Escape Pod 1024: Some Things I Should Probably Have Mentioned Earlier (LIVE) (Flashback) - Escape Pod

Escape Pod 1024: “Some Things I Should Probably Have Mentioned Earlier (LIVE)”

Podcast: Escape Pod by Escape Artists Foundation
Air Date: December 18, 2025
Story by: Laura Perlman
Host: Alastair
Special Segment by: Summer Fletcher
Recording: Live at Worldcon 2018

Episode Overview

This milestone episode closes a year-long retrospective celebrating Escape Pod’s 20 years. Presented as a Flashback Friday, it features Laura Perlman’s darkly comic and subversive science fiction story “Some Things I Should Probably Have Mentioned Earlier” performed live at Worldcon. The episode also includes Summer Fletcher’s reflections on community and authenticity, and a heartfelt commentary by the host, Alastair, who gives “20 reasons” why the story—and Escape Pod—endures.

Key Segments & Discussion Points

1. Introduction & Context

[00:31] Alastair introduces the story, noting its significance as the final major “big number” highlight of the year and Laura Perlman’s credentials as both a speculative fiction writer and Escape Pod’s future Cat’s Cast editor.
The episode is framed as a celebration of Escape Pod’s history, connections, and impact on science fiction storytelling and podcasting.

2. Main Story: “Some Things I Should Probably Have Mentioned Earlier”

[01:27] Laura Perlman (Live Reading)

Synopsis

The story is presented as a confessional “Dear Kevin” letter from Lyssa, an alien who has been living undercover in human form, to her now-estranged human husband.
The letter details Lyssa’s deep discomfort at their vacation cabin (the sights, sounds, and rituals of nature are deeply alien), and admits to keeping her true identity secret since the start of their relationship.
Lyssa outlines the elaborate measures taken by her species to blend in on Earth, the difficulty of mimicking “arbitrary” human food preferences, the importance of cover stories, and the weight of maintaining their masquerade.
A turning point arrives with Lyssa’s unexpected pregnancy—an interspecies feat made possible by her expert mimicry. She confesses she had hoped Kevin was also undercover, but genetic analysis confirms his humanity.
The story becomes darker as Lyssa reveals the mounting familial and cultural pressures (including her family’s hostility towards Kevin and preference for raising the child apart from him), the strain of secrets, and ultimately, Kevin’s fate: he will be killed and consumed as their child’s first solid meal—a macabre yet oddly loving tradition.

Notable Quotes & Moments

On the alienating sounds of nature:

“The sound of crickets at night makes my skin crawl. They sound like impending doom, like a critical piece of equipment being worn down by friction, or a thousand tiny voices hoarse from screaming, reduced to a raspy warning chant in some ancient language.”
— Laura Perlman as Lyssa [01:46]
On blending in:

“We spoke human languages, ate human food, and molded ourselves into closer and closer approximations of human shapes.”
— Laura Perlman as Lyssa [03:45]
Alien horror-comedy, the pregnancy reveal:

“I'm sure you understand why we can't let you go. I know the basement can get a little chilly, but you shouldn't be there much longer...you will nourish her. Tonight, when her teeth have completely hardened, you'll have the honor of being her first solid meal.”
— Laura Perlman as Lyssa [12:49]

Timestamps

01:27 – 13:13: Entire story delivered in one continuous letter

3. Summer Fletcher’s Reflection on Community & Authenticity

[13:13] Summer Fletcher

Summary

Summer draws a direct connection between the story’s themes of pretending, belonging, and authenticity, and the real dynamics of sci-fi fandom communities (particularly at conventions like Worldcon).
She observes that everyone—even among “their people”—still masks and mimics to fit in, just as Lyssa did. These social adaptations both help and hinder true connection.
The challenge: drop the mimicry, embrace difference, and create a space where “our people” can include “your people”—thus expanding what community means.

