“Discarded God” was partially inspired by a quiet moment when I turned thirty-five last year. I had been reflecting on how much I’d changed from the person I used to be, and how difficult things were in my twenties. I wasn’t out to myself back then, yet alone out to anyone else. I hadn’t realized I could simply use she/they pronouns and embrace being nonbinary. Now? Well, I’m queer as hell and happy with who I am.

This piece began as a challenge I set for myself to tell a story from at least three distinct perspectives. By the time it was finished, it also became a story exploring the different people we become in different relationships. Each section is named after a relationship between Swimmer and someone else in the story. “Son” and “Brother” are both from Swimmer’s perspective, but show who he becomes in his relationship with his father and Boater, who he sees as a sister.

Money and religion go way back: If you try to trace the origins of money, you find yourself in Sumerian temples, looking at cuneiform tax and granary records. Many religions discuss the question of “creation debt”—the question of what humans owe their divine creators (and whether this debt can ever be repaid). Sacrifices are often conceived as a kind of payment to God (which also has the benefit, from priests’ perspectives, of supporting the life of priests).

When I first read about the Andean agricultural practice waru waru, I knew I wanted to write a story that incorporated it, but I wasn’t sure how. It kicked around in the back of my brain for a couple years, trying to attach itself to some kind of story, until something terrible happened: My aunt had a stroke.

I fought this story on and off for years, and it’s changed almost entirely, except for the two main characters. The very first draft dealt more with the westernized interpretation of genies and wishes that folks are familiar with. Still set in the same place but quite different than the end product. But the main idea I wanted to explore then and now was the dynamic between two characters like Nassim and Khaizaran amidst that setting.

Initially, I started with trying to envision a positive future. I came up with the Overview Initiative concept, then immediately realized all the reasons it is a terrible idea. That tension, as well as a tension I’ve been feeling around what the “point” of science fiction writing is more broadly (as if there is one singular point), drove this story.

The location is loosely based on the Round Table Foundation, an occult and psychic research facility that existed on the Maine coast in the mid-20th century. It was led by one Henry Puharić, who is well known in paranormal conspiracy circles, and a guy named Harry Stump, whose biography has to be read to be believed. Aldous Huxley used to stop by.

The story came directly out of two incidents around the same time last summer: a con released a panel description complaining about the existence of too many lesbian stories, and a couple of gaming websites started mass-censoring/banning queer games and creators. The way these events overlapped made both even more frustrating; looking back at my early handwritten notes for this story, the first line is “too many lesbians” in scare quotes.

I have been a professional writer since I was sixteen—which is fifty years now. I have always wanted to write. I think it comes from being the youngest of four. One of my earliest memories is of five adults (my parents and siblings) sitting in the living room reading, while I went from person to person begging them to play. They were reading instead.

“Ten Unsent Letters to the Dark Lord” originated at Can*Con 2024. There was a masterclass workshop at the convention called “Write a Story in a Weekend,” hosted by Brandon Butler and David Schultz of the Toronto SFF Writers Group. I like writing challenges, and I like deadlines, and I decided that writing the first draft of a whole short story in forty-eight hours while also attending a convention sounded like exactly the kind of bad idea I would enjoy.