Enchanted Creator: Rhysling Nominee Silvatiicus Riddle, an Interview with Kristen Baum DeBeasi

Silvatiicus Riddle, Rhysling shortlisted poet

Today's interviewee for our Enchanted Creators series is the exceptional poet and writer Silvatiicus Riddle (He/They). He is a Rhysling-Nominated Dark Fantasy & Speculative Fiction Writer who lives on the borderlands of New York City.

Riddle's work has appeared in Abyss & Apex, Dreams & Nightmares, Enchanted Living, Eternal Haunted Summer, Spectral Realms, and, of course, The Fairy Tale Magazine. In fact, his poem, “Medicine for the Ailing Mortal, as Told in Seven Stories” published by us May 1, 2024, has been nominated and shortlisted for a Rhysling Award.

First of all, Silvatiicus, thank you for agreeing to chat with The Fairy Tale Magazine. We are excited to learn more about you and your incredible work! In your Rhysling nominated, shortlisted poem, “Medicine for the Ailing Mortal, as Told in Seven Stories” you chose iconic fairy tales, shaping each section with advice specific to each tale and its particular challenge. Tell us about how you were able to delve into each tale and create such specific yet profound statements for each? 

With this particular poem, which examines seven popular and familiar fairy tales, I wanted to explore, through the lens of poetry, what it would look like to distill the essence of each story in a way that the reader, whom may come to the poem with a certain heaviness upon them, as many of us have in these turbulent times, would carry something away to consider or meditate upon. It was my hope that my words may be a balm that they did not know that they needed or were looking for.

When discussing fairy tales, these stories are often intricately woven with the memories we have of our childhoods. We might see these tales on film as children, or read the stories, and be captivated by the adventure, the wonder, the possibility. Often times, they were foundations for our understanding of morality, or the ability to overcome the varied and difficult trials we might yet face in our lives. Too often, many people leave these stories behind in their formative years, moving away toward adulthood with a sense that they’ve been set adrift in a place that looks nothing like the enchanted or dark forests of the stories they were raised upon, and as such, it can feel like there is no guidance. I certainly know that I have felt that way, as have many of the people that I have spoken to. Countless turn to religion or spirituality for the answers, for some light to illuminate the path forward. Historically, ancestrally, we were led from birth to grave by the bard, or the storyteller by the fire. Their stories were not just for the entertainment of children, however, but to steward those that needed guidance on their passage through the world, for the understanding of their inner and outer landscapes. Every story is ensouled with the purpose of holding dialogue with the parts of us that cannot speak. With this poem, I sought to pay reverence to this ancestral practice, a means of calling home the child within each of us, whom may feel a bit lost or misguided, and to remind each grown person that, through some of their favorite stories, which are universal, cross-cultural, and borderless, that they’ve been given the very tools that they need to take on the challenging and varied story that we all have found ourselves in.

Tell us about the Rhysling, and about what being shortlisted means to you. 

So, the how the Rhysling Award works is that during a specific window of time, any active member of the SFPA (Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association) may nominate any speculative fiction poem published the year before, to be considered for the Rhysling Award. All of those initial nominations become the Rhysling “Long List”. Then, from there, the Rhysling Jury considers each poem, and whittles down the list to 50 short poems and 25 long poems. That final list is the Short List, and that goes on to be published in the Rhysling Anthology for the year, and the members then read each poem and vote for their favorite pieces. The pieces that have the most votes win the award.

Being nominated at all is wonderful, and to be shortlisted is incredibly exciting, and not at all an easy feat. This is my fourth nomination, and my second time being shortlisted. I am always grateful for my writing to be seen; and to be acknowledged by a community of brilliant poets that recognize my work is a deep honor.

Within the poem, your repetition of key words such as “should,” “let,” and “remember” serve perhaps as invocations while also serving as prescriptions. Were those ideas present right from the first draft, or did they emerge over time as you crafted the poem? Can you pull back the curtain on your creative process? 

Invocations, as well as prescriptions, yes. With each poem or story that I write, it is my hope that the tales that I spin may function as spellwork to the witch, meditations to the student, and medicine for the wounded heart – another common thread, for to live is to be wounded -- and we all have wounded hearts. My work is as much a balm to myself, as it is for anyone that seeks it out or stumbles upon it by chance. But, wounds are fertile soil, aren’t they? What forests can the right words grow, then, planted where there are cracks, where the pained parts of us hunger for greening, for light?

