In case you missed it: I’m proud to be featured in the charity anthology Unapologetic Love: An Anthology of Radical Resilience, which features stories by women, queer, BIPOC, disabled, and other marginalized authors. I recommend reading my short story included before reading this post, since I discuss the symbolism and inspiration for it and would hate to spoil it!
How It Started
I was in an izakaya in Shimokitazawa, a cozy yet hip neighborhood in Tokyo that’s famous for cool vintage finds, on the night of the 2024 US election.
(This is all relevant, I promise!)
The food smelled divine even while the man next to me smoked so heavily I could barely breathe—even with the cooking vat on max speed—since the izakaya was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall at basement level. The kind where everyone sits at the bar, grabs a beer (without needing to order, since everyone is a regular), and shoots the shit with the owner while he cooks right in front of you. If you’ve ever been to Tokyo, then you know that this is the one of the best kinds of restaurant.
Unfortunately, my meal was soured by the news on the television—one of the tiny box TVs, smaller than the one I had in my childhood bedroom in the late ‘90s. The US election was everywhere we looked, and the izakaya was no different. We were the only foreigners in there—Shimokitazawa isn’t the most popular among tourists—so they naturally asked us about it. They spoke a little English. I spoke a little Japanese. We were able to meet in the middle.
“Where are you from?”
“We’re American.”
“Where in America?”
“Seattle.”
“Ah! Mariners!”
(In case you didn’t know, baseball in Japan is a big deal.)
Then, with a playful grin, the owner points to the television with his cooking utensil and goes, “Election, huh?”
To which I groan and dramatically plop my forehead on the bar, to the laughter of him and the patrons. In Japanese, they mention Harris with a smile, but I didn’t know enough of the language to know exactly what they were saying other than they were rooting for her. I wasn’t sure how to express myself properly in Japanese, but I did know how to say, “We like Kamala, but… well, shit.”
They got what I was going for. They laughed again, and then we commiserated before the smoker and his wife gave us some food recommendations for our upcoming travel to Osaka. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to put a stop to my worries. Of course I enjoyed my vacation. But the dread of what we would come home to lingered in the back of my mind.
I worry for my friends who are BIPOC.
I worry for my friends who fall under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella.
I worry for Palestinians abroad.
I worry for my former colleagues still working in journalism as news runs the risk of censorship.
And I worry for myself and my fellow authors.
Project 2025—which Trump’s cabinet nominees and team are involved with—specifically outlines pornography. It outlines expanding the definition of it, largely to further attack trans people. However, this would include romance novels and other works with on-page sex scenes. Project 2025 supporters want to criminalize what they consider to be pornography, and to imprison its producers.
As a romance author, this is deeply concerning. I do not think an adult writing scenes for adult audiences about adults having consensual sex should face criminal charges or imprisonment. I’d wager if you’re reading this, you likely agree. America is supposed to be the land of the free, and this doesn’t feel like a freedom. It’s censorship.
So when I saw one of my social media mutuals and fellow author Des Devivo announce a charity anthology in need of submissions that they were putting together, I signed up immediately. An “apologetically smutty, queer, and women-centric” anthology with proceeds going to the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU)? Didn’t need to think twice.
So on the nights I struggled to sleep, I wrote Fly Agaric.
What Inspired Fly Agaric
Thematically, Fly Agaric stems from my frustrations and fears about the state of America’s futures—specifically when it comes to women’s and LGBTQIA+ rights, book bans, and similar issues. I set Fly Agaric in Florida, where I lived for 12 years, because the political landscape in Florida is hellish.
Hardcore conservatives and Q Anon believers flocked to the state of Florida in 2020 due to lax mask mandates during the COVID-19 pandemic, turning the former swing state red. Abortion bans there lean to the extreme, with Nazis free to roam the streets (and they do, proudly) but many women are unable to access the proper reproductive care they need. I’ll never forget leaving a trading card & collectibles convention only to see Nazis waving their flags and holding signs with slurs on them, shoving them up to everyone’s car windows. When I called the police, they told me there was nothing they could do.
Visually, I was inspired by Florida’s lush swamp landscapes. Unfortunately, due to the state growing redder and redder, environmental protections are not as great as they could be in Florida. I see that doubly now that I live in Washington, where people live more in sync with the land and hold more respect for the Indigenous tribes who were here first than Floridians ever seemed to while I lived there. Someday, I suspect half-empty strip malls may cover the swamps.
Living in Washington, we get tons of mushrooms. With the election news, lots of videos talking about growing your own plants for protection and Aqua Tofana have come across my FYP. Combing Washington aesthetics with Florida’s nature came easily, including the idea of something growing there that didn’t belong. As a disabled Jewish woman, I lacked that sense of belonging in Florida myself, largely in part due to how the political landscape did impact my day to day life. See also the Nazis at the collector convention story I shared.
So I used that to create a sort of idyllic world, represented by Fairyland: where no one is in pain, no one lies, and we all feel pleasure in supporting our community. But there’s something darker there, too.
For the vibes of Fairyland, I took a great deal of inspiration from a recent read of mine. In Jinbocho (another district in Tokyo, also known as Book Town), I picked up an art book called Vampire’s Box by Takato Yamamoto. Yamamoto uses vampiric motifs and art to blend gothic horror with eroticism seamlessly, absolutely beautifully done. With that on my desk, “the fruits” by Paris Paloma playing on repeat, and rage in my heart, I let it burn in the page.
The Symbolism
Florida began as the setting for the aforementioned reasons, but acts as a metaphor in and of itself. Swamps are full of stagnant water. The weather there is always hot. Living there, it gave the feeling of life never progressing, of everything being stuck. If our government proceeds the way I fear they will, we will be stuck in the days of past instead of moving toward a brighter future.
But despite that stagnation and people refusing to move forward, change does still happen—like the circle of fly agaric mushrooms the protagonist and her friend find in the short story. Despite how conservative Florida is, it’s also richly diverse, especially in the cities. However, it can be hard to find your place and feel you belong.
Oranges are also heavily used as symbolism in my short story. I picked oranges for a few reasons, and it’s not just because they grow in Florida. Orange fruit symbolism varies from culture to culture. From prosperity to fertility to enlightenment to purity to immortality, the meaning may vary. In this story, I lean into eroticism with oranges, using them as a metaphor for female pleasure—whether it be at the consensual hands of a man or another woman.
And at the end of the story, the two women forage mushrooms. The act of foraging here can be taken literally, of course. But they finally are making a change. They are standing up for themselves rather than trying to run away from their problems. “Foraging” in this instance can be protesting, contacting our representatives, voting in more than just the presidential election, volunteering, and so much more.
Do not just throw your hands in the air and wallow. Take action. Even if, like the fly agaric, you don’t feel like you belong, you still have your place in nature and in community. We all must do our part.