Notable Moment

On the limits of mimicry and the value of honesty:

“Either in subtle ways like Strellurian stem cells matching just enough to make a half human baby, or in performative ways like putting a false horn on a real unicorn to make them see the Unicorn. A lot of us are a little awkward, and these mimics keep the social machine running smoothly. But if something’s wrong, that same protective shell becomes the barrier.”
— Summer Fletcher [14:33]
The aspirational call:

“The more we share the vast range of our experiences, the greater our possibilities become. So if you're here today at this con, or not listening now, or years from now, and you're thinking about what you should have said, maybe it's not too late to show up as you are.”
— Summer Fletcher [15:56]

Timestamps

13:13 – 16:26: Summer Fletcher’s segment

4. Alastair’s “20 Reasons” That Celebrate Story and Community

[16:26] Alastair

Highlights

Alastair gives a heartfelt, sometimes humorous list of 20 reasons he loves Perlman’s story and what it represents for Escape Pod, ranging from structural brilliance (“a Dear John letter with a sci-fi twist”) to its careful balance of horror and humor (“the teeth!”), and the significance of live readings.
He reminisces about the Worldcon event where it was recorded, sharing behind-the-scenes moments involving community, resistance against bigotry, and the bonds fandom creates.
The importance of community hosts, especially Summer Fletcher and the Escape Artists family, are emphasized as “vital” but “difficult” work that “gets done because we keep trying.”
The final reason restates Summer’s point: the value of showing up as yourself, wherever and whenever you are.

Notable Quotes

On the story’s genre subversion:

“This starts as what is called in the UK a Dear John letter...that element of it is as carefully tempered as the rest, and it's never played for laughs, which somehow makes it both funnier and darker.”
— Alastair [16:32]
On the ad-free, donation-driven podcast model:

“We are a twenty-year-old impossibility, a company powered by donations who give their work away for free but pay their artists for their time. That...makes it very easy to forget how cool this job is sometimes. This reminded me.”
— Alastair [18:32]
The episode’s key message:

“The more we share the vast range of our experiences, the greater our possibilities become. So if you're here today at this con, or not listening now, or years from now, and you're thinking about what you should have said, maybe it's not too late to show up as you are.”
— Summer Fletcher, quoted by Alastair [19:30]

Timestamps

16:26 – 20:44: Alastair’s 20 reasons, reflection, and conclusion

Memorable Moments & Quotes

Alien food faux pas as insight into identity:

“I brought out the saltiest fruit. We had a jar of olives. Oops. I seem to mess up a lot during meals with your family.”
— Lyssa [05:07]
Stralurian family dynamics, both alien and recognizably human:

“Three of them wanted to kill you outright; the others just wanted me to leave you...I refused to go along. I was sure our love was strong enough to withstand this challenge. Half of all marriages end in divorce, and I was determined that ours wouldn't be one of them.”
— Lyssa [09:11]
Satirical horror climax:

"You will nourish her. Tonight, when her teeth have completely hardened, you'll have the honor of being her first solid meal. All well, some of my love, Lyssa.”
— Lyssa [12:56]

Thematic Takeaways

The Price of Pretending: Both story and commentary tie the dangers of relentless mimicry—whether for survival, belonging, or love—to the loss of authentic connection and big, often dark consequences.
Fandom as Found Family: The podcast weaves fiction and community, celebrating how sci-fi spaces simultaneously demand and resist “otherness,” ultimately striving to be inclusive (if imperfectly).
What We Don’t Say Matters: A recurrent call encourages listeners to “show up as you are” and to risk being honest—because integrating our hidden selves lets community and possibility flourish.

Conclusion

“Some Things I Should Probably Have Mentioned Earlier (LIVE)” is both a hilarious and harrowing meditation on identity, belonging, and honesty—and a microcosm of the Escape Pod mission itself: telling stories that merge the wildest fantastical elements with the rawest truths of being human (or alien). The episode celebrates both the journey of one podcast and the complex, flawed, but ultimately hopeful communities that grow up around stories—urging all to show up, share, and escape together.

Transcript

Laura Perlman (0:02)

Escape pod episode 1024 some things I Should probably have Mentioned Earlier By Laura Perlman Flashback Friday.

