And the final micro-interview in the current series is with Lyra Meurer, author of “Fruiting Bodies” in The Future Fire #75.
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| Art © 2026 L.E. Badillo |
Lyra Meurer: “Fruiting Bodies’ is a response to the many pieces of apocalypse media I have encountered that hinge on the idea that rebuilding the human race is a commonly held ideal that everyone would want to participate in. Doesn't reproductive autonomy still hold even if the human population is decimated, especially in situations where medical care would be insufficient and difficult to access? In my mind, it matters more than ever. Besides that, I wanted to explore the idea of a whimsical apocalypse, where dream-like imagery could become a mirror for the interior experience.
TFF: What can you be found doing when you're not creating/writing?
LM: Attempting to grow native plants in my backyard (I am currently thrilled about some whiplash daisies that spontaneously appeared there), going on walks and photographing interesting trash on the ground, and playing board games (mostly Spirit Island—if you know you know) with my spouse.
TFF: Is there a theme song to your current work-in-progress?
LM: My work in progress has been with me for over 20 years (it is an attempt to make a paracosm story actually good) and so it has accrued a lot of theme songs over the years. However, I always think first about “Lasse Pour Quoi’ by Azam Ali, a 14th century French song that came to me right as I started writing the story all the way back in 6th grade. It felt like the perfect accompaniment to my characters traveling all over a fantastical land.
TFF: What is the most important thing to remember about writing?
LM: Writing is for you first, the audience second. Otherwise, in my experience, you’ll never want to write anything at all.
TFF: What are you working on next?
LM: I’m hoping to brush up and submit a few short stories—some horror, some dark fantasy and sci fi—while also working on that paracosm story.
Extract:
Fish shimmer above her like a rainbow in flux, sipping on the tears that fly up from her face. This house—which, she keeps remembering with horror, is now hers alone—has been as lively as a reef since The Unknown swept across the world, tangling and unspooling and recreating its matter.
Reminder: You can comment on any of the writing or art in this issue at http://press.futurefire.net/2026/02/new-issue-202675.html.
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