Guest Blog by our Guest Contributors

July 16, 2021

A Quiet Place Part II should’ve made Emmett a Black man

When A Quiet Place Part II was released to theatres on May 28th 2021, I’d received both of my Pfizer COVID vaccinations, waited the suggested period, and been to theatres to see Spiral (previously subtitled From the Book of Saw).

On the very same Friday as the release, I purchased A Quiet Place from the Apple Store for $7.99 USD and watched it for the first time. Despite a few pacing issues, questionable choices from some of the characters, and heavy-handed foreshadowing, the first installment was a damn good movie overall.

Curiosity for the next chapter of this apocalyptic alternate reality mingled with my newly rekindled love for the theatre after being locked inside for over a year due to quarantine. Would Emily Blunt’s character Evelyn and her brave kid daughter Regan usher in a new hope for the future with guns in hand? Would the remaining Abbott family members each don one of the father’s “failed” hearing aides in their crusade, of which he left many?

The ending was so feminist and I needed to see if it would continue in that direction and blow through the glass ceiling of tired tropes in the next installment. Well, in the words of American drag queen, musician, and reality television personality Tatianna: “Choices!” Oh, and spoilers ahead.

I threw on my grungiest casual wear immediately after finishing the first installment and went to my local theatre to see A Quiet Place Part II on it’s premiere night. I braved a shockingly more robust crowd than that of Spiral’s and paid for overpriced concessions happily. What I was presented with was a cute little feature that would have been cuter if they didn’t sacrifice all of the Black folk. In fact, A Quiet Place II should’ve made Emmett–an old friend of the family–a Black man (and this is no shade to Cillian Murphy, who did a great job in the role).

The movie started with a flashback sequence to the invasion of the franchise’s signature blind and sound-sensitive space aliens. As a result, we got to see Kransinki’s role of the core family’s recently deceased father Lee reprised. This was okay! Roughly five minutes later, the first Black character—who happened to be a cop who decides to play hero—was sacrificed. This was not okay! However! I was willing to let it go since the aliens were slaughtering everyone indiscriminately. But, wait! There’s more!

Towards the end of the film, the movie sacrificed Djimon Hounsou’s character who they were too bothered to name despite him having considerable screen time (no, really. At the time of me writing this, his character is billed as ‘Man on Island’).

The meat of an otherwise decent sequel was swathed around the casual dispatching of Black bodies, which soured the experience for me quite a bit. Emmett’s story throughout was a tragedy; while the Abbott’s had suffered two great losses, Emmett lost his entire family during the Alien invasion. Proper utilization of this information for our theoretical Black version of Emmett creates natural social commentary on the concept of Two Americas.

This new Emmett’s apprehension to help the Abbotts, with some tweaking, is okay to keep as well—it creates a chance for character development. His fear and grief stricken reaction of withdrawal and paranoia make sense.

Deciding to risk himself for the greater good by helping Regan makes sense as well, but would still require some tweaking. Both Emmett and Regan need to have something logic-wise that the other doesn’t in a way that allows them to learn from one another, which will fuel their character growth. They need to feel like separate parts of a whole. Otherwise, it turns into a situation where Emmett is a Black man whose only value is risking his life for a white family and we don’t need anymore of that.

In addition to wanting to help Regan and fighting for the greater good (and without adding too much exposition), Emmett should have a personal motivator for embarking on their adventure. For example, maybe he previously allowed an unaddressed phobia to stop him from taking his partner on a cruise she/he/they desired (yes, Emmett could and should be queer as well).

By conquering this phobia partly in honor of his dearly departed, it teaches the viewer to never take anything for granted. Additionally, fighting for the greater good starts at home by fixing ourselves first. Hell, maybe even reward his trials. For example, an unexpected reunion with a beloved family member or old flame awaits his arrival to the island.

Most importantly, all of the tweaking necessary for a Black Emmett creates opportunities for more Black writers who should be hired for proper handling and representation.

Final thoughts?

As a Black man, it’s frustrating to see that our voices are silenced in A Quiet Place Part II. Even in an imaginary apocalyptic world, the only thing that seems to survive are white people and old tropes.