While I try not to be too intentional with my words (as I believe having too many intentions can actually impede the flow of creativity with too much thought), I knew the bones of the poem for sure: that I wanted the reader to feel an immediate sense that the seven stories are not about other people, from some dusty century, long-dead, but that each of the stories are their story—it is their life written out upon the page; a private message of hope and resilience, penned just for them. The use of certain words, then, brings in that sense of familiarity and ease, saying: there is comfort to be found here, this is your poem. Please come in. My only other intention that I wanted for each story’s distilled “medicine”, was that I wanted it to be a potent, but gentle reminder that each reader, regardless of circumstance, still very much has their own agency and power.

Is there a specific tale that you return to time and again? What do you think it is that draws you back to it?

One tale that I return to time and again, that I also did not mention here, and perhaps it is a bit more modern than the others, is that of Peter Pan. Some people don’t consider that to be a fairy tale due to its length and the intended age of its readers, but still others do. I certainly believe it to be, as fairy tale is not simply the story that is told, it is also a spirit, which is why literary fiction can be fairy tale, song lyrics and musical orchestrations, epic tales, as well as poetry. With Peter Pan, I was never so seen as when I encountered that story for the first time, and have revisited Neverland many times since. A boy whom could speak to the fairies, and could fly, living inside the solid and very-much-real land of make believe? It was like J.M. Barrie knew me personally. Growing up as a queer boy/person with undiagnosed neurodivergence can certainly feel a lot like being something other-than-human, with all of the intended connotations that such a word might invoke. It’s a magical, horrible, treacherous, adventure between worlds that often, desired or not, leads you toward a life of solitude, wonder, high-strangeness, and a certain loneliness. Such a thing might, if ever, only be remedied by aligning yourself with other “lost boys” that, perchance, may understand the peculiarities of the world in a similar way as you do. As I’ve gotten older, time has only solidified this for me. The world has a way of changing grown-ups into pirates. Well, long ago, I’d made up my mind that I never want to be a pirate. I always want to fly, I always want to hear the fairies speak. Even if it means being disinvited from a society that wasn’t designed for someone like me. So, that story, for me, is my personal, designated fairy tale. It is comfort, it is resilience, it is hope and reassurance. For me, it is home.

Are there particular poets, artists, or stories that influence your work?

Yeats has my heart. Patricia McKillip speaks to my soul. Angela Carter, the madness and beauty in her words, carries me onward, even when I feel that I can go no further. I’m forever indebted to Jim Henson. Brian and Wendy Froud’s work on Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal set me on a path of understanding the breadth of magic, its limitless world of possibilities, and that there were people out there, in this very strange land that I find myself, that could help birth such things into being. Ray Bradbury rewired my brain when first I found “The Halloween Tree”, when I was seven, and the illustrations that accompanied his many works, most often drawn by his long-time friend and artistic collaborator, Joseph Mugnaini. I’m also deeply influenced by writings on witchcraft, occultism, esoteric practice, folklore, and the modern and historical documentation of real-life faerie encounters. Writers like Tolkien, Charles de Lint, Terri Windling, Alan Moore, Octavia Butler have all encouraged me to carve the magic from the marble of my own work. Of course, I can’t fail to mention my contemporaries in Speculative and Fantasy poetry today, and I honor each of them that work tirelessly creating magic, mystery, and beauty within the industry. Some of the modern poets that, for me, are really keeping the art form alive and interesting: Angel Leal, Pedro Iniguez, Angela Acosta, Lauren Scharhag, Theodora Goss, Dr. Sara Cleto, and Dr. Brittany Warman, to name a few. Artists whose work lives inside me, stoking the fires of my imagination: Jana Heidersdorf, Charles Vess, Andy Kehoe, Omar Rayyan, Seb McKinnon, Cory Godbey. Good art means everything to me. Good writing means everything to me. When you see a painting that transports you, when you read a sentence that takes your breath away? It’s a feeling like no other. You are, undoubtedly, encountering the sacred, and what it means to be alive.

What draws you to speculative or fairy tale-inspired poetry? 

