselves, and what we’ve allowed to happen.
The only way to break out of this bubble is to disconnect. I’m very online and post a lot, but I do not scroll or consume the posts fed to me by Silicon Valley, or book influencers or movie influencers, or whatever. I’m going to choose what I want to read and watch.
Even from an arts perspective, if you step back from this algorithmic world, and look at it objectively, you realize how much is replicated, how it’s impacting creativity, and so on. The way book reviewers hold books up and speak about them, the way influencers speak into the camera, even the way we speak into the camera, it’s all very similar. It’s completely bizarre. We think we’re being creative, but so much of what’s being done is copied from what we’re seeing in this algorithmic world. Therefore, there’s this bias created that if things don’t look like X or are not presented like X or don’t read like X or aren’t a film like X, then they must be wrong. So, we’re in danger of thinking true creativity, that which does not adhere to the rules of the algorithm, is wrong. That’s dangerous.
Now, onto literalism, why is so much so flat—and by flat I mean why does so much art need to explicitly say “Hey, this is a book about [insert whatever topic]!” or “Look! This is a movie about [insert topic]!’ Again, it’s really quite comical, if you step back and really evaluate it.
Well, why? Because we are losing critical thinking skills. Why is that? A number of reasons. Our education system is worlds behind other countries. We don’t eat well, and in order to have a healthy mind you need healthy food/fuel. We don’t understand one another. And, by that, I mean we’ve lost connectivity, not by connecting online, but connecting in person with each other. Communities are fracturing. Loneliness levels are increasing. This is not how humans are supposed to live, tied to devices and screens, allowing other things and people to pump information into our brains. For example, if I want to log into a social media app to post an event I’ll be at, guess what? The algorithm is already going to share a series of items with me that I do not want to see. Maybe those things are graphic or violent. That’s already going to raise my stress levels / cortisol. We should not be going about our lives as violent / graphic images are just nonchalantly presented to us by a corporation. I could go on another tangent about how so much of that is intentional… So, stress levels are on the rise. We’re all stressed out and want things easily digestible.
People are also consuming tons of information. I believe I heard somewhere that the amount of data an average consumer intakes in a day today is the equivalent of what someone in the 16th century would consume in their lifetime? Actually, I found the source - here you go:
“In the course of a day, the average person in a Western city is said to be exposed to as much data as someone in the 15th century would encounter in their entire life.”
https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20130516-how-city-life-is-changing-us
Guess what? Our brains haven’t changed. Biologically speaking we still, I believe, have the same type of brain as someone from the 15th century (neurologists, chime in here if I’m wrong.) So, we’re pumping our brains full of a lot. I don’t think we’re supposed to live like this.
This is a very, very long winded way of saying, we consume a lot of information and, because of this, most people are not slowing down to fully interpret things or enjoy things. And so art that is very literal is much more easy to consume, so that a person can move onto the next thing and the next.
And, there’s also this rising tide against intellectualism.
However, I and other literary scholars have noticed more and more that books that are challenging, those with dense prose, or a lot of narration, or symbolism, paradoxes, or even things like flashbacks or multiple POVs are not well-received by audiences today.
People are reading very differently today than they did 20 years ago. Ultimately, it seems like more and more works of art that are explicitly stated as to what they are, with simple language, shorter sentences, and clear and defined images are those resonating with today’s audiences.
What accounts for this shift? People consuming a lot of data.
How do we get back to shared faith between art/artist, audience to “acceptable levels”?
I’m predicting we won’t ever get back to a public that reads like they did 20+ years ago or watches films like they did 20+ years ago. Attention spans have waned, and I guess I should bring up that last piece in the puzzle, which I’ve failed to mention before: money. We live in a capitalist society and more stuff = more money. Corporations, people who own media of all kinds, will keep creating products (film, television, books, games, and so on) that audiences will buy. And the easier it is to digest/consume those products, and then move onto the next thing, then that’s what they will produce.
In terms of “acceptable levels,” I don’t know what would be acceptable in this modern world we’re in and moving towards.
Are there any works in your bibliography that you feel are closest to the work of your favorite—whether in terms of style, subject matter, length, etc.? Talk a little about those similarities.