Ryan Kinney is a the host of Brother Ghoulish’s Tomb and a guest blog contributor. @brotherghoulish

July 14, 2021

The Horror Genre’s Structure Will Never Expand the Horror Genre’s House

By R.J. Joseph

I had several ideas to use for this blog post and started actually writing a couple of them. But my muse is fickle and she’s easily swayed by…well, everything. A passing tweet from one of my favorite horror writers changed course and so here we are, talking about Audrey Lorde’s idea of the master’s tools never dismantling the master’s house in the context of the horror genre, it’s expansion, and the upkeep of the house where it resides.

I’ve been in the horror world for a long, long time, first as a reader (from the age of six) and now as a reader and writer. I’ve seen many trends, publishers, and writers come and go. Lots of change. Some good, some not so good. Yet, one thing remains constant: it still ain’t a cozy place for writers of color.

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Before the naysayers and internet arguers with no facts supporting their bad faith arguments come running, I’ll say there has been a tiny bit of progress within the genre regarding inclusivity. There are many more women publishing horror books and stories and directing horror films than at any time before now. The genre has at least two or three pretty prominent voices from varying races and ethnicities where there were none. LGBTQ and disabled creators are finding their way into collections that aren’t only for LGBTQ and disabled artists. But…

A look at any major studio’s horror offerings, the TOCs (tables of contents) for the most highly anticipated horror anthologies, or major horror awards lists reveals gaps bigger than the wide country ghetto one I sport when I smile: these remain highly white and cis male. The mainstream deals in publishing and film that pay the most are often based on these awards lists and TOCs. Guess who the money follows? Even in indie publishing and filmmaking where word of mouth can make or break a production, the words in the mouths of the industry folks are rarely the names of writers of color. 

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There’s no argument that staying in folks’ faces on social media or with publications and even convention appearances helps keep writers working. How are writers of color supposed to stay on this merry go round without being paid for their work? Or, being paid well below professional pay rates because the publications that will take works from writers of color can only afford to pay a fraction of that? How can they maintain a social media presence when their visibility there opens them up to attacks from not only heavy hitters who don’t want to cede any inch of the horror house to writers who are vastly different from them to the other writers of color who want to tear them down in vying for the one slot afforded for a writer of color in these spaces?

This is the part where the common refrain comes from—some who are well-intentioned, I really want to believe—folks in the genre saying, “Well, all good writers will eventually rise to the top.” I scoff at these words over the top of my hard won MFA and the degrees and experiences of my fellow horror writers of color. I’ve been reading my favorite Black horror writer, Tananarive Due, since the 1990s. Due is just now having one of her many film worthy works produced on screen in AMC’s new Black horror anthology series later this year. I’m sure she has always had many pokers in the fire with her work but she said this is the first television adaption of her work she didn’t produce herself. She has written rings around so many of the writers who get multitudes more big ups than she ever has. Her work should have been all over movie and television screens for years now. This is where the whole, “quality rises to the top” sentiment rings hollow for me.

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We can have all the education we want and write perfectly and prolifically but the genre just may still choose to maintain its current status quo. There will likely never be a point where using the horror genre’s structures of writing degrees and awards nominations and film options will create an extension on the horror genre’s house where writers of color can reside as comfortably as our counterparts. The house the horror genre keeps up is the house the horror genre wants for itself. The genre seems hellbent on remaining a homogenous monolith that will eventually have to cannibalize itself without any new blood.

I posit we would be better off using our tools to build our own houses: publishing houses, conferences, awards programs, writing programs, professional writing groups, and studios that not only welcome work from writers of color but also afford us further opportunities to nurture a wide range of expressions from within our communities. 

Imagine having an editor who not only understands that there’s nuance in the storytelling and language of people of color but who embraces these delicious differences and would never reply to a submission with a very color coded, “I can’t relate to these characters”. Consider a writing program where a writer of color isn’t admonished to erase all instances of their identity from their story until it’s workshopped into a bland semblance of every other thing the horror community upholds and celebrates. How much joy would numerous studios that produce movies based on varying works from multiple creators of color depicting disparate experiences of their own ethnicities bring to our hearts? At the very least, this world should be refreshingly void of stereotypical characters and judgement about what constitutes a valid expression of any race or ethnicity.

