Interview with Author Deborah Sheldon: Bodily Harm (2025)
A highly skilled and versatile writer with an astonishing list of accomplishments, Deborah Sheldon provides eloquent insights into her crime-horror novel Bodily Harm.
Bodily Harm
Survival has a price… Is Cara ready to pay it?
From the moment she feels a gun barrel shoved into her back, Cara Haynes is thrown into the brutal world of vicious criminals and the police officers tough enough to pursue them.
Cara has lived in Melbourne just a few weeks when she survives an armed robbery at her local pizzeria. Traumatised, afraid and alone, Cara’s lifeline is Mick Thompson, a detective from the Armed Offence Squad, whose compulsion to find these violent offenders keeps him awake at night. But soon, Cara doesn’t know the difference between safety and danger…
Written by award-winning author Deborah Sheldon, Bodily Harm is a fast-paced, savage, and disturbing read where one woman’s nightmare becomes a detective’s obsession.
“Sheldon has an uncanny gift for unnerving imagery and story” – Aurealis Magazine
The Interview
1. Melbourne. Combining the description of Bodily Harm (above) with your bio (below), I see that your novel takes place in your hometown. For those unfamiliar, how would you describe Melbourne as a city? What’s its significance in your story? Why did you decide to make Cara a newcomer in town? As the story progresses, Cara thinks more than once it may be “time to move back to the country.” Through Cara’s perspective and experiences, is the novel critical of urban conditions? Why or why not?
DS: Melbourne has a well-deserved international reputation for culture and food. Bordered by the Yarra River as well as lush parks and gardens, the city is at its best in spring and summer. Melbourne is also one of my main characters in Bodily Harm, which is why the story takes place in winter! My protagonist, Cara, is literally and figuratively dwarfed by Melbourne’s size, sprawl, greyness and chill. She enjoys some of Melbourne’s high points—good restaurants, for example, feature quite often—but her isolation in “the big city” contributes to her anxiety and affects her decision-making.
In my fiction, I often look for ways to sever characters from any meaningful kinds of support because this allows me to put them under stress. My collection Liminal Spaces: Horror Stories (IFWG, 2022) focuses on this in particular; the stories feature characters who have left the familiar behind and are scared of what might lie ahead. That’s what really frightens us, don’t you think? The unknown in all its countless guises.
Cara’s desire for comfort and security is why she keeps thinking about returning to the countryside. Her perspective is similar to mine, in that I find country towns appealing, too. I’ve talked to my husband about life after his retirement and floated the idea of moving out of Melbourne. Victoria has many beautiful towns. And, naturally, some of these towns have wonderful restaurants, bistros and pubs. I couldn’t possibly live anywhere that didn’t have great places to eat.
2. Coppers and Crims. Your book’s opening “Notes & Warnings” are careful to point out that the police departments you portray “are fictitious, and do not reflect the structure, operations or philosophy of any actual police department.” Nevertheless, your fiction is convincing: did you research police behaviors and organizational structures and operations? Why or why not? What inspired the speech patterns and slang that help create your police culture? You emphasize the fictitious nature of your depictions, I think, at least in part because you portray deep corruption. How common do you think the “I can do what I want” attitude expressed by some of the police in your novel really is, and why do you hold that view? How often do you think police cover up the misdeeds of other police? Why?
DS: Back in the nineties, I worked as a researcher and scriptwriter of crime reenactments for the TV show Australia’s Most Wanted. For about 18 months, I worked with over 400 police officers across two states and immersed myself in heinous unsolved crimes including murder, armed robbery, and rape. The experience felt important—who wouldn’t want the chance to bring criminals to justice?—but emotionally grueling. Afterwards, to exorcise the violence from my psyche, I wrote the screenplay BODILY HARM. It was optioned but not made into a film. Subsequently, I reworked the screenplay into the novel Bodily Harm. To flesh out my police departments, I leaned on my experiences from the TV show, cherry-picked operational procedures from a range of police forces across Australia, and sprinkled a bit of artistic license wherever necessary to service my story.
My background is scriptwriting, and I’ve had short plays produced as well. Dialogue is a passion of mine! I’ve always paid attention to how people talk and try to capture regional and idiosyncratic speech patterns in my prose fiction. Dialogue is one of the best ways to flesh out a character. There are plenty of linguistic tools to choose from, but I’ve got a few favourites. For example, Anglo-Saxon words (baby, help, teach, youth) versus Latinate words (infant, assist, educate, adolescent); vulgarity (shit, arsehole) versus profanity (Christ on a bike); and passive (how can I help you?) versus active phrasing (what do you want?). For Bodily Harm, I gave each detective their own way of speaking and wrote up a “ready reckoner” that listed, for instance, every character’s favourite obscenities. My zombie novel Body Farm Z (Severed Press, 2020) is another example of how I individualise dialogue across a wide cast. A main character was a Finn with English as a second language, and I had fun researching and writing his speech patterns.
