Tal Frost: “My stories are inherently queer-centric, for sure—that’s my lens for the world.”
I’d like to welcome Tal Frost to the blog. Tal is the author of the Queer Dark Fantasy series HAMMER FALLS, as well as the stand-alone novel The Neverloving Dead, which is his contribution to the Own-Voices Gay Paranormal Romance Series HAUNTED HEARTS.
Tal is a writer who weaves together epic contemporary Gay/Queer romantic, sexually infused fantasy tales filled with rich, diverse characters and captivating plots. His stories delve into the supernatural—the fantastical realms inhabited by the weird, the majestic, the Divine and Demonic, and the Wyld and Werecreatures of myth; they all coexist with humans in a world where magic fluctuates between wondrous enchantment and chaos.
At the heart of his narratives lies a vibrant exploration of love and relationships in varied, often messy forms of attachment and design. With a flair for crafting complex emotional dynamics, Tal infuses his writing with explicit steam, passionate connections and effusive romance; it brings to life the beauty and bedlam of love in all its diverse expressions.
In this interview, Tal and I discuss, among many things, how his experiences as a trans gay/queer man flavour his fiction, how sexually charged narratives, particularly queer-centric ones, are seen and utilized—or not, in the Fantasy genre, and whether “trigger warnings” are a helpful tool or spoilers of surprise, intrigue, and reader experience.
My review of Tal Frost’s HAUNTED HEARTS novel, The Neverloving Dead, can be found in an earlier blog post.
Tal, when did you realize you wanted to become an author, expressing your thoughts and imagination through the written word for personal fulfillment and as a career? Who—or what—motivated you to move beyond writing for yourself to getting your work published, and how do you deal with any anxiety about sharing your work with an audience?
Great starting point! [Thank you!] I actually tried to write my first full-length book when I was nine: a dark
adventure about a brother and sister trying to escape from a witch. It was very repetitive. Every time they escaped, there she was, and each time, their incarceration got worse. Eventually, they were being kept in a subterranean dungeon with a restless, hungry panther, and I realized I had no idea what I was doing, so I gave up! [Okay, I have to say, I love this panther—that came out of nowhere—element in that first story of yours!]
As I got older, people liked reading my short stories, so I tried again a few times, finally finishing my first full-length YA fantasy in my mid-thirties, followed by another. I didn’t publish either. There were bits I liked, but way too many things I didn’t—so I chalked them up as learning and moved on with life.
That all changed during the COVID-19 pandemic. I have a kind of blood cancer, so I had to shield more than most, and I have problems with anxiety and depression, so I needed to occupy my mind. I’d been watching Shadowhunters online with a friend, so I started writing a little AU [Alternative Universe] fanfic to entertain them remotely, mashing in stuff from other series, and creating new backstories and characters. I found it way more therapeutic than I’d expected—you can’t be anxious when your mind’s full of plot and scene ideas! As it grew, my friend couldn’t get enough, and the next thing I knew, I was writing a book again!
This one felt different, though. By now, the characters were my own; I loved them fiercely, and I felt the story spoke to my sense of outsidership and might speak to that in others, too. It’s the magic of writing, that it really can create connection—people read their own feelings on a page and feel seen. When readers tell me my books have done that for them, I feel that connection, too. That’s a pretty amazing loop and definitely keeps me going!
I do get anxiety about sharing my work—tonnes of it! But I also find it exciting. If I can get a book to a point where I like it and feel it’s saying something I want to say, I find I want to share it. My stories won’t please everyone, but I figure those who don’t like what I write aren’t my readers. That thought doesn’t remove the anxiety, but it gives it a helpful container. And if I lose every reader—well, then I should probably consider doing something else!
Is it a fair statement to suggest queerness in characters and gay relationships are underrepresented in the Fantasy Genre? This notion is interesting to consider since Fantasy often features fluidity in gender and form, and its societal norms and politics can be entirely self-created and separate from our reality.
I think it is fair. Fantasy is rich with difference but not so rich with queerness, and interestingly, it’s been so slow off the mark in that regard. I guess High Fantasy can get a bit bogged down in viewing the past (on which it so often draws) as inherently conservative—as if LGBTQ+ people only appeared when those letters did. It also tends towards archetypes: men as athletic, physical and primary, and women as beautiful, magical and secondary (helpers or villains), which can wind up reinforcing normativity within stories, sometimes unintentionally.
