A friend gave me a zine on the queer language of flowers and flower symbolism. There are a couple nods to these in the story, or to specific color groupings. I also took inspiration from wildflowers of the Pacific Northwest.

The initial spark, the image I built the entire story around, was a scene from the FromSoft game Echo Night where the player must return the eye of a large fish mural. It’s not a particularly important part of the game, but I found the concept charming and wanted to turn it inside out.

I have always been fascinated by Yoruba mythology, especially the many untold stories it contains. Eshu is a god who isn’t represented enough in the few stories that draw inspiration from Yoruba myths.

I’m excited by all the books by African writers that have come out in recent years, we need more of that. I would love to see more work drawing on African story forms and indigenous knowledge systems, especially from southern African countries.

loved the idea of a civilization that deliberately nurtured a singularity for the short-term gain of clean energy, knowing they were handing an inescapable nightmare scenario down to their descendants.

I was thinking about dragons and capitalism (as one does) and wondering why dragons—at least European dragons—are always depicted as greedy and hoarders of treasure. They can’t use it, after all, no matter how shiny.

As drivers, Bruce is always flooring the accelerator to beat the next light while I try to keep the passengers alive. There was a bit of tug-of-war over the steering wheel, and some questions about when the story was finished, but we eventually arrived at a mutually agreeable destination.

I love bugs. The first species I really fell in love with were European honeybees, but after staring at bees for hours and hours every day to collect data, I realized most bugs aren’t so bad (see, I used to be afraid of them). Wasps are particularly unfairly maligned.

I really did spend most of my lunches in middle school by myself on the loner bench. Some days I had lunch in the library when even the loner bench didn’t seem safe. One day the vice principal really did try to reach out to me by complimenting my shoes.

Because I create stories by poking and prodding at the concept in my journal, asking myself endless questions. Some of the questions I scribbled during the week after those earlier entries above were: “Why did the mother go into space? Was she a scientist?”