In my “Notes & Warnings” at the start of Bodily Harm, I emphasise the fictitious nature of my police departments simply because they are fictitious. I wouldn’t want the reader to think I’ve faithfully reproduced Melbourne’s police culture like a documentary. Bodily Harm is a novel, and I’ve used my imagination for dramatic effect.
Globally, police departments must deal with corruption to varying degrees, and Australia’s no exception. Lord Acton’s quote “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely” is one of my novel’s themes. While I have respect for Australian police, it would be naïve to assume that all officers obey the law. Not everyone joins the police force for altruistic reasons, and weak-minded individuals who might start out with good intentions can be manipulated or intimidated by stronger personalities. A cop may become bent in a hundred different ways, but Bodily Harm explores the idea of the “boys’ club,” where machismo is reinforced and magnified inside a vacuum.
That said, Australia has a robust history of confronting and rooting out systemic corruption. I’m confident that we have some of the cleanest police forces in the world, comparatively speaking. But no longer some of the toughest. Parliaments and the judiciary exert a lot of influence on law enforcement, and I believe them to be mostly responsible whenever crime gets out of hand.
3. Toxic Masculinity. Many men in your novel behave very… badly. Are they examples of masculinity that happens to be toxic, or do they reveal something toxic within masculinity? Why do you think so? Is the tendency among men toward intimidating and aggressive behavior you depict amplified or merely exposed by being police? If it’s amplified, does a policeman’s public service, for which he faces so much violence and risk, excuse his proneness to aggression at all? If it’s merely exposed—and this toxicity lies in a potential state in most, if not all men—how should society respond?
DS: I don’t believe that masculinity is inherently toxic. Many of the best people I’ve ever known happen to be men, including my husband and adult son! But toxicity, regardless of sex, is part of the human condition. I’m an avid reader and writer of noir fiction, which proposes that the seed to a person’s destruction lies dormant within their personality, waiting for the right catalyst. Sometimes, that catalyst never arises. Bodily Harm explores what happens when it does.
One of the characters in Bodily Harm argues that police officers have to be scary. “Career crims are tough and mean,” she says. “The police who go after them have to be tougher and meaner.” That happens to be my belief, too. What’s the point of having a police force if hardened criminals laugh at it? But the downside of a “tough” police force includes rotten apples who will take things too far. Is there a way to keep everything in optimal balance? None that I know of.
One of my main characters, a detective, thinks he deserves a “free pass” because of the violence and lethal threats he faces on a daily basis. And isn’t pinning down that degree of “free pass” the crux of the West’s recent arguments about police power versus police brutality? While I don’t have any answers, Bodily Harm might offer the reader some interesting questions.
4. Endemic Sexism. Cara experiences sexism when she deals with police, but she also seems to face it at work. Why? Does her story relate to recent historical attempts to call attention to the widespread harassment and abuse of women in the workplace and beyond (such as #YesAllWomen)? Men in your novel often think of women as “bitches” and “sheilas” (a term some find offensive and others don’t). What do you think of these terms, and how do they characterize the men who apply them? Late in the book, a character comments, “‘Men beat up their women every day.’” What’s wrong with Australian—and American—society that makes this comment true? What, if anything, can people do about it?
DS: A deep dive into sexism is beyond the scope of this interview, but sex defines how the world treats you. Bodily Harm is, in part, an exploration of what it’s like to move through society as a woman or a man. In my experience—and I’m in my late-fifties—there’s very little overlap. What that says about society is up to the individual to decide.
In Aussie lingo, “sheila” is another word for “woman” and isn’t necessarily a pejorative. That said, women around the world are routinely subjected to sexual violence, and my character who says “Men beat up their women every day” is only stating a horrifying fact. Sexual violence is not so much a problem endemic to Australian or American societies, but a problem within human nature itself. Can sexual violence ever be stamped out? I don’t know. At the very least, our laws need to be stronger. We’ve made huge strides in, for example, the reduction in cigarette smoking by using regulations and social pressure. Ingrained cultural attitudes can change, yes, but great effort is required and the effort must be vigilantly sustained across decades.
We have a long way to go, but let’s appreciate how far we’ve come since, say, 1902 when Australian women achieved the right to vote. It’s important to recognise that Western societies such as Australia and America, while not perfect, still offer women a greater amount of freedom, autonomy and safety compared to many other countries. We’re definitely on the right track.
