Launching Chthonic Lit
A literary magazine for speculative fiction: my vision, 2025 goals, and influences
Welcome to 2025. A new year unfurls, promising its own peculiar array of endings and beginnings—a space where the personal and the collective collide in strange, often unpredictable ways. For me, I’m starting a new literary magazine (again)! But more on that soon.
In the spirit of visions and omens, I did a quick dive into the threads of numerology and cultural touchstones as a way of getting excited for the coming year.
Numerology, for instance, says that 2025 distills to the number 9 (2+0+2+5).
9 is a number of culmination—a harbinger of closure, introspection, and a kind of personal reckoning. It beckons us to release, to let go, and in the letting go, to grow. We will be closing chapters; perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse, ultimately growing stronger as a result. At least, that’s what my google search told me.
Vision-wise, 20/25 is not as transformative. A minor step backwards, optically speaking: it describes the ability to perceive at 20 feet what others discern at 25 feet. But let’s not agonize over blurred horizons—I’m squinting my way through life with a much worse prescription and doing just fine. Is that hopeful for you? It should be! I look very cute in glasses.
Then there’s the shadow of pop culture’s grim prophecy. Were this year a chapter in the renowned YA series, The Hunger Games, it would mark a Quarter Quell—a cycle of trials that feels ominously apt for our own moment. Yet, before we conjure images of dystopian despair, let’s wonder: could this be the year we rewrite the script? (Channelling my inner Carrie Bradshaw there). Rebellion, perhaps, instead of resignation. Transformation rather than torture. Though, given the tenor of our socio-political reality, optimism might seem as naïve as hoping for Katniss to emerge unscathed. I believe it is important to always hold on to some form of hope or optimism, no matter how bleak, but I understand that sometimes we need a moment to grieve, be afraid, and angry with the way things are going. There is room for all of that in the new year. And oh, there will be a lot of it.
Still, there’s a magic in endings, however sharp-edged they might be. They carve out the space for beginnings—messy, luminous, and ripe with potential. And who among us couldn’t use a little of that transformative energy?
Welcoming Chthonic Lit
Speaking of chapters coming to a close, Salt & Citrus Zine has been shelved for now. In its place is a new literary magazine: Chthonic Lit. 2025 is the year of fully committing to a dream that has been lingering in the back of my mind for awhile now. I want to get Chthonic Lit off the ground and build it into a space where the eerie, the fantastical, and the speculative can thrive.
You can find Chthonic Lit and Salt & Citrus Zine here as well as on instagram.
I’ve spent the last few years cultivating creative spaces, first with Salt & Citrus (the zine, although this blog was also an exploration), born out of the pandemic’s isolating stillness. It started as a free platform for experimentation—a space where art didn’t have to be polished or perfect, just passionate. Over time, it grew into a vibrant community, a place where creators could share works-in-progress, try new things, and connect with others on their creative journeys. It was imperfect, messy, and often late (sorry!), but that was part of the charm. It ended because I set the lofty goal of publishing an issue every other month and I simply couldn’t keep up with the workload or the financial burden of running it by myself. I burned out pretty fast, but I didn’t want the dream to end. Just to take a sweet rest.
Now, I’m ready to bring those lessons and that spirit into something new and something much more me. Chthonic Lit is a natural evolution of what Salt & Citrus started: an exploration of speculative fiction in all its dark, atmospheric, and boundary-pushing forms. Where S&C celebrated process, Chthonic Lit dives into stories that inhabit the, for lack of better term, liminal—the spaces between light and shadow, life and death, reality and the uncanny.
My inspiration for Chthonic Lit struck while reading Cassandra Khaw’s novella The Salt Grows Heavy, which I recently reviewed in Books I Find Inspiring: Part One. Khaw used the word “chthonic”, and I immediately had to look it up. That single search sparked an obsession—a fascination so deep that the word now weaves its way into almost all of my short stories and has found its place as the title of my new literary magazine. Much like how my obsession with “salt” wove its way into all of my poetry and the original zine many years ago.
At first glance, "chthonic" carried the whisper of something Lovecraftian, evoking the eldritch tones of The Call of Cthulhu. But it was different—spelled differently, layered with meanings that extended far beyond cosmic horror. The word seemed to echo with science fiction and fantasy associations without being bound by them.
"Chthonic" comes from the Greek word khthṓn (χθών), one of many meaning earth—or more specifically, that which lies beneath the earth or belongs to it. Its roots dig deep, encompassing divine creative forces tied to fertility: the abundance of crops, the vitality of animals, and the cycles of human life. It is also tied to the realm of the underworld, the deities of death and what lies hidden.
All of these layers—the connection to creation, decay, and the unseen—felt like the perfect foundation for the kind of stories I want Chthonic Lit to tell. It’s a word that resonates with the eerie, the ancient, and the transformative, capturing the exact tone I want this magazine to embody.
S&C had a lot of poetry, art, and anything that people wanted to submit. I accepted everything and basically acted as a curator, offering a space for people to see their things out in the world. CL will be a bit more of a traditional publication. I will be editing, curating a selection of works, and taking a departure from poetry to publish primarily short fiction. I aim to grow this zine into having its own little team of editors, printed issues, and perhaps a launch party or two!
