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.

Adoption, in a strange way, is a kind of surrogate family-making. I am extremely fortunate to have two parents who love and support me, though this is a complex relationship and one that is far from the status quo. Especially now that I am approaching a societally accepted age for parenting, I am forced to reevaluate these complications with much more vigor than I did when I was younger.