5. Trading Freedom for Safety. After Cara survives an armed robbery, as the book description says, she enters a world of police and criminals, and her reliance on police, not all of whom are honest, makes her feel like she’s losing her “agency,” her freedom, possibly herself. Does the safety that police offer necessarily carry such a cost, or does Cara just get unlucky? Do you think of Cara’s situation, losing freedom in the hope of gaining safety, as a microcosm of larger sociopolitical exchanges of personal autonomy for safety when governments hand more power—particularly unchecked power, which some police in your novel seem to have—to police and/or military forces? Why or why not? Might anyone feel as compromised as Cara when thrust into a system in which ordinary civilians have so little power?
DS: Trusting in the goodness of other people is often rewarded. So, I think Cara’s experience is unlucky, a bad roll of the dice. It’s interesting that you bring up the dichotomy of freedom versus safety, as I’m reminded of Benjamin Franklin’s well-known quote, “Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.” Harsh words, but are they true? Well… yes, probably. Gifting your agency into the hands of someone else can certainly be dangerous. What if you trust the wrong person? Or, on a larger scale, what if you trust the wrong government? Unchecked power is one of Bodily Harm’s themes. Losing one’s individual agency is another.
Helplessness is a subject I return to often in my fiction. For example, my novel Cretaceous Canyon (Severed Press, 2023) puts a range of very different characters into a highly stressful and dangerous situation and explores the reactions that being helpless draws out of them. The novel I’m writing at the moment is perhaps my deepest dive into helplessness from a character-based perspective. On a broader scale, my novella Redhead Town (which is being re-released by Twisted Dreams Press) is about government overreach and the difficulties an individual faces when trying to “fight the Man.” Freedom versus safety is a running theme across my fiction, as it happens to be one of my philosophical preoccupations.
6. Sexual Violence. Your introductory “Notes & Warnings” point toward sexual violence ahead, and while I won’t give away the situation, I will say that it is disturbing. In the interest of disclosure and avoiding hypocrisy, I’ll say I’ve written worse, but I want your perspective: why write graphic sexual violence? Why do people want to read it? I was struck by how the violence you depict dehumanizes the criminal as well as the victim. The offender appears animalistic, even demonic. Do you think such violence dehumanizes one more than the other, the perpetrator or the victim? Dehumanization continues long after the act because the perpetrator seems totally oblivious to wrongdoing. Is the perpetrator’s failure to recognize sexual violence as violence sexism? Narcissism? Sociopathy? Something else? Some combination?
DS: Australian publishers refuse to consider a story that includes sexual violence. My scene is brief, only a few paragraphs, but it’s a significant plot event. While Bodily Harm was praised by commissioning editors from various Australian publishers, only an American press would dare publish it. Currently, Australia is experiencing a spike in domestic violence, so much so that the federal government has asked for suggestions on what can be done about it. Well, here’s my two cents: let authors write about sexual assault. Australian publishers, please stop rejecting novels that include any examples of it. If we’re to make headway as a society, we need the freedom to talk openly about ugly subjects.
And yes, I see where you’re coming from about dehumanisation in Bodily Harm, but in my view, only the offender is objectively dehumanised. Later, my perpetrator seems oblivious to his crime because he’s inured to violence and used to compartmentalising his behaviour. And isn’t that a skill all humans have to some degree: the ability to rationalise wrong, selfish or evil acts? Most people think more highly of themselves than they should.
7. Déjà Vu: Trauma Circles. The armed robbery at the novel’s beginning leaves Cara traumatized, and one symptom of her post-traumatic stress is repetitive flashbacks to the event. The novel deepens its exploration of trauma as Cara experiences more traumatic events and more and more symptoms of stress, feeling like her life is cyclical, coming back to what is more or less the same trauma again and again. What inspired you to write what amounts to a fairly significant account of trauma psychology? You have a background in medical writing—did that experience and/or related research skills come into play? The main villain of the piece turns out to be trapped in his own sort of trauma cycle, but I’d say that while Cara’s responses to trauma make her more sympathetic, his don’t make me feel any keener on him. Why do you think that is?
DS: As an author of crime and horror fiction, trauma features significantly in my work. You’re right that my decades of medical writing tend to factor into my fiction; I’ve always been deeply fascinated by human psychology, and trauma responses are central to that study. If I hadn’t loved writing so much, I may have chosen a career in behavioural psychology. On a personal level, I’m approaching 60 years of age, so I’ve been through a fair whack of trauma myself, and I’m sure there’s plenty more to come.
One of the ways I process uncomfortable emotions is via writing. The exploration of terrible things happening to my characters helps me make sense of this chaotic, random universe. The human brain is built to always look for patterns, so when you have a psychic wound, similar experiences automatically reinjure you, over and over. Bodily Harm touches upon trauma cycles for Cara, plus the villain, and other main characters.