I am a punk boy that envisions a better world. Creativity is resistance. I am deeply interested in the re-enchantment of the world, and exploring, through writing, the continuation of awe, wonder, and magic that is intrinsic to humanity from childhood, or for some, may be sought and acquired later on. Speculative poetry and fiction are founded on the premise of possibility––what is possible if only the laws, rules, and sociological elements of our world were the same or similar, but somehow bridged with the Other. Fairy Tales are a tradition stretching far back into human consciousness, a golden thread that runs through the heart and deep into pre-recorded history. But, what is it anchored to? Why are we so enamored of the fairy tale? It follows us through the centuries in the same way that spiritual traditions do. While the speculative gives us possibility, fairy tales give us the numinous. At any given moment, we are surrounded by a thousand forgotten gods ready to bless our step, or perhaps to curse us for our arrogance; they lean outward from the world that we, egotistically, built atop their own, rebuffing them of their needs of things like prayer and offering, whilst we go about worshipping ephemeral things like money and time. Their mythologies once lived inside of the oral traditions, which, crafted and hewn by the years, have become what we know as fairy tales. Fairy Tales connect us to that sacred place beneath our feet, to our very roots, to our healing, and to alchemy. We can begin to find self-alchemy in the study and understanding of fairy tales. Then, if we allow ourselves that transmutation that only fairy stories can provide, well, I think that begins to appease the gods and spirits that have been waiting so terribly long for the respect of acknowledgment. Who we are, where we come from, what we are capable of, is very much alive inside of fairy tales. They give us the understanding of our world, and the speculative expands upon it. As someone that seeks to live his life in awe, magic, wonder, and possibility, it’s a natural draw toward these genres and traditions, and through them, I am holding a vision of the world in renaissance.

There is a quality of warmth in so much of your writing that exudes a soothing embrace, a feeling of being held and comforted even in the darkest dark. Can you speak to that as a focus of your creativity? Is it a conscious choice you make, or does it flow naturally from your mind/pen? 

It’s interesting, because often times when I set out to write a poem or story, I don’t begin with the intention of crafting something warm, inviting, or comforting. There are many pieces of mine, still, where such things are not explicitly found in the end, but, perhaps, they offer the glimmer that there might be something to hold on to, something left to be told, to hope for, or settling into a new paradigm to be found yet. I can think of a few poems or stories of mine where the protagonist goes through a terrible transformation, where such a thing might be the apex of a horror or suspense story to the avid reader, where one might find themselves in an abusive or desperate situation, but ultimately find comfort in their transformation or transportation to another realm; whether they’ve sacrificed their humanness to become a spirit of Halloween, for example, exploited their lycanthropy to take on tyrannical kings, or have run away from a broken home to join the faeries in their Bealtaine revelries.

I’ve been through a lion’s share of my own troubles, finding myself in abusive situations more than once, battling chronic illnesses, facing internal struggles with mental health, and outer struggles that are often worsened by living inside of a socio-political landscape that sees people like me as second class, or burdensome, and that is all putting it delicately. It is worth noting, always, that I am still in a place of privilege because of where I live, the color of my skin, and my presenting gender. To have such a privilege has given me certain advantages in life that are not afforded to everyone equally or equitably, regardless of my struggles. We also live in a time when there is unprecedented access to information, where the stories of people an ocean away, or even from the cities we live in, can be imbibed and understood while waiting for the coffee to brew –– stories of people that we are encouraged to view as enemies can be instantly humanized and heard, when they are given a platform to speak without censure –– people in need of help, and understanding, reassurance, hope, and love. Being raised on the likes of great individuals such as Mr. Rogers, Bob Ross, Paul Reubens, Steve Irwin is not something I would soon forget. It lives in my marrow. In this lifetime, it is my calling to write. When I sit at my desk, when the words come, even if they are terrifically dark, the question is a voiceless one that is always on my heart: how can I help?

That is why I started my Substack newsletter, The Goblin’s Reliquary. Social media is a fickle thing, at the whim and detriment of its billionaire owners and shareholders. I figured that if I can reach people directly, sans algorithms, I can share my writings with the people that have decided that they need my words or my presence, and through the lens of my own life and perspective, with the aid of folklore, poetry, fairy tale, the mythopoeic, the great writers and thinkers that have come before, I can potentially help someone by sharing my own cultivated fire, and perhaps, they may even help me. That’s the legacy that I want, that is something we should all strive for –– if some of us can learn to thrive in the land of dragons, we must lift someone else up onto the backs of the great beasts, so that, beyond the oppressive smoke and ash, they may know that we still live in the land of the sun. And, through our stories, we can show others that they, too, might learn to fly, and that every darkness, even that which we hold inside, is a doorway into hidden beauty.

Click Here to Read Riddle's Poem

Be sure to find Silvatiicus Riddle's Substack newsletter, and don't forget to read the nominated poem. You may find Silvatiicus at Facebook.com/SilvatiicusRiddleAuthor or Instagram @Silvatiicus

Kristen Baum is Editor in Chief of The Fairy Tale Magazine. She is also a writer and composer blending fairy tales, film music, and fantasy into poems and songs and film scores.