There are a few things that I see myself doing now that can be a nod to Beckett.
Overall, I like to strip down and strip back narrative in parts to allow the sound, rhythm, and absence to tell the story as well.
Where does your writing diverge from your favorite author’s? Are there any elements from your favorite author’s work that you would like to incorporate in your own? If yes, what are these?
I am much more poetic and lyrical in parts versus Beckett. Also, his novels, and I haven’t spoken much about his novels, are completely experimental, with these long passages of stream of consciousness writing.
When I first started writing novels, I didn’t write them like Beckett, but they were 100% experimental by design. Way back then, I was told I’d never get published if I leaned too far in that area.
So I’ve tried to bring my work to a little bit more commercial state. I do feel as though some of my future work may be even more traditionally commercial, but I’m looking for ways to maintain that essence of creating something new and living the spirit of experimentation as per Beckett.
Well, I, for one, would love to read the more experimental works of Cynthia Pelayo. With the continuing rise in popularity of horror, do you foresee an opportunity for more experimentation because there might be more titles out there or does success create more limitations due to publishers and agents wanting to play it safe?
I’m grateful that I have some outlets that allow me to experiment a bit more. I also get an opportunity to do a lot more experimentation in my poetry.
In terms of the market, I think that overall, some markets/publishers prefer their works/books to be more commercial. And honestly, that’s a reality of this business which I think many people fail to realize.
Publishing is a business.
Yes, it’s your art too, if you’re a writer, but one has to think about this like a job.
I can’t go and knock on Microsoft's door and say “Give me a job” just because I want a job. Millions of other people want a job too.
There first must be
Why do people think publishing is any different from any other corporate structure?
You must first acquire the skill here:
Then you apply for said job:
Then, if there is a business need, or a business reason, the publisher will then acquire said book, and they’ll acquire the book for a number a reasons:
No one is going to give you a job just because you want a job. You must demonstrate why you deserve that job.
No one is going to give you a publishing contract just because you write.
From a commercial perspective, you have to write something that is going to fall in line with a business decision.
In terms of experimentation, we all have the option to experiment with our writing and our art. And there are ways we can do that: self-publishing, indie publishing, sharing that work in our newsletters, and so on.
So, yes, I do both, traditional / commercial and experimental and I’m very grateful that I have those options.
If a reader wanted to start reading your favorite author, what piece would you recommend they start with?
Waiting for Godot, no doubt.
If you could ask your favorite author one question about their work, what would it be?
I wouldn’t ask him a single thing, because I know he would not answer a single question, and I love knowing that. I just kinda would like to stand around with him someplace, maybe sit next to him on a park bench and people watch one afternoon.
So, when Beckett won the Nobel Prize in Literature he gave the world the most Beckett interview. That interview is below.
“In 1969, Beckett learned he had received the 1969 Nobel Prize in Literature via a telegram from his publisher, Jérôme Lindon, which read, “Dear Sam and Suzanne. In spite of everything, they have given you the Nobel Prize. I advise you to go into hiding.”
What do you have coming out next on the writing and publishing front? What are you working on now?
I have a Peter Pan horror novel titled It Came From Neverland out in June 2026. In October 2026, Ghosts of Where We Are From will also be released, an anthology of Latin American horror stories featuring authors like Agustina Bazterrica, Mariana Enriquez, Alex Segura, and more from Simon & Schuster.
Thank you for taking the time to chat with me about your favorite author.
:)
Where can readers find you online?
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Patrick Barb is an author of weird, dark, and spooky tales, currently living (and trying not to freeze to death) in Saint Paul, Minnesota. His published works include the dark fiction collection Pre-Approved for Haunting (Keylight Books), the novellas Gargantuana’s Ghost (Grey Matter Press) and Turn (Alien Buddha Press), as well as the novelette Helicopter Parenting in the Age of Drone Warfare (Spooky House Press). His forthcoming works include the themed short-story collection The Children’s Horror (Northern Republic Press) and the sci-fi/horror novel Abducted (Dark Matter Ink).
Copyright ©2025 by Patrick Barb.
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