I try not to “black hat” my bad guys. In fact, one of the bad guys in Bodily Harm considers himself a hero deserving of praise. Is that objectively true? Well, I’d rather allow the reader to come to their own conclusions about how sympathetic, or otherwise, my characters may be.
8. Randomness. Bodily Harm is scary in a number of ways, but what scared me most is a moment late in the novel when Cara muses that the chain of horrible events she experiences began with a random stop for a slice of pizza. Deciding to eat pizza could destroy your life. The idea seems as absurd as it seems true—how much did you consider the deep, voidy, existential horror in this idea about the power of random chance? If the chain of events begins by mere chance, is it meaningless? Why or why not? Might Cara find anything redemptive in her experiences? If so, how? If not, how dark is your novel really?
DS: Oh, existential dread is my jam! Here’s an example: when I was a young woman, I had a work friend who lived on the other side of the city. There were two routes I could take to drive home. After every visit, I’d sit in my car for a while and contemplate which route I’d choose, fretting that one of them might put me into a traffic accident. But which one? And one day, I chose the wrong route; an impatient driver, trying to overtake me, scraped his car alongside mine and smashed off my side mirror. While exchanging details, I kept thinking I should have picked the other route, but how could I have known? Our inability to predict the future is what fuels existential dread.
Yes, deciding to buy a pizza is the catalyst for Cara’s journey throughout Bodily Harm. Something so innocuous, so banal as pizza… Everything in our present reality depends on historical events happening in the exact way that they did. Who hasn’t got multiple stories of something mundane leading to a life-changing circumstance? Events feel meaningful because that’s how the human brain is wired: to find patterns, and make sense from chaos. But is the universe built on meaning or chance? Unfortunately for me, I believe that it’s chance, which is mildly terrifying. I rely on the philosophy of Stoicism and, in particular, the practices of amor fati and memento mori to cope with my anxiety about that.
9. Knowing People. Another rather dark thread that runs through your novel is the idea that people’s surfaces, who they seem to be when you meet them, can hide completely different personalities underneath. How much caution does your novel suggest we—and perhaps especially women—should use when approaching new people? For that matter, the novel shows longstanding relationships built on lies. Can we ever truly know other people? Is trust ever safe? How paranoid should we be?
DS: Carl Jung popularised the idea of “personas,” basically, that an individual creates various masks as “interfaces” between their own personality and the outside world. Of course, we all know that’s true. For example, how you speak to different people—mother, best friend, lover, child, boss, stranger—will differ wildly depending on the context.
I don’t have any “advice” about how to approach new people. But in Bodily Harm, Cara’s experiences aren’t particularly great. If asked, she would probably say it isn’t possible to really know another person, that trust is often misplaced, and one should always maintain paranoia to a certain degree. And even then, a “bad guy,” who’s accustomed to wearing masks, could slip past your defences.
10. Access! How can readers learn more about you and your works (please provide any links you want to share)?
DS: My website lists my publications and offers the opportunity to sign up for my monthly newsletter with e-book giveaways: https://deborahsheldon.wordpress.com/
Then there’s my:
- Facebook account run on my behalf – https://www.facebook.com/people/Deborah-Sheldon/100063653647844/
- Goodreads account – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3312459.Deborah_Sheldon
- Amazon Author Page – https://www.amazon.com/stores/Deborah-Sheldon/author/B0035MWQ98
About the Author
DEBORAH SHELDON is a multi-award-winning author and anthology editor from Melbourne, Australia. She writes poems, short stories, novellas and novels across the darker spectrum of horror, crime and noir. Her award-nominated titles include the novels Cretaceous Canyon, Body Farm Z, Contrition, and Devil Dragon; the novella Thylacines; and collections Figments and Fragments: Dark Stories, and Liminal Spaces: Horror Stories. Her latest titles are the crime-horror novel Bodily Harm and the anthology Spawn 2: More Weird Horror Tales About Pregnancy, Birth and Babies. Forthcoming in 2025 is her collection The Broonie and Other Dark Poems.
Deb’s collection Perfect Little Stitches and Other Stories won the Australian Shadows “Best Collected Work” Award, was shortlisted for an Aurealis Award, and long-listed for a Bram Stoker. Her short fiction has been widely published, shortlisted for numerous Australian Shadows and Aurealis Awards, translated, and included in various “best of” anthologies.
Deb has won the Australian Shadows “Best Edited Work” Award three times: for Midnight Echo 14; and for the two anthologies she conceived and edited, Spawn: Weird Horror Tales About Pregnancy, Birth and Babies, and Killer Creatures Down Under: Horror Stories with Bite.
Other credits include feature articles for magazines, non-fiction books (Reed Books, Random House), TV scripts such as NEIGHBOURS, stage plays, award-nominated poetry, and award-winning script editing and medical writing. Visit Deb at http://deborahsheldon.wordpress.com