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This is a radical vision I propose but I’m not alone in advocating for it. I and other creators who want to build these horror houses understand perfectly this is a long range vision dependent on many variables, including our tenacity to work with what we got to get what we want and partially on the true allies in the horror genre who will take our work on and pay us what we’re worth to lend us the validity and investments within the genre we would need to build our structures. Until then, we fight. We write. And we dream. We continue to collect our tools and use them to build what we want. What we need.

R.J. Joseph is a Texas based Bram Stoker Award™ nominated writer who writes academically about and creatively within the horror genre. You can most often find her on Twitter, @rjacksonjoseph and (after August 1, 2021) on her newly minted, teenager created website at

July 12, 2021

Perspective versus perception: A Review of Edgar Allan Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart

“Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded—with what caution—with what foresight—with what dissimulation I work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him” (Bloom, 2009).

Was the person in “The Tell-Tale Heart” really driven mad due to an unnerving eye or were they a murderous deviant? Maybe the truth is within both concepts. The Tell-Tale Heart tells a story about a person (the narrator) who attempts to convince the reader of their mental stability while simultaneously describing a murder they committed. Written at a time when mental health was still a developing concept (JH Bloomberg School of Public Health, 2013), The Tell-Tale heart explores perception versus perspective from an antagonist standpoint. On one hand, one could advocate for the mental instability of the narrator, but on the other hand, one could state this is a case of a narcissist, murderous psychopath. Much like modern literary works such as You by Caroline Kepnes, A Tell-Tale heart allows the reader to go on a journey from the “bad guy’s” perspective and often they view themselves as the protagonist in the story. But perhaps they are. 

Perspective and perception are two concepts that shape our existence. We all have different experiences, upbringings, values, and morals that shape how we view the world (perception) and how we interpret the world (perspective). Our perspective and perception may be influenced by external factors such as societal norms and laws. There is a school of thought that says perception is reality and there is some truth to this statement. A person’s perception may not be a reality, but it may be their reality. So now, let us juxtapose this aspect over “The Tell-Tale Heart.” If the person thought that they were sane, but everything around them was “distorted” then is not this their reality. At what point are they deemed not the protagonist?

Blurred lines between perception, perspective, and reality can be terrifying as we see in “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Now, let us take perception and perspective a little further and examine what is going on in our society with racial injustices. A group of people perceive to be oppressed and another group has a different perception, that the group is not oppressed. Both perceptions are complicated by the perspectives of everyone in the respective groups. In this paradigm, it may be easy to concede that we can agree to disagree, but what if there is an action that accompanies these perceptions and perspectives? Now, there must be a decision on if the action was warranted. People that have the same perspective and perception may agree with the action while the opposing group does not, but everyone believes they are correct in their feelings and thoughts.

The person in “The Tell-Tale Heart” had perceptions and perspectives that may have been distorted by readers, but they were not to the person. They were the protagonist in their mind and everything else was distorted around them. Isn’t this how we are to some extent? So, you see, anyone can be the person in “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

“Very, very, dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? (Bloom, 2019).


Bloom, H. (2009). Edgar Allan Poe’s the tell-tale heart and other stories. Infobase Publishing.

JH Bloomberg School of Public Health. (2013, November 7). Origins of mental health. Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.

July 5, 2021

Boys from County Hell

Boys from County Hell, currently on Shudder, was written by Chris Baugh and Brandon Mullin, and directed by Chris Baugh. As a fan of the vampire genre, it’s easy to get into a very predictable formula. Every now and again we get a fresh take on an old story, and Boys from County Hell certainly does that. Set against an Irish backdrop, road workers (against the wishes of the residents) set out to demolish an ancient mound. Once removed, an ancient vampire rises and will not stop until the town is drained of every last drop of blood. I recently had the opportunity to speak with writer and director Chris Baugh about his film.

First, let me start by saying I love Boys from County Hell. I’m always a fan of taking a classic vampire story and breathing new life into it.

Q: Where were you when the idea for the film first popped in your head?

CB: I actually think I was working in a bar in Belfast many many years ago when I had the idea of wanting to make a genre film set in the specific part of Northern Ireland where I grew up.

Q: Do you feel that horror allows you to tell stories and attack themes in a different way from other genres?

CB: I think since its inception, the horror genre has been a way for filmmakers to explore interesting or controversial themes and ideas. I think the genre evolves with the culture and will always be there to hold a mirror up to the darker parts of reality.

