Wolf Interviews: Lucas Mangum

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Lucas Mangum is the author of over a dozen books, most recently Snow Angels, The Final Gate (with Wesley Southard), Bladejob, and The Bleak Season. His novella Saint Sadist and his novel Pandemonium (co-written with Ryan Harding) were each nominated for a Splatterpunk Award. With bizzarro author Jeff Burk, he co-hosts Make Your Own Damn Podcast, a celebration of DIY horror and cult cinema. You can stay up to date with his work by subscribing to his Substack at Lucasmangum.com.

You primarily write horror, including what some describe as extreme horror. What, for you, is the draw to horror and its more extreme variants?

I think horror's appeal is in its versatility as a genre. Some of my first introductions to horror came in the form of mood pieces where the work seemed more concerned with crafting an immersive setting and tone rather than providing a jump-scare or a grossout effect. I'm thinking specifically of German Expressionism of the 1920s and Universal monster movies of the '30s and '40s. And the latter had a playfulness to them as well, which transcended the vibe to create something silly and fun. Remember director James Whale maintained that his films Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein were comedies. 

The draw to the more extreme variants comes from a few places. First, humans have a natural instinct to test their own limits. I don't jump out of planes or have plans to climb Mount Everest, but I am a bit of a junkie for stretching myself psychologically and emotionally. I think extreme horror (however you define it) is a safe space to do that. I also think there's a lot you can learn as a writer by studying the stuff that goes the farthest. I encourage you, if you haven't, and anyone reading this to attend a Grossout Contest someday. There, a performer has three minutes to hook the audience, and if successful, they get another two minutes to finish. It's not a lot of time, so it teaches you as a writer to interact directly with an audience who's there to hear one specific thing--the grossest story possible--very quickly. You've got to deliver on the promise early, so they know why they showed up, and end it in a way that makes the judges remember you when the contest is over. That model can really apply to any type of writing, regardless of length or genre. There's a Grossout Contest every year at Killer Con and one at Author Con as well. 

Lastly, I think the underground nature of splatterpunk (the socially conscious variant of extreme horror) provides an arena to talk about issues that are important to the creator but outside the mainstream. For examples of this, I'd point to early Troma movies discussing the environment decades before that was sexy and books like John Skipp and Craig Spector's The Cleanup, which concerns itself with the consequences of someone with good intentions gaining absolute power to reshape the world in their image. Spoiler: it doesn't go well!

Love the idea of creating a space to delve into darkness while retaining control. This also goes well with what Flaubert said, "Be steady and well-ordered in your life so that you can be fierce and original in your work." It makes sense to me that transgressive art would also be inspired by what was once transgressive politics as well.

What kind of themes and topics do you write about in your own fiction?

That's a great quote. I've heard a slightly different version once attributed to Clive Barker, but it's possible he was just paraphrasing Flaubert. 

The themes and topics in my fiction range to psychological matters (like wrestling with trauma in Saint Sadist or succumbing to one's uglier impulses in Gods of the Dark Web) to more fast-paced, almost comic-book style storytelling on a larger scale (like the dinosaur apocalypse in Extinction Peak or a town with a secret facing its reckoning in Snow Angels). People tell me I'm hard to pigeonhole, but I've always felt like my work is concerned with the same big picture, which is how everyday people cope with horror around them, especially in times of extreme isolation. I know that sounds like I'm talking about COVID, and in a way I am, but we were isolating ourselves before that and have continued to do so since. COVID just made more of us collectively aware of what we're doing to ourselves. Horor saw a resurgence during those years with authors like Aron Beauregard, Daniel Volpe, Judith Sonnet, and Carver Pike building huge audiences. And I think there's a reason for that. 

With that said, I do think the real appeal of horror is the playful aspect of it. That's something the classic splatterpunks and the new ones worth reading always keep in mind, even while writing about serious issues. There's a poetry to the blood and guts, but also a feeling that these are cartoons for grownups.

I've associated splatterpunk with Bizarro fiction for a long time, and when you mentioned Grossout Contests, I immediately thought of the performances at BizarroCon. I think there's a certain level of joy found in fiction that leans into the very dark and the very weird. Along with that, many BIzarro writers are some of the nicest people I've met who have always seemed very community-forward. Why do you think that may be?