Urban and Supernatural Fantasy tend to give more space for queerness—I’m thinking vampire sensuality, form-shifters, magic, gods, etc. I’ve had fun with that in my HAMMER FALLS books, rooting sexual/gender diversity in the mythological backstory: angels and demons emerge as indifferent to human sexuality/gender norms, which lingers to a degree in the DNA of their many part-human descendants. That has meant DNFs [Did Not Finish] from supposed Fantasy lovers after the first chapter or two for “too much diversity”, but if people aren’t open-minded enough to read on, I guess the problem’s not mine! Even so, I think it says something about what some people still expect from Fantasy.
I find it odd to think there can be too much diversity in a created world. This limitation of scope stems from the reader’s inability to dissociate from conventional ideas and the historical precedents of what Fantasy Fiction is and can be. Instead of accepting the blank slate, some readers come to the table with expectations, preconceived notions, and prejudices, which restrict their capacity to fully engage with the work without these biases.
Tal, as a trans gay/queer man, have you ever noticed after-the-fact subconscious “author slippage” in your work in regard to this? Or is every word, idea, and situation intentional? Do you believe you’re always conscious of your content, actively choosing to write with an awareness of, even a direct intent toward LGBTQ+ representation? Does “art imitate life” in that your queer and trans experience(s) and knowledge create inherently queer-centric story ideas, settings, and/or character personalities?
My stories are inherently queer-centric, for sure—that’s my lens for the world. So it’s probably inevitable that I sometimes find myself wanting to explain or elevate certain issues I’ve personally faced or conclusions I’ve drawn (the “slippage” you mention), especially when I feel those things are misunderstood. Ultimately, though, those parts rarely survive my editing! They never feel right—it’s like someone suddenly walked into the room and waved for everyone’s attention. To my mind, by the time the book goes out, the author should have made themselves as invisible as possible.
As to the nuances of that, things can be harder: one main character in The Neverloving Dead was a ghost trying to get a body. That presented clear parallels with my own medical transition, but it wasn’t a straightforward mirror—the last thing transitioning people want is our old bodies back! I did want to draw on my experience of separation from my body and a longing to inhabit a body that felt real to me, though, to give Patrick’s plight depth and truth. Those parallels made me very careful about how I phrased certain things, which meant a lot of rewriting because I didn’t want to misrepresent.
In contrast, HAMMER FALLS allowed me more room—partly because the MC, Jin, has been quite damaged by queerphobia and partly because Jin’s best friend, Sam, is very mentally free and often goes off on side-rambles about whatever’s in his head. That let me raise everything from cishet norms about monogamy to queer representation in Hollywood. I always contained him, having other characters interrupt him or letting him pull his musings back to make surprisingly good points about the situation they’re actually facing—but he was a great vehicle for keeping things real!
Tying into what I brought up above, are you primarily writing for yourself and a queer audience, then? What representational aspects do you aim to convey through your writing and, more specifically, the Gay/Queer Fantasy Genre? Do you feel a sense of responsibility to authentically represent queerness, yours or generalized, and the LGBTQ+ community in your narratives?
Alternatively, do you find it a natural and fulfilling choice to write from a queer perspective, independent of any external socio-political pressures or expectations? This interplay between personal identity and creative expression invites a deeper reflection on the role of representation in storytelling, don’t you think?
It definitely does!
I do write primarily for myself and other queer people—I’m not sure I can help that—but I’m also happy when non-queer people enjoy my books (maybe less happy when some complain certain aspects aren’t cishet-normative enough for them, but that’s another topic!). With regard to personal perspective versus generalized representation, though, I think it’s a mix. With any of the LGBTQ+ letters, there are unique, shared concerns and trials, as well as huge varieties of personal experience—as we know, none of those letters are monolithic.
For myself, I occupy an intersection of “transgender” and “gay,” but also “medically transitioning,” “binary,” and “man,” each of which creates or invites certain experiences, some shared, some personal. That might give me more space around my own voice—or less, depending on how you look at it. I can’t speak for everyone who occupies that intersection; in fact, I know almost no other guys who do! Does that give me more freedom to assert my perspectives? Less? More responsibility to my transgender siblings (of all stripes: male, female, binary, non-binary, genderfluid)? Or, since my default brain setting is “cis gay man,” should I forget everything else and write as that?