Q: Growing up, what was your relationship with horror? Did you have an early introduction to a multitude of monsters, or did horror introduce itself by way of lore and myth?

CB: Not just with horror, but one of my earliest memories in life was seeing Nightmare on Elm Street at four years old. My parents were pretty loose about film age certificates. I still remember seeing the opening with Freddy building the glove and being deeply affected, terrified, and fascinated. That has never really left me.

Q: The relationship between Eugene Moffatt (played by Jack Rowan) and Francie Moffat (played by Nigel O’Neill) is really complex. You have two people living in this world of shared grief over the loss of a mother and wife. They revolve around each other interacting, but never really getting to the heart of their pain. What was the process like creating the dynamic between father and son?

CB: That relationship is really the heart of the movie and some is based on personal experience and people I observed growing up. I always wanted that relationship to be difficult and fraught, but also funny and heartfelt. I tried to do that on the page, but ultimately it was really about casting the right people with the right chemistry. Nigel and Jack knew these characters so well and understood the relationship so instinctively that the dynamic was there from the first rehearsal, really.

Q: The creature design in Boys From County Hell is really striking. There’s no Ferrari-driving, smooth-talking, handsome playboy vampire hanging around the town pubs. We get this beautifully crafted creature from the furthest depths of darkness. It is the thing we fear will rise from the moldy earth and walk into our nightmares. How did your team go about creating and designing your creature? Did you go through many sketches before settling on the look and feel that ended up on screen?

CB: We always wanted to create something that looked terrifying and world class for a low budget movie. The idea was to base his look on bog bodies, which are ancient corpses that have been preserved by peat bogs. Once we had that idea, it didn’t take a massive amount of research and development to land on the right look. Again, it was all about casting the right person (Robert Nairne) and hiring the brilliant Millennium FX and Claire Ramsay who did an incredible job on the creature prosthetics.

Q: How did COVID protocols affect your filming, if at all? Did you find it harder creatively connecting with your actors and crew with the limitations?

CB: We actually wrapped shooting two years ago, so well before COVID. The only thing that affected us was the weather!

Q: What’s next for you?

CB: I have a couple of projects in development that I should be able to announce very soon! Boys From County Hell is currently playing on Shudder and Amazon Prime.

Kamarra Cole is an Afro Horror contributor and horror fanatic. You can find her on Instagram at @kamarranichole

April 23, 2021

Full Stop: I’m Yelling Fire So That You’ll Pay Attention

A Case Study On What Not To Do With Your Privilege

Quick Backstory

I co-host and produce a podcast. A Nightmare on Fierce Street was created as a way for me and a friend to find ways to stay creative during this pandemic while creating a space for those of us who LOVE horror but are not treated well in this genre. We wanted to critique this thing that brings us joy through our different intersectional lenses while bringing friends along for the ride. We thought maybe eight friends would listen, but the podcast is doing very well and creating a safe space for other people who are usually left out of these conversations. This podcast is a lot more fun than I’m making it sound here, but it’s also very healing and has allowed me access to spaces and people I wouldn’t have gotten to share my opinions with otherwise.

I woke up to a wild Instagram message on a Sunday. The screenshots that follow are the entire thread. I will unpack them as we go because these messages hit on a lot of different issues that I, and people who look like me, have to deal with every single day.

We Begin

The beginning of this rude conversation.

  1. The tone of her first message is weird and shows a lot of energy for something as silly as a pun neither of us own. I also don’t know this person, or the podcast, at this point. I answer the questions I think she might be trying to ask to see where this goes while knowing that she is only taking this tone because we live in a racist society that has supported her in talking to Black and Brown people however wants. She has no use for me so doesn’t see the point in speaking to me like I’m a person. She has all of the privilege and knows that I can’t win because if I get angry then she can paint me as an angry Black woman. If I concede, then she still gets her way.
  2. Her second message seems more aggressive. She seems upset that we only found out about her recently and lists reasons she thinks her podcast should matter. She doesn’t seem concerned that she’s been on these large platforms, but a POC who loves horror movies hasn’t heard of her. She is also name dropping here because she decided that the best thing to do with the platform she was given was to try a Black woman on a Sunday afternoon. This behavior would be an abuse of power (if she had any actual authority on any matter) and is not the way anyone who even wants to pretend to be an ally should wield their privilege.

