2025 Fall Submissions
October 2025
Embracing the Monstrous: We’re calling for work that explores femininity, queerness, and monstrosity—whether that means reclaiming the figure of the witch, exploring queer horror, writing about bodies deemed “too much,” or celebrating the radical potential of what is considered grotesque or strange.
little monster
Casey Marlowe (they/them)
“I spent my childhood raised in a Mennonite dairy farming village, tormented by my first bully (my mother) and the belief that I was an evil monster possessed by demons. This poem is a letter to my inner child to help them feel safe, know that they aren’t the problem, and begin to heal from the trauma they experienced.“
hi little monster
it’s okay it’s alright
you’re okay you’re alright
i know you’ve tried
so hard to stay
hidden for so long
.
and you did such
a good job too
i’m proud of you
for keeping yourself
safe the way
that you knew how
.
it’s too much wasn’t it
but it’s okay to be seen
now it’s okay to let go
don’t worry little monster
she’s gone for real this time
she can’t hurt you anymore
.
i know you tried so hard
to be loved she was
supposed to above anyone
you did nothing wrong
it’s not your fault
she wouldn’t see
your magnificence
.
if i’m honest
i think she’s jealous
she was broken
and your brilliance
burned all the scars
she refused to heal
.
it’s not fair to have all
that on your sweet small
shoulders huh look at
your big muscles
i know you’re so so
strong but you can
put it down now
.
we are here all of us
all of me all of you
and yes of course
lancaster too
he loves you we love you
you deserve to be loved
exactly as you are
.
shine bright little monster
and remember
just because they
are scared of you
doesn’t mean
you are scary
Artist Statement
Casey Marlowe (they/them) is a neurodivergent trans nonbinary writer from the unceded territory of the Snuneymuxw (aka Nanaimo). When not writing from the toilet at 2am, they can be found cuddling cats, drinking pickle juice, or playing banjolele with their feet in the river. Find them on Instagram @caseymarlowepoetry
Baobhan Sith
Rachel Folland (she/her)
“The artwork is a digital illustration of the Baobhan Sith who are vampiric female fairies from Scottish folklore that seduce men mostly hunters and drink their blood. Baobhan Sith also have deer hooves rather than human feet.”
Artist Statement
Rachel studies visual arts at UVic with a focus on fantastical type storytelling through video art and digital illustration. She is very much inspired by books and films in the fantasy genre as well as mythology and folklore.
Chalk Drawing for International Safe Abortion Day
Cecilia Bulbrook (any pronouns)
“Chalk drawing of a person holding their body as colours radiate from parts seen as taboo or controllable.“
Abjection Destabilizing Subjectivity
Fernanda Solorza (she/her)
“A short reflection on feminism and horror.“
Horror stories, regardless of the format presented (books, movies, video games, etc.), thrive on producing discomfort in the consumer. This discomfort, according to Julia Kristeva (1982), is produced by the collapse of boundaries between self and other, subject and object. She defines this collapse as “abjection”.
Abjection, for Kristeva, is repulsive because it threatens our subjectivity. Kristeva describes the corpse as the ultimate abjection: “the corpse, the most sickening of wastes, is a border that has encroached upon everything. It is no longer I who expel. ‘I’ is expelled.” (Kristeva, 1982, pp. 3-4). This is because the corpse is, for Kristeva, the biggest threat to our subjectivity, not because we are faced with a reminder of our mortality, but because we are faced with a reminder of us as objects. In addition to being “me”, a person with specific values, desires, and subjectivity, I am also a meat sack. I am an object that can be decomposed and disposed of.
Horror, particularly in film, according to Barbara Creed, relies on gendered abjection (Creed, 2020) to destabilize the audience’s sense of identity. This abjection is overwhelmingly mapped onto women’s bodies, revealing how subjectivity itself is structured by misogyny. One of the examples Creed gives the reader is the correlation between Carrie’s most violent act in the film, while being drenched in blood, ascertaining the connection between menstrual blood and abjection.
If horror relies on abjection, and abjection is disproportionately mapped onto women’s bodies, then it raises a difficult question: can a horror movie truly be feminist? If the monstrous feminine is always denied subjectivity, and subjectivity is patriarchally structured, how can we give the monstrous feminine subjectivity in a way that doesn’t rely on patriarchal systems of what it means to be subjective? These questions suggest that most mainstream horror stories remain trapped in patriarchal logic, while also exposing how fragile male subjectivity is without its reliance on the monstrous feminine as the abject other.
