Eliza and Her Monsters

by Francesca Zappia

Eliza Mirk belongs in a comic book. But Eliza Mirk is me.

Risht, where Amity and Damien learn to be friends, and realize they’re stronger when they work together. I write Risht. In Risht, no one fears monsters. In Risht, monsters are a memory of a bygone age, and the people who vanquished them are revered as gods.

I want a giant edible phoenix statue.

There is a small monster in my brain that controls my doubt. The doubt itself is a stupid thing, without sense or feeling, blind and straining at the end of a long chain. The monster, though, is smart. It’s always watching, and when I am completely sure of myself, it unchains the doubt and lets it run wild. Even when I know it’s coming, I can’t stop it.

Because your usual betas aren’t the creator of the world.

“You only talk sometimes?” I say. He nods.

I feel like I stepped into Power Rangers. They wait for me to say something. “Um” is all that comes out.

They may not be my friends, but they are my people, and just because they’re not behind a screen doesn’t mean they’re not worth talking to.

He gets that talking is easier when there’s a screen or even a piece of paper between you and the person you’re talking to.

He had found her in a constellation.

“You found me in a constellation,”

I have never had that problem. I have never been forced to make anything. I don’t understand how that works.

He makes this all feel like some goofy problem in a movie. It’ll get resolved with a neat little bow after an hour and a half of family fun.

Like life, what gives a story its meaning is the fact that it ends. Our stories have lives of their own—and it’s up to us to make them mean something.

The page comes up right away. It’s still there, after all this time. All the threads, all the posts. The fans may have fled, but the heart is still here, like a little fandom time capsule.