It continues…

3. Her mentioning the “very small community” and that “we’ll be bumping into each other on [C]lubhouse often” is an intimidation tactic aggressors have used on people they are trying to force into the victim box since forever. This is especially a popular tool in the politely racist toolkit. If you remind your intended victim that people will find out about this they’re supposed to be frightened. Because society is on the side of the aggressor always. ALWAYS. This is another nod that I can’t win this fight she’s having in my podcast’s DMs. The odds of her being labeled difficult for rolling in with this energy are slim compared to me being labeled difficult for even asking her to speak to me like I’m a human being. I’m a fat Black woman so America is always telling me I’m “loud and sassy” and that whatever happens is my fault. She knows this. She also knows that if she wraps this attitude up in a thinly-veiled threat I’ll get the message. This is how mean girls operate. This behavior is inherited. This is verbal violence.

4. Let’s unpack “kindly ask that you consider changing your name.” How is anything she said supposed to read as “kind?” She woke up, hopped onto the internet, and decided to take out all of the problems on me. She also is again missing the point that she doesn’t own this pun.

5. Please never use the word “dilutes” when you’re attacking people of color. That word has so many racist connotations and in this case reads as if she believes association with POCs would somehow lessen her “brand”. It also highlights that she isn’t mentioning the MANY podcasts with similar titles created by people who don’t identify as women of color that founding all over Spotify. For some magical reason, those aren’t important. I would be willing to bet my next paycheck that she hasn’t slipped into their DMs with this tone.

The last thing she sent the podcast directly.

6. She rolled in with this tone, posturing, display of privilege, and now looks forward to our solution. This is when I started passing the screenshots around to close friends who also understand what just happened. They understand because they are also POCs who dare to exist. For us, microaggressions are more common than weekdays. My co-host and I go back to thinking about the actual reasons we were discussing changing our podcast name before this happened. We think this angry stranger has gotten all of this nonsense out of her system.

7. Like in all horror movies, the monster comes back. The next Sunday she sends an ellipsis. Does this signal that she’s waiting for us to jump on this non-emergency? Was she just trying to make her daily quota of harassing women of color? Did she do it just to get a reaction? We’ll never know because we’ll never respond to her again. What I do know is that I messaged another “Nightmare on…” podcast ran by two Latinx women to see if they were also getting rude messages from this person. I knew the answer before they responded because where there is smoke there is usually a pattern of problematic behaviors. They were being harassed by her as I was messaging them.

What Happened Next?

Nightmare on 5th St. Podcast shut her down in real-time. In response, the aggressor went full-on Karen.

Screenshots of the other podcast she decided to spend a Sunday harassing

She uses the same tactics she used with me. Intimidation, the gross use of the word “dilute” when treating POCs like shit, and that pretending this is for everyone’s good instead of her mixture of ego, entitlement, and subtle hints of racism. Please also note that when they say they haven’t heard of her podcast either before explaining how they got their name, she immediately calls them semi-hostile. If these two interactions with two separate podcasts should tell us anything it’s that the common factor is her hostile attitude. This is an example, of what I mentioned earlier that no matter how a woman of color responds society has put this white in a position to never be held accountable for anything. No matter what any of us do, she wins. The “semi-hostile” comment is a reminder that we are always the villains in these stories. See countless Karen memes where they call the police on Black and Brown people who dare to go outside.

This particular podcaster decided to come back to the scene of the crime and saw too many people on the AMAZING podcast’s social media was on their side. Instead of wondering if she’s maybe in the wrong and should think about her ways, or maybe think about apologizing, she posted the following comment under her podcast account and then came back with her personal account to be the lone person to like the comment.

This is how she reacted to seeing her rude messages go viral.

She now backtracks about how self-important she is and begins to paint herself as the victim. “Though I don’t really appreciate the public callout as we tried to do this respectfully through private messages on our end,” is by far the most delusional and confusing thing about this. Does her privilege whisper to her at night that if she says something the rest of us won’t believe our own eyes? Nothing about the way she has spoken to them, or me, has been anything but rude. She clearly doesn’t respect us as human beings but feels like we should take this abuse in silence.