In order to create a true feminist horror movie, then, the horror must look radically different from the patterns Creed describes, focusing on dislodging the male gaze. One avenue we could take would be to transform the male body into the abject. Instead of the monstrous feminine being reduced to a bleeding wound or a vessel of contamination, male monsters could take on that role. Nevertheless, I fear that the simple switch of roles wouldn’t disrupt the symbolic realm, as the male gaze on subjectivity has been deeply ingrained in our culture and values. For example, the description of “matriarchy” is the same, but opposite, of patriarchy, because in this system, women are in charge. That is not true matriarchy, as it is still fundamentally based on a patriarchal system of operation.
Another way we could disrupt the abjection of the monstrous feminine could be by breaking or turning tropes upside down. For example, giving monstrous feminine agency and voice, allowing for the monstrous feminine to define their own subjectivity, turning abjection into empowerment. For example, in Jennifer’s Body (2009), Jennifer embraces her monstrosity (her sexuality and allure as “femme fatale”), weaponizing it against men. But this avenue, too, concerns me with the possibility of going so far that we actually reverse 180 degrees to the start. With the example of Jennifer, the monstrosity coming from her sexuality doesn’t remove the abjection of women’s sexuality. If anything, it might reinforce the patriarchal ideals that women’s sexuality is to be feared.
By situating horror’s destabilizing power in women’s bodies and ways of being, stories not only rely on abjection for shock, but also reproduce patriarchal assumptions about femininity as dangerous, leaky, or excessive. What begins as a disruption of subjectivity for the viewer ultimately becomes a reinforcement of gendered hierarchies, where women are marked as the perpetual site of collapse.
So how can we create a true feminist horror movie and scrutinize the patriarchal view on abjection? I argue that to confront horror’s abject women is to confront the cultural logic that casts them as abject in the first place. I don’t think a change in media tropes would by itself create a feminist interpretation of the monstrous feminine, but the confrontation and questioning of the culture surrounding the patriarchal view of abjection is a good first step into creating a world where male and female monstrosity are abject in the same right.
Perhaps then, to imagine a truly feminist horror, we need to go further than simply inverting tropes or reassigning abjection, as this risks reproducing the same symbolic order. I suggest that the most radical version of feminist horror needs to reimagine abjection altogether by confronting the very structures that make abjection gendered in the first place. In terms of what that would look like, I do not know. I imagine that the stories that center my suggestion would have subjectivity be subjected to abjection by unravelling the cultural underpinnings of
patriarchal binaries between self/other, pure/impure, man/woman. If there is no binary, then abjection can be rendered unfamiliar, decentering patriarchal meaning-making.
This imagined feminist horror creates fear not by placing anyone’s bodies at the centre of monstrosity, but by creating a world where the categories that once sustained identity, the categories that created subjectivity, no longer could. A heinous, scary world in which everyone must confront themselves as object, what it means to be human, without the scaffolding of misogyny.
Bibliography
Creed, B. (2020). The monstrous-feminine (excerpt reprinted in J. Cohen [Ed.], The
monster theory reader). University of Minnesota Press.
Kusama, Karyn (2009). Jennifer’s Body. Film. 20th Century Fox Entertainment.
Kristeva, J. (1982). Powers of horror: An essay on abjection (L. S. Roudiez, Trans.).
Columbia University Press.
Artist Statement
Fernanda Solorza is the GEM Coordinator! She is a writer, community organizer, and advocate for equity whose work bridges creativity, justice, and care.
November 2025
This month’s theme: Trans awareness and remembrance and breaking the stigma around what it means to be trans 💙🩷🤍
From Nov. 13 – 19, it is important to uplift and thank members of the trans community in remembrance of the history and community members who have brought the movement to where it is. On Nov. 20th, it is the Trans Day of Remembrance (TDOR), a memorial day to honour those whose lives were lost to transphobic violence.
December 2025
For December, The GEM Journal is embracing Dreaming in the Dark ✨🖤
We’re seeking work that reflects on silence and hope, the power of pausing, our inner worlds, and the quiet transformation that comes with wintering. Think of the dreams that surface when everything slows down.