The best thing about my day job (I am a PhD student of medieval Turkish literature) is how my work constantly refills my creative well. While researching a paper back in 2017, I stumbled across an article that catalogued common narremes in medieval Persian fairy tales. Some of the tropes were familiar to me, such as evil stepmothers, Cinderella stories, and romances beginning with love at first sight. Others surprised me. Three in particular caught my imagination: a girl wandering into an abandoned castle in the desert, a crow with rubies for eyes, and a prince trapped in enchanted sleep, his body pierced with thousands of needles.

Space exploration conjures up awe and excitement, but it’s also about making hard choices, especially once we leave the solar system. Because of my human rights background, I was interested in knowing what our absolute red lines would be if we were trying to save our species from extinction. What would we agree never to do in deep space? What line would we never cross? So I told the story from the point of view of people who created the line, and those who were living on the other side of it. Here on Earth we decided that we would not tolerate certain acts. We had also agreed not to allow any one country to claim property in space.

I have always loved the obscure superheroes who exist at the fringes of the Marvel and DC Universes, taking care of their little corners of creation—and indeed I note that Marvel’s Luke Cage, Daredevil, and Spider-Man are very much within this tradition, despite forces that sometimes draw them to more universal concerns. I was a deep fan of Squirrel Girl before she hit the big time, and when writing Spider-Man I did my little bit—unappreciated—to expand the fame of Razorback, the hero whose helmet is a giant pig head.

My father woke me up on April 12, 1981 to watch the very first Space Shuttle launch. I remember how it affected me and filled me with such pride and awe that we as a species were able to do that, to send human beings into space on a plane atop a column of fire. Fast forward to today, when we’re making leaps and bounds in space technology, but the public has mostly lost interest in it, at least it seems that way from my limited vantage point. And I thought, what would be better to grab the public’s imagination than a pop star performing songs in space?

The experience of refugees the world over is sadly the same: Fleeing from conflict and persecution, all they want is safety for themselves and their children—a chance at a normal life, such as you and I might take for granted. As of 2018, there were over sixty-eight million displaced people in the world. A “zero-tolerance” policy essentially means damning them and their dreams of a safe home, far from violence. So many people the world over lack the most basic necessities: clean water, adequate food, a roof over their heads that won’t get blown up during the night.

This was written for a gorgeous illustration by Julie Dillon, but the sea turtles paired with the second moon took a while to work themselves out in my head, so it took a few months of worldbuilding to discover the story I wanted to write: One about a lesbian relationship wherein, during a separation, both partners wonder whether it might be better for the other if they weren’t dating. As with so many ideas that become finished pieces, that initial idea got the writing started, but another aspect of the story eventually took center stage.It took a while for me to find it though.

When you’re in America, trying to write fantasy in English, you’re so often referred to The Hero with a Thousand Faces as the source of everything good and perfect. But while reading it I, as a woman, felt almost deliberately pushed out into the cold. I wanted to write something that would illustrate just how dismissive it is of anyone who isn’t a straight cis man . . . and decided that I could do it as a 1000-word flash to make my life easier during week three of Clarion West. Uncountable months, four drafts, and a 150% increase in length later, I hear the universe laughing at me.

I’ve always wanted to write some sort of homage to the many science fiction/fantasy authors and stories that have influenced me personally, especially as a kid. That notion kinda evolved into an exploration of the ebb and flow of “the sense of wonder” in various stages of life. Plus, my writing generally tends to be heavy and tough to read, so I reached a point where I just wanted to write something lighter and more fun for a change. All that merged into “Gundark Island.”

The only books featuring Indian culture, mythology, legends, and fantasy are highly Americanized or Disneyfied versions which are really more American than Indian, this is especially true of YA and middle grade fantasy by Indian-American authors. They’re wonderful authors and books, but they’re not representative of what Indians are reading back home, and in fact, many of these same Indian-American authors and books are not read at all for these same reasons. My goal is to write stories and books that remain true to my culture and country of origin without Americanizing or Disneyfying anything.

I spent one summer in college doing an archaeological dig at a colonial site in Virginia as part of my minor in Anthropology. The surface of the site was littered with artifacts from the present and recent past—beer bottles and assorted other debris. Scraping away the dirt revealed the foundation of a building long gone, bits of broken pottery and tiny glass beads. Archaeology, to me, has always felt a bit like digging backwards through time, and I’ve been wanting to write a story about it for a long time.