Those questions interest me. Our communities matter hugely (and those letters save lives), but in the end, we’re all obviously more than letters. So, I guess yes, I do feel a responsibility—not just to represent queerness but to represent people, to portray genuine, multi-faceted personhood beyond labels. This goes whether we’re talking about sexuality, gender, race, or anything else.
Do you have any concerns about being labelled or pigeonholed as a “trans writer” or a “queer writer?” Would you find that to be restrictive to your career, forcing you into a type of genre box based solely on gender and sexuality? Or is it something to be ignored or, perhaps, even embraced? Is it ever as straightforward as “Representation Matters!” or are there more profound, nuanced objectives?
At this point in my life, it’s not a concern. Firstly, I’m going to write what I write, which, even if it wasn’t a “queer” or “gay” book, would be queer in some way because those are the fundamental glasses through which I view the world. Secondly, though, we’re living in a time where trans visibility is important, arguably the visibility of trans men in particular: our very existence undermines most anti-trans narratives, and those narratives are a route to attack LGBTQ+ rights generally.
Do I care if some people only see me as trans or only read me for that? Not really. I’m a lot more than my transness, but if I can articulate, normalize, and represent some aspect of being trans or being trans and gay to some people, that’s one heck of a privilege, isn’t it? And I’m very open: I post about my transition in my Facebook group—thoughts, feelings, fears, triumphs and losses, even photos—so people can see it for themselves. It isn’t much, but it’s a small stand against letting politicized forces dictate how others should view people like me.
How do you navigate the placement, context, and degree of sex in your work? Do descriptive and frequent sex depictions augment the core story, perhaps even altering the feel of the work into a more M/M classification or the sub-genre of “Gay/Queer Erotica?”
In your HAMMER FALLS series, which won the Paranormal Romance Guild 2023 Reviewers Choice Award for LGBT Romance Fantasy/Mystery Series, every entry is vividly infused with explicit and passionate gay M/M encounters, including diverse male polysexual experiences. These high-heat moments aren’t just an afterthought; they intricately weave into the fabric of the plot, enriching the characters’ journeys and adding depth to their erotic adventures, romantic relationships, even their personalities.
Sub-genres are hard! Most people who read the series seem to agree it isn’t M/M—and it isn’t Erotica, though some sequences are very erotic. The Paranormal Romance Guild described it as “the paranormal War and Peace,” which made me chuckle. Overall, I’d call it Epic Fantasy (Supernatural, not High) with a sexually explicit gay/queer love story running through it; I usually just shorten that to “Gay/Queer Supernatural Fantasy!”
As to the sex scenes themselves, placement and context come down to multiple things. The series is deliberately emotionally difficult, so I often use sex (and humour) to break tension or bring different feelings into play, letting readers invest in characters in other ways. Other times, sex is a plot device to bring characters back together, push them apart, create challenging situations or aid self-discovery. Jin is a half-lust demon, so his magic is also stimulated during sex, something he loathes since he believes it proves he’s sordid, demonic and “bad.” Sex is, therefore, an intrinsic vehicle throughout the books for the exploration of moral sexual judgements (especially about queerness).
In the Fantasy Genre, do you think sexually charged narratives are taken less seriously, thought to possess less profundity in worth, particularly when it’s queer sex/sexuality? Or do the genres of M/M and Gay/Queer Romance, Fantasy setting or not, allow for explicitness in visual description and evocative dialogue? Perhaps many readers may expect or even demand it.
I think sex is taken less seriously, yes. That’s probably partly the Tolkien Effect: his works remain such a genre benchmark and are so non-sexual. But at a general level, too, Fantasy has often been considered a male genre (read “noble and heroic”), whereas sex has been considered the preserve of Romance, viewed as a female genre (read “relationships and domestic”) or Erotica (read “porn and lowbrow”). So much so that sex is often portrayed in Fantasy as an ignoble distraction from the Hero’s Path—or even as proof of unworthiness. Fantasy is often peculiarly sex-negative.
As to whether that’s more or less the case for queer sex/sexuality, it’s hard to say. Alongside threads saying there’s too much sex in Fantasy, I’ve read threads by fans bemoaning the lack of sex and specifically queer sex—many seem to be crying out for it! The success of queer Fantasy fanfics on A03 [Archive of Our Own] also appears to support that. So, is it a matter of marketing? Social conditioning? Publishing houses not wanting to take risks?
Romance genres, M/M, M/F or Gay/Queer, definitely allow for more sexual charge and explicitness, though I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t encountered that same negativity from readers and authors. For myself, I’m not into the judgements; sex is part of life and can teach us loads about ourselves. I don’t see it as a lesser way to discover those things.
