It’s a story in the format of a prompt. Of course, nothing like this would actually work or even be needed. But this is a short story so I did what I wanted.

There was an anthology call for stories that took inspiration from Greek and Roman mythology, but that used them for unexpected voices. Around the time of the anthology call, the US withdrew from Afghanistan. While many supported that decision, a great many soldiers were left feeling that they’d betrayed those to whom they’d made promises over there, and that they’d left a job undone.

With this story, I really wanted to tell a story about humanity’s relationship with plants, which have become/are becoming more and more important to me. Climate change and habitat destruction in the forms of logging, development, pollution, etc. are killing off entire species. Our planet is now in the process of being remade by the climate catastrophe. But what happens after the apocalypse comes and some people, some plants, go on living?

I love dogs! No, seriously, dogs are the absolute best. I wish I could have one (or five) but I don’t have the space they need, nor the time to give them the attention they deserve. I grew up with dogs—usually golden retrievers, always several in the household at a time—and I miss their silly slobbery faces. I’ve had to settle for cats, for the time being; they’re terrific in their own way, but the loyalty of a cat is a totally different thing.

In the last semester of my BA, I took a writing seminar on taking risks. Our assignments were completely open ended—we were allowed and encouraged to write whatever we wanted, as long as we could point to some sort of risk that we took. I nebulously knew that I wanted to write something in second person, and I started toying with the opening line of “Spaceship Joyride.” I ultimately didn’t write the story during the seminar, but I kept going back to that opening line—I really loved the sound of it.

I had a lot of fun writing the corporate-speak that MacLeish uses. While I haven’t worked in super-big corporations, that sort of language seems to have so penetrated all work spaces that it’s unavoidable. And it’s always eye-rollingly ridiculous. For this story, I tried to imagine how corporations would take advantage of being able to copy (and copyright) human consciousness, and yet I am sure that no matter what changes the empty buzzwords will remain the same.

I’ve always wanted to write a sequel to “Wednesday’s Story,” which ends with Wednesday, one of the personified Days of the week, having committed a crime. I wanted to follow up on that. On the consequences of her actions. But since the purpose of the personified Days is to tell stories, I knew I needed a story for them to tell within that larger story. I didn’t want to return to my old trick of using another reimagined children’s rhyme to frame the larger story around.

Despite being from a big family, I realized I hadn’t written many sibling stories, and I wanted to change that. I loved getting to explore the sisters’ relationship and follow how it changed and grew over the course of this story. The plot grew out of my suspicion of colonization stories, and of the assumption—still prevalent in more science fiction than I’d like—that there’s a non-problematic way to colonize. And, while I admire the ethos of “leave no trace,” I also wanted to explore its limitations.

This story had its roots in something I saw years ago, an article on the strangest things people had ever turned into New York Subway lost and founds. (Caveat: this story originated so long ago, that I may not even be remembering the details of its origin story correctly. Do you think I can turn a lost inspiration into a lost and found?) Anyway, I remember there being a lost and found snake.

I’m mixed Black/white, and grew up with many European fairy tales. I also have a lot of thoughts of my ancestors who were stolen from their homes and enslaved, and their cultures stripped from them, and that cultural knowledge lost for future generations—effects that I grapple with myself. So I identify very much with my witch, Agnes, when she says, “But this food, I made it mine, like House is mine . . . They don’t get to take it, too.” I’m making the European fairy tales and other trappings of colonialism that I’ve inherited one way or another, mine.