Because this Nightmare on 5th St Podcast went public, other podcasts (I didn’t get their permission to use their names and don’t want any of the happily racist people that keep finding my articles to start in on them) in our community caught wind of it. I’m still not sure the exact order of events but I saw certain people were tagged in things and I feel like one of them reached out to this person to talk to her about her need to manifest mediocre internet drama during a pandemic. I received the following empty apology from her private account to my private account. Let that sink in for those of you who might want to give her the benefit of the doubt. She knew she wasn’t talking to my co-host if she knew I was the person that needed this lukewarm apology.

The “apology” someone told her to send. There are no actionable items or real accountability for what she’s done though. Because this comes so soon after she was defending her actions in public there is no reason to pretend this could be sincere.

First of all, the privilege of deciding that you’re done verbally attacking POCs and are ready to move on is a mood. This isn’t an apology so much as her pretending we were waiting on her to come around. (We weren’t though because again she has no legal standing.) If anything, we have to keep our name now even though we now have to add having a similar title to whatever her “brand” is on the con list. Our podcast is about creating and sharing spaces with other horror fans that are often excluded. I’m not familiar with her podcast, but from what she’s shown me about herself I suspect it doesn’t have a similar mission.

Second, one of my biggest pet peeves is when people make excuses for their shitty behavior. I’ve had a lifetime of people pissing on me and then everyone telling me to suck it up because they have a mental illness, health issue, bad day, hangnail, weird bangs, etc. I’m not allowed to have a bad as a Black fat woman, and I imagine if I did feel like I found a place to have a tantrum it wouldn’t lead me to brandish my two privilege points as a weapon against others. Not only because I treat people like people, but because I’m painfully aware that I’m viewed as hostile simply by design. This narrative is toxic and we see it in the media daily as criminals and domestic terrorists are coddled while their victims are put on trial for being POC.

This podcast non-issue is basic and unnecessary, but the system that she navigates so effortlessly is a problem. This is gatekeeping, possibly internalized misogyny, with subtle notes of racism woven throughout at its finest. This is someone exercising a very dangerous power that is regularly used against Black and Brown people. This needs to be called out when we see it. This is why it’s so important that you talk to your problematic family, friends, significant others, etc. when they show you these traits. These racial interventions could potentially stop them from pulling bullshit like this when the stakes are higher.


I was a girl in the ‘90s so it was drummed into me to yell “fire” if I’m being abducted or assaulted so people will pay attention. There is a lot to unpack in that sentence, but what has stuck with me is that no one will care if I yell the thing that’s actually happening. I can’t just yell “Help” because no one cares about people who share my identities so whatever is happening immediately becomes a personal problem. Instead of doing another listicle that covers a random assortment of microaggressions that I’ve observed most recently, I thought we should unpack this one for all that it is. It’s a lot of ugly that is allowed in so many industries every single day. We have to start calling these behaviors out on all levels if we want to change the culture.

The irony of this is that she so badly wanted me to know who she was that she didn’t think to Google me. I’m as equally unimportant as she is but a quick Google search would’ve told her that I’m a writer with big Gemini energy. I’m a playwright and freelancer that writes about the problematic individuals I encounter in my plays, while keeping a public Facebook album full of these hate notes, and have recently found an audience for my articles about my observations, Full Stop: Casually Anti-Black Behaviors You Need to Quit NOW and Full Stop: Casually Anti-Black Behaviors I’ve Observed This Month. I live a transparent life and own everything that happens to me in a public forum even when it’s not the smartest option.

I know the odds of this article changing anything are as slim as the odds of me giving up ice cream. If anything, society likes to punish people who speak up. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a second of hesitation about even putting it on paper simply because of the way people get blacklisted for pointing out the obvious issues within a community. I have a theatre background so I’ve had a front-row seat to see so many amazing artists shunned for speaking out. That moment of doubt passed as quickly as it appeared though because our podcast was started with a very specific mission, and that mission has been achieved, so everything else is a bonus. As long as we remember that, and continue moving with intention, we’ll continue to attract people that share the same values and also care about creating spaces for people who share our identities. Truth be told, I hope to welcome so many more BIPOC podcasters with similar Elm Street titles into the part of the community that welcomed me. I hope to help further “dilute” other brands as well because this genre is centered on the characters that survive monsters- not the other way around.

This picture just seemed really appropriate.

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