Have you ever felt that you pushed the boundaries of sex and violence too far in your writing and had to scale back? Were there scenes you initially included in a book that you wanted to keep but ultimately edited out due to concerns about reader backlash? Is there a point at which these elements cross a line, or are Fantasy and Paranormal genres, much like Horror or Thriller, areas where anything and everything is acceptable? Are “trigger warnings,” which you provide for your work, sufficient for readers to manage their reading choices and experiences, allowing for a less restrictive story edit?
Well, one scene in my first draft of The Neverloving Dead was unprintable! The reason I altered it had nothing to do with self-censorship, though. Had the scene had to happen that way, I’d have kept it, but this one was so violent that it would have killed reader sympathy for a main character. This was a critical juncture where I needed that sympathy to be there, so it had to be changed. [Been there. In fact, I’m navigating a scene in my current WIP that mirrors this very dilemma!]
My general rule is that any scene that serves its purpose stays. There are various ways a scene might go, so I pick what works best for the story. That might change as I edit, with scenes being added, changed, moved or cut, and I try to be guided by that rather than fear of backlash. That means not every sex scene in my books is explicit, but many are, and I don’t punch shy with those.
As with real life, sexual feelings can be intense, and seeing how a character manages certain aspects can tell us masses. What did they think they wanted ‘going in’ (sorry lol)- were they trying to assert casualness? Get closer to someone? Escape pain? How did that go in real-time? If they found they did the opposite, what happened? At what point did it change? How did they fight it? What do we now know they really want? Do they realize? Did specific acts affect their feelings in specific ways? Did they make judgements about those acts, or themselves, or others, or particular dynamics? In all these ways, sex can be a brilliant “show-not-tell” about a bunch of things that have little to do with sex. Same with violence.
As to trigger warnings—honestly, I only mind when I feel they ruin a surprise! In the second HAMMER FALLS BOOK book, a polyamory plot develops, with which I initially wanted to blindside the reader. But, knowing many readers see polyamory as “cheating” and “a trigger,” I put a warning and splashed it over the promo, sacrificing surprise so people could make a clear choice. I don’t regret it, and many readers have specifically praised the poly representation (I’m poly myself). Still, I’ve also “lost stars” for that book and others because certain readers only want monogamy. So no, it would seem sometimes those warnings are not sufficient!
You’ve stated an enduring fascination with religious mythology. Your personal interests and academic background are marked by extensive explorations into the realms of folklorism and ancient belief systems, alongside a deep dive into anthropology, cryptozoology, and the mysteries of the paranormal. You’ve even delved into the complexities of lost languages and the art of divination.
These diverse and profound interests permeate almost everything you write. They can easily be seen running through the HAMMER FALLS series and in The Neverloving Dead. How would you articulate how these passions infuse your work, enriching the layers with scholarly insight and simple human curiosity?
You’re spot on, I love to research, even (and maybe especially) in those grey areas where some information exists but no solid conclusions can be drawn. As you say, I brought a lot of that to the HAMMER FALLS series, probably nowhere more than in the topic of gods and demons—a particular fascination of mine!
Basically, I’m not that interested in embodiments of “good and/or evil,” but I am interested in using them to think about histories of belief. For me, that means all sorts, but in that series, it came down to how usurping cultures often made demons of the gods they displaced, a cultural and political process that creates a semi-traceable carousel of “gods” and “demons,” old, new, rejected, and reclaimed.
Myths are absorbed, reallocated or updated according to what’s useful or entertaining, and then cultures expand or move again, creating countless versions that seem different but share unmistakable ancestry. I find it mind-blowing! We usually recognize how Christianity has done this, but there can be a tendency to view older religions as discrete, which, of course, isn’t true—that process always happened.
Anyway, that formed a central thread for the HAMMER FALLS series. Characters (including an ancient demon who fell foul of it) discuss it, which plays out through the relationship between two primary characters. Jin, a troubled half-demon, feels constantly less than Nate, a more archetypally heroic part-angel. The story ultimately says there’s no difference between them—as humans or supernatural beings. They’re both just people, and from a moral and ethical angle, there’s nothing inherently wrong with either of them (or anyone).