Alastair (0:31)

Hello folks. Welcome to Escape Pod. I'm Alastair, your host and this week's story is the last of our year long tour of some of the big numbers from EscapePod's 20 year to date voyage. This last one comes to us from Laura Pillman. Laura's short fiction has appeared in Nature Shimmer, Flash Fiction Online and a handful of other places. Her lolcat captions have appeared in McSweeney's. She has a tragically neglected blog called Unlikely Explanations, can be found on Bluesky Aurasbad Ideas, and is the editor of our fifth show, Cat's Cast. This story was recorded live at Worldcon in 2018, so you should maybe know up front. The audience response audio does sound a little bit crunchy, but don't worry about it, because here's Laura and here are some things we all need to know because it's story time.

Laura Perlman (1:27)

Some things I probably should have mentioned earlier. By Laura Perlman Dear Kevin, I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you this, but I really hate your vacation cabin. Everything about it creeps me out. The sound of crickets at night makes my skin crawl. They sound like impending doom, like a critical piece of equipment being worn down by friction, or a thousand tiny voices hoarse from screaming, reduced to a raspy warning chant in some ancient language. The crickets aren't the only problem. The smell of so much wood in one place makes my eyes burn. And is it really necessary to throw pinecones into the fireplace? Are the burnt wood fumes not overpowering enough? I used to lie awake at night fantasizing about finding whoever came up with that idea, grinding them up, feeding them to the crickets, and then gathering up the crickets, stuffing them into the fireplace, burning the cabin down and watching from a safe distance upwind. Of course. Do crickets even eat meat? You probably know you grew up with all this, that's why you're comfortable with it. I'm not. To me, it's alien and disturbing. I wish I'd told you this the first time you took me there, right after we started dating. But your friends were having such a good time. I wanted to be the fun girlfriend who liked what everyone else liked. It must seem strange that I'm bringing this up now when neither of us will ever go back there. I mention it because saying I loved your cabin set off the chain of events that led us to where we are today. It wasn't the first lie I told you, of course. But the others were just my cover story. I wish I'd been honest with you then. I wish I'd had the courage to tell you who and what I am. I wish I'd shown you images of the different shapes I'd taken before committing myself to human form. I wish I'd been able to make you feel the joy and freedom that comes with flowing from one shape to another. And the profound sense of loss I felt when I gave that up. I wish I'd been able to share what life was like on the ship. It was a total immersive experience. We spoke human languages, ate human food, and molded ourselves into closer and closer approximations of human shapes. With human form instructors as our guides. We read your literature, tapped into your networks and watched your videos. We received our cover stories and fashioned our human personalities. One of the hardest things to master was food preferences. They're just so arbitrary. Remember the time your sister came over for dinner and we made chocolate fondue for dessert? We started with apple slices, orange sections and strawberries. Then Janice wanted to try dipping something salty, so I brought out the saltiest fruit. We had a jar of olives. Oops. I seem to mess up a lot during meals with your family. I'm sorry I laughed at your uncle at that first Thanksgiving dinner. I know you wanted me to ignore him, but information gathering is my job. I just couldn't keep a straight face. If he only knew. My people are far more illegal and far more alien than anyone he was ranting about. And believe me, we're not here to steal anyone's jobs. I won't go so far as to say that I should have told you our plan. Not our complete plan, but the research phase is scheduled to continue for another 73 years. We're nothing if not methodical. And I could have just said we were here to learn more about you. I should have told you at least that much when I found out I was pregnant. I honestly hadn't believed that was possible. And then I remembered something I'd read during the journey to this planet. The ship was stocked with most of your classic literature, including a story about a husband and wife who exchanged gifts. He sold his watch to buy her a hair accessory. She sold her hair to buy him a watch accessory. It was supposed to convey irony, I think. For a long time after I read it, I thought human hair stopped growing in adulthood. Otherwise, the story lacks symmetry. The husband is permanently deprived of his watch, but the wife's hair will grow back with no Effort on her part. I thought perhaps you and I were like the characters in that story. Maybe this wasn't an interspecies pregnancy after all. I'd spent the last four and a half years deceiving my apparently human spouse into thinking I was human. Maybe you'd been doing the same. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that this was true. I began to make preparations for the traditional Stralurian pregnancy announcement ritual pared down for just the two of us. I planned a feast of guinea pigs and salamanders, the closest things I could find to our traditional delicacies. I thought we'd break the rules just this once and gorge ourselves on live meat at the same time. Just as a formality, really. I collected hair and cell samples while you slept and took them in for analysis. I repeated the test three times and the results were devastating. You were totally and undeniably human. Dr. Tran says we were able to produce that tiny zygote because my human cell mimicry was so accurate. And it was able to survive because human stem cells are almost as malleable as ours. I should have told you all this gradually throughout the course of the pregnancy. I had so many opportunities to do so. When you asked why I wouldn't even consider your sister's obstetrician, I could have told you everything and explained that Dr. Tran was the only Strillerian physician in the area. But what if you didn't believe me? I convinced myself at the time that it would be better to wait for the ultrasound. We'd watch together, and you'd see the baby stretch and contract and reshape itself. As the day of the ultrasound approached, I became more and more preoccupied with my own fears. What if. What if there was a human fetus inside me with one of those enormous human baby heads? I've seen how you people give birth. I began having nightmares about one of those things bursting out of me. I was awash in the sea of fear and regret. That's why I forgot to tell you that I'd rescheduled the appointment. I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was to see the images of our perfect little angel flowing into an oval, an almost cube and an adorably lopsided dodecahedron before returning to her resting spherical form. I'm sorry things were so tense when my relatives arrived right before my due date. They've never approved of this marriage. My parents hated the idea of a human raising their grandchild. Three of them wanted to kill you out right the others just wanted me to leave you. The only thing they agreed about was how irresponsible I'd been. Getting pregnant, getting married, even the way I'd made decisions back on the ship. To be fair, they were right about that last bit. I don't know. You pick one for me is probably the worst possible answer you can give when asked to select a gender. Eventually, they reached a compromise. They concocted an elaborate plan for me to fake my own death, leave the country, and raise our baby alone. They arranged everything. New passport, plane ticket, apartment, even a new wardrobe. And wrote a new cover story for me. I refused to go along with it. I was sure our love was strong enough to withstand this challenge. Half of all marriages end in divorce, and I was determined that ours wouldn't be one of them. I should have planned a better distraction for you when I confronted my family. Leaving you alone with my parent adject, sorry, I mean, Uncle Roger was a mistake. He's not as bad as your uncle, but he does love to talk. And he tends to forget some of your more nonsensical cultural taboos. I should have warned him not to tell his war stories. And especially not the parts about feasting on his fallen enemies. Seriously, what's wrong with that? It's not like they're going to be any less dead if we left their bodies to rot. And as I tried to explain, we maintain proper hygiene, eating only healthy people we've slain in battle, not anyone who's died from disease. Arguing with you about that was a mistake. That's valuable time I could have spent telling you about my background and what to expect with the baby. And then I went into labor and it was too late to say much of anything at all. Still, I was sure you'd come around once our baby was born. A powerful love for our offspring is something our two species have in common. I didn't expect you to freak out at the sight of a few baby teeth. Yes, they appear within minutes of birth, instead of however long it takes for your kind. And yes, they're longer and pointier and more numerous than you're accustomed to. But that's a perfectly natural phase of infant development. For the next couple weeks, she'll be flopping around, all teeth and digestive tract, eating everything in sight to support her neonatal growth spurt. She's so adorable and clever. It looks like she's developing venom sacs. Only about 15% of stralurian babies have that instinct. Her grandparents are very impressed. Goodbye, Kevin. I can see now that you'll never be the kind of parent our child deserves. I'm putting this in a letter instead of speaking to in person because I don't want to subject our baby, or, let's face it, myself, to the escalating anger and frankly, xenophobia you've displayed ever since my parents showed up. I'm sorry it's come to this. I'm sure you understand why we can't let you go. I know the basement can get a little chilly, but you shouldn't be there much longer. I hope you'll find some comfort in the fact that although you won't be around to help raise our child, you won't have failed her completely. You won't nurture her, but you will nourish her. Tonight, when her teeth have completely hardened, you'll have the honor of being her first solid meal. All well, some of my love, Lyssa.