The Indian fig tree family is one of the most extraordinary species with whom we share this planet. Even today, in India you’ll find them growing almost anywhere—out of a wall, sprouting from a pavement, taking over entire compounds. To walk in a grove of bodhi or peepal trees is to experience the world in a way that is uniquely Indian. I’ve been in redwood forests, pine groves, and other stands but the fig trees of India have a wanton wildness that truly brings home the meaning of the word “jungle.”

As much as I love the conference, I discovered there’s no quicker way to become invisible than to walk around with a toddler at an academic conference. People I’ve known for years developed sudden blindness and a preference for taking the long way around rather than pass where we were sitting. Left alone with my son sleeping in his stroller, I started writing about COVID-19 and the strain of being a mom and having an unsure foundation (which is one of the very conditions of parenthood).

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.