Tal, your origin story begins in Germany, but your upbringing was anything but static. You’ve wandered through various places, soaking up the richness of diverse experiences. As you say, growing up “here, there, and everywhere.” You currently reside in Devon but have also called Wales’ lush landscapes home. How do you see your relationship with these varied topographies, regional cultures, and even the concept of movement (from place to place) reflected in your stories?
It’s inseparable from my stories and my psychology. I was born in Germany, moved to Hong Kong as a young child, back to Germany, and then around various places in the UK, including London, Dundee, rural Scotland, rural Wales, Yorkshire, and Devon. I went to nine different schools and seemed to be forever arriving or leaving but never belonging.
In terms of my stories, in The Neverloving Dead, my characters are from London and rural Wales, with Gethin’s movement reflecting my own.
In the HAMMER FALLS series, the town of Hammer Falls is based directly on my experience of rural Scotland. Although I set that series near Inverness (for the sake of having large forests where werebears might roam), the forests I describe are the forests of Galloway in southwest Scotland, where I lived.
The names are Galloway names, and the culture is Galloway culture, though there’s an obvious overlay with other parts of rural Scotland. That said, someone told me the Scots dialect is actually less pronounced around Inverness; in Galloway, “ken,” “cannae,” and “dinnae” are knitted into the social, and even the political, fabric.
As to the frequent movement, it definitely developed a sense in me not just of not belonging but of there being no point in establishing deeper connections since I’d only move again. The HAMMER FALLS series is about the pain that kind of outsidership brings, while The Neverloving Dead is about two ghosts trying to escape it, albeit in different directions. Again, though, it’s stitched through the stories.
What is the most helpful and detrimental advice you’ve received about writing and publishing? Reflecting on your own insights and experiences, what guidance would you offer to fellow LGBTQ+ writers who are interested in exploring fiction writing—and not just the Fantasy Genre—from a queer perspective?
Hmm, tough one. Sometimes, one can be the other! One agent told me that they loved my writing, but I had to decide what genre Lust & Other Demons was since crossover doesn’t sell well. Fantasy typically isn’t so sexually explicit and psychological, but Romance typically isn’t so plot-developed. That’s probably awesome advice for someone, but it wasn’t helpful for me—LOL. I just won’t write if I’m not going to tell the stories I want to tell. That isn’t stubbornness; I just literally won’t be interested enough!
Advice I’d offer new LGBTQ+ authors? Go for it! Writing books is something you really only learn how to do by sitting down and doing it. Write the story you want, expect to do way more drafts and edits than you thought possible, and then ask someone you trust for clear feedback. And if you’re self-pubbing, prepare to spend a lot of time promoting.
Oh, and one author told me, “Lower your expectations about how much money you’ll make.” When I replied that my expectations were already very low, she replied, “Lower them more.” Now that was good advice!!
What book(s) are you currently devouring? Are Fantasy and Gay/Queer Romance your go-to genres, or are you quite diverse in your reading preferences?
Definitely quite diverse! At the moment, I’m reading Teleny: Or, The Reverse of the Medal, possibly by Oscar Wilde, Queer Sex by Juno Roche (non-fiction interviews with various trans and non-binary people about intimacy and relationships), and I’m also about to start a paranormal story by Jordan L. Hawk (book 2 of his OUTFOXING THE PARANORMAL series).
Right now, I’m also trying to find a new home, though, so I’m not doing anywhere near as much chilling and reading as I’d like!
What does the future hold for author Tal Frost? Can we expect more HAMMER FALLS stories, or will there perhaps be a spin-off series? Maybe even a darker fantasy tone? Can readers look forward to any more HAUNTED HEARTS books from you?
And a great question to end as well! [Again, thank you!] There’ll definitely be more books. Next up is likely another HAUNTED HEARTS one, although that’s not set in stone. I’m working on the story in my head and am really excited about my ideas so far, particularly about the main characters and their arc together. I have the basic premise everything will springboard from, as well—I just don’t have the actual plot yet!
I’m also planning a HAMMER FALLS prequel novella at some point this year as an alternative (shorter) entry point to the series. Not a romance, since there’s no HEA or HFN to be had from it LOL, but it will be a love story and dark fantasy for sure. The series is pretty dark already, though, so it’s in keeping!
Beyond that, I always seem to have about fifty ideas. At the moment, those include a HAMMER FALLS werebear spin-off series, a warring demon/angel story, a mage series, a trans-sci-fi, a The Neverloving Dead ghost-detectives spin-off series, and two non-fiction books—but we’ll see…
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