Conversation with Julian Quaglia

Julian has been enthralled with science fiction ever since he booted up Starcraft for the first time. He started writing during the COVID lockdown. He lives in Calgary, Alberta, with his partner and two cats.

Julian is the author of "Terminal Lucidity” from Issue 10.

Q: You shared that you began writing science fiction after “a voyage into the mysterious world of pain neuroscience.” Please tell us more about this journey.

The majority of our actual curriculum in the physiotherapy program went something like this:

Pain means there’s a problem with [X] tissue. Fix this problem and the pain will go away.

It wasn’t very far into my second placement that I realized there was much more to the picture—that the people seeking care were more than cars to be diagnosed and repaired. There was an entire, complex world to each of them that I felt extremely ill-equipped to deal with. I was feeling very cynical and jaded with the whole enterprise, and it was only during the final months—in an elective, no less—that I was introduced to the emerging neuroscience and phenomenology of pain.

We’ve still got a lot to learn, but pain is currently understood to be something far more complex and multifactorial than we once assumed. It’s a conscious output based on countless inputs, including our thoughts and beliefs, our expectations and fears, our support systems and our coping mechanisms. The list goes on and on. Trying to wrap my head around pain was a natural segue into metaphysics, ontology, and psychology—all themes I love exploring through speculative narratives.

Q: As a physiotherapist, you’re interested in “the complexity of pain” and that this informs your practice. How this idea influence “Terminal Lucidity”?

Outpatient physiotherapy is a privatized service. There is the regrettable element of ‘selling’ yourself to anyone who seeks treatment. To further complicate matters, research into therapeutic outcomes demonstrates that the intervention being delivered doesn’t really matter as much as how you’re delivering it. Whether a patient likes/trusts their practitioner has more bearing on their outcomes and satisfaction than all other variables. It’s basically the placebo effect asserting itself as one of the most powerful therapeutic tools. Naturally, this raises all sorts of ethical questions.

Terminal Lucidity was basically an exploration of this dilemma (with the added wrinkle that the patients, in this case, don’t have the agency to make decisions): an intervention that doesn’t do what it purports to do, but so long as everyone is buying into it, can produce tangible benefit.

Q: Where did the initial spark for “Terminal Lucidity” come from?

I was listening to a podcast one morning about the actual medical phenomenon. I found it really interesting. There’s always some corporation or individual looking to commercialize a scientific breakthrough; once I had that as a premise, the characters/plot started growing out from my experience in medicine.

Q: One of the most striking things about your story is it takes a hard look at what we’re willing to pay for—closure, connection, a sense of control . . . what questions or ideas do you hope readers grapple with after finishing it?

I think the answer is right there in the question. Here’s a guy who’s sacrificed some of the most basic and cherished principles that a scientist or practitioner can hold. I certainly would like to believe that I’d be as upstanding in my principles as Corey, but I don’t think anyone can really know how far they’d go until they’re thrown into the same situation. How slippery are morals and values when you’re isolated, alone, and barely hanging on?

Q: Did writing this story shift your own feelings about memory, agency, or medical care in any way?

I’d say I’m pretty staunchly aligned with Corey’s perspective in this story, that ethical healthcare demands an honest and earnest effort to translate the mechanics, risks, and benefits of a proposed intervention. The tricky part, and where I think I’m sometimes too obstinate, is figuring out how much a patient really needs to know. What is the balance between leveraging the placebo effect—our brains’ remarkable power to induce real change through belief and expectation—and being factually accurate? Does that balance change if I’m struggling to make rent? It’s a rich and dynamic grey area. Even Corey, in the end, takes it upon himself to send off Angelo with artificially facilitated happiness.

Q: What can we expect next from you in your writing practice? Are there any projects you’re currently working on?

I’ve been chipping away at a novel for the better part of the last year and a half. It’s a science fiction piece dealing with memory, mindfulness, and free will. Whenever I reach a sufficient level of frustration or fatigue with it, I pivot to sketching or cracking open some short story or flash fiction ideas that’ve been bouncing around in my head.

Q: Do you have any hot takes or emotions regarding the Bioshock series?

How long can my answers be again? I don’t know if I have any hot takes, but I could sit here and gush about it for hours. The famous revelation near the end of the first game stands alone as the most memorable experience I’ve ever had with a piece of art—any medium.

I had to set my controller down and pace for a few minutes before returning. The way it exploits your sense of agency and will and completely turns it on its head . . . I don’t think that particularly experience could be achieved in any medium outside of video games (incidentally, that’s one reason I’ve set my expectations to low for the upcoming movie).

Q: What music best helps you tap into your creative mode?

Video game soundtracks! I’ve got a few playlists curated for different moods. They’re a perfect blend of atmospheric and non-linguistic; they can really transport me to some interesting places without interrupting my train of thought. Some personal favorites are Halo [Michael Salvatori and Martin O’Donnell], Mass Effect [Jack Wall], Surviving Mars [George Strezov], Ori and the Blind Forest [Gareth Coker], and Starcraft: Brood War [Glenn Stafford].