This project feels both thrilling and daunting. In terms of general logistics, my vision is to establish this literary magazine as a biannual publication, a home for speculative short fiction and other forms that push the limits of genre. I want it to be a space where voices that are too often overlooked in mainstream publishing—queer voices, marginalized voices, experimental voices—can find a platform. Queer horror has become my main love, and as it is a small/niche genre, I would love to see it grow. I want to platform these voices specifically. But I also know I’ve had a hard time finding exactly what I like to read within these speculative genres, so it’ll be nice to curate the exact styles that I’m looking for in the hopes that others are also enjoying them. I know queer horror/science fiction/fantasy has been more on the rise with the likes of contemporary authors Carmen Maria Machado, Tamsyn Muir, and Julia Armfield, (and with a foundation from authors like Ursula K Le Guin and Octavia Butler) so I’m very excited to see what the future of [queer] speculative fiction looks like.
But passion alone won’t make it happen. This year, I’m focused on the practicalities of building a sustainable literary magazine. Even though I taught myself web design, InDesign, graphic design, social media marketing, and all that for S&C, I didn’t feel like I focused on building the structures needed to keep the project running long term. Submission platforms, contributor agreements, printing costs, these logistical hurdles are very real, and I want to meet them head-on while remaining as accessible and inclusive as possible. My goal is to cover costs through small submission fees and print sales while avoiding financial barriers for contributors. And eventually, fingers crossed, be grounded enough that I can start paying contributors! It’s a delicate balance, but one I believe is worth striving for. It has always been so daunting to have to pay a cost (usually around $30 per submission) to submit work to journals, then wait up to six months just to hear a rejection. The costs pile up. And while I understand why there are costs, I want to keep mine as low as possible ($3-$5 probably). I haven’t figured out all the logistics yet, as submissions are currently open and I’m taking them for free just through email, but it is something that is a work in progress.
Speculative fiction as a genre is in a state of flux, its boundaries shifting and breaking, its definitions challenged by writers who refuse to be boxed in. As someone who has always loved the eerie and the fantastical, I want CL to be a part of that transformation, a space for stories that linger in the dark corners of the room, waiting to be told.
I’m excited, nervous, and ready for this new chapter. If you’ve followed Salt & Citrus (zine or blog), if you’ve found joy in speculative fiction, or if you just want to support a literary experiment in the unknown, I hope you’ll join me! Here’s to a year of creating, exploring, and transforming.
Reading Inspiration for Chthonic Lit
While my ever-growing book pile threatens to topple over, I find myself constantly drawing inspiration from the stories I’ve read—and imagining the potential in those still waiting for me. These books have shaped the vision for Chthonic Lit, and I thought I’d share some of them with you. Whether you’re a speculative fiction enthusiast or simply on the hunt for your next great read, these might spark something in you too. I will leave a few notes besides the books I have read, but there are many that I am simply just excited to read and sound really good.
Have read:
The Broken Earth Trilogy by N.K. Jemisin
I can’t speak highly enough of this series. It fills me with a sick and twisted glee reading about the horrors of this earth-bending world and its intersection of personal and planetary destruction.
The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw
beautifully dark and horrific, it reimagines folktales in a grim way that scratches that itch in my brain.
Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado
this is one of my favourite short story collections ever. It introduced me to queer horror and the style that I love. Completely haunting and utterly unforgettable.
Organ Meats by K-Ming Chang (currently reading)
poetic prose that is cutting and intimate about girlhood and obsession.
Are You Listening? by Tillie Walden
Walden is my favourite graphic novelist. This story is wonderfully personal, evocative, uncanny, and eerie. The fantasy feels so real and devastating.
Salt Slow by Julia Armfield
another collection of short stories that left me breathless. I also have developed an obsession with titles involving the word “salt”.
Dragon Palace by Hiromi Kawakami
incredibly otherworldly short story collection, sometimes fun sometimes terrifying, but always transformative.
Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century by Kim Fu
“the strange is made familiar and the familiar strange” is a very apt description for this short story collection.
Terminal Boredom: Stories by Izumi Suzuki
a cult figure in Japanese lit for a reason, these stories are imaginative, intelligent, all with striking social commentary.
Fist of the Spider Woman edited by Amber Dawn
“Tales of Fear and Queer Desire” - a lambda literary award finalist, it is a terrifying and tantalizing short story collection.
Have Not Read:
The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon
Bad Houses by John Elizabeth Stintzi
Butter by Asako Yuzuki
The Killing Moon by N.K. Jemisin
Never Whistle at Night by Shane Hawk
Grey Dog by Elliot Gish
The Vegetarian by Han Kang
Mothering by Ainslie Hogarth
Nineteen Claws and a Black Bird by Agustina Bazterrica
Parallel Hells by Leon Craig
All of the book links are to Iron Dog Books, my local bookstore. If you’re not supporting your local library by borrowing your books, support an indie bookstore! This one happens to be particularly lovely.
Thanks for reading!
xx,
Ciara