The kinship between Bizarro fiction and splatterpunk is definitely real, but both movements have had times where they found their sensibilities at odds with each other. I won't recap it here as it's been discussed at length elsewhere, but I'm thinking specifically of the fallout from Chandler Morrison's performance at BizarroCon a few years ago. 

That said, spending time with the Bizarros was a true highlight of my early career. I met people with whom I still have close relationships, and I learned a lot about how to write with no restrictions beyond the ones I set for myself while writing each piece. A lot of them are so nice and community-minded because they found each other. There's something about growing up feeling like you're different that can be incredibly isolating (and unfortunately radicalizing in some cases), but the early Bizarros found their tribe and set about building a space to grow and nurture that tribe. There's nothing more deradicalizing than making friends.

As someone who also writes a lot of novellas, I'm curious what draws you to that length of story. 

Brian Keene has made the argument that the novella is the perfect length for horror. I don't recall what his reasoning was, but there's definitely something to the immediacy of a novella lending itself to a more effective horror story. A novella also has more room to breathe than a short story but without overstaying its welcome. I also think that being of a generation raised on movies has something to do with the appeal of a novella. In terms of structure and pacing, a 90-minute movie and a novella have a lot in common. I'm writing a novel right now, and in terms of its structure, I'm looking more toward a season of a TV show to help guide the way. 

This is exactly how I feel. Love to pick up a story that takes about as long as a movie. What have you learned about writing from TV/movies?

I think TV and movies can better teach raw storytelling (pacing, dialogue, characters) than reading a book because they can be consumed more quickly. Yes, read as much as you can to learn your style, voice, and how to put together a sentence (I have no patience for writers who don't read), but when it comes to what a story can look like, TV and movies are able to lay that out in a more easily digestible manner. This is especially true if you're a more visual learner.

Your substack is refreshingly straightforward and simple. When did you begin your substack and why? Did you previously blog anywhere?

Thank you for saying that and for reading. I started my substack almost exactly a year ago. I was previously blogging on Wordpress, and I missed doing it. However, I've never really liked how Wordpress is set up, how they're constantly trying to upsell, and how hard it is to find people (or for people to find me). I'd heard good things about Substack, and I, of course, love the idea of showing up in people's inboxes once a week or more. The paid option is also enticing. 

The simplicity of my weekly newsletter is definitely by design. Whereas before I would just wake up and blog about whatever I had on my mind, I'm stricter with my 'stack. When I started, I told myself each one should have a family/mental health/personal section, a reading section, a section for writing updates or book announcements, and a section for plugging the most recent episode of the podcast. This way, I've never started a post unsure of what to write about or where it should go. While I've considered doing something longer in form, I feel like that should be saved for when I start serializing fiction on there. I'm not really one for posting hot takes, even if I do have opinions and feel I can back them up. There are a lot of hills out there, but you only get to die once. Anything I have to say usually goes in my fiction in some form anyway, and at least there, it can be presented in an interesting way. Art's good for that, I think.

Tell me about your podcast with Jeff Burk.

Make Your Own Damn Podcast started as a show highlighting the output of Troma Entertainment. As it went on, Jeff and I decided to expand to discussing DIY, horror, and trash cinema in general. While we do occasionally cover mainstream movies, we try to keep our discussions centered around creators and works that are often overlooked or came to fruition in spite of everything working against them. One of our recent episodes was on a film called Septic, which was filmed over the course of five years in its director's house and features homemade practical effects. We've also discussed Nine Inch Nails' Broken Movie (a faux snuff film made by Trent Reznor that wasn't officially released until decades after its production), the notorious Cannibal Holocaust, a student film by Brian DePalma, and Lollilove (a film made by Jenna Fischer and James Gunn prior to their respective rises to fame). We release two free episodes and two Patreon-exclusive episodes each month.

Final words?

At a time when stories are written by algorithm, AI, or committee, imperfection is a lost art. Embrace yours, and you'll create what cannot be replaced.