it’s the lack of humanity in the human psyche that haunts me. The hypocrisy. How people as a group can take something like tolerance and contort it into a new form of intolerance and conformity. The way humanity can justify any kind of evil. But what I like to believe, and what I do firmly hold to, is that in us all we do have the ability to remain honorable, no matter what has been done to us.

Ava’s ADD is a side effect of a completely science fictional condition: her acute empathy for the feelings of animals, which surpasses anything I’ve ever seen in real life—and that natural ability is then amplified through the use of surgically implanted nanites. That being said, I did do research on a number of topics to help lend an air of credibility to Ava’s condition and symptoms.

I liked being Conan. You get a kind of rush, a heady feeling of power from being the guy. Every problem can be solved by a sword stroke and a mug of ale. Yet at the same time, I recognized that Conan was “that guy” in the locker room—the one who “never lost a fight” and “bagged a chick last weekend.” You have these constant moments, as a sixteen-year-old boy, wondering, “Is that manhood?”

I wanted to tell the story of two high school girls who meet at a summer camp and become collaborators on their science projects, and, by nature of their collaboration, their relationship develops and deepens in way that neither of them expects. Furthermore, I wanted their collaboration to be antithetical to the competitive spirit of the science fair at the end of camp. It is my hope that, in this way, readers understand that Fox and Scully’s relationship defies expectations due, in part, to the expectations placed upon them.

Principles and rules of writing are useful—essential—for beginners; they help you recognize the dynamics of what you’re doing, to analyze problems and see patterns. They provide a vocabulary and even a technology for composition. But once you get to a certain level, you need to treat them as tools and devices, not as commandments. You have to know when to jettison a rule that you would otherwise use 90% of the time.

For me, the main takeaway of the story was that the transient nature of existence isn’t always a bad thing. People have been pointing out for as long as we’ve had the written word that death and decay are both total bummers. And I agree, they absolutely are. But I think that’s been well documented at this point and it might be valuable to spend more time considering ways in which a lack of permanence could actually be a good thing.

Each choice in a story—who to include, who lives, who is happy—says something. If your story kills off the only queer people shown, what do you think that tells the young queer reader who’s turning the pages, hoping they don’t see themselves dead yet again? Please consider what you are saying when you write. Stories are powerful; they can change lives. I want so much for more stories to offer hope for us to live.