It’s explicitly a response to the ways that trans women are dehumanised, commodified, and othered in this patriarchal society for our lack of reproductive capabilities, which itself is inherently misogynistic, by enforcing a cis woman’s only value as being her reproductive capability, which is neither permanent nor guaranteed. Sadly, a lot of cis women don’t realise this is a shared struggle (read Julia Serano’s Whipping Girl, girl).

I typically need three things to start drafting a story: A setting/premise, a character, and an opening scene, or at least an opening line. If I have all three of those, the story will “catch,” and I can ride it to the end. If I’m missing one of those three, things usually stall out within the first thousand words.

I’ve always been fascinated by stories about adventures, migration, environments, and documentaries, most especially those that are unique with a rich blend of history and culture. I thought for a moment, what if a place existed outside of earth where people can travel, lodge, and enjoy comfort and activities different from what they are commonly used to. This was the crux that birthed this story.

I write all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons, but any time I set a story in or near the Churchlands, the priority is emotional honesty. I want the Churchlands stories to feel familiar to people who’ve worked themselves out of similar situations or wish they could. So I make it all as real as I can, take it as seriously as I can, as a matter of respect.

I know people—I am intimately related to some of them—who say, “I never read fiction. Why would I want to read about something that didn’t happen?” Those people all seem to function just fine in the world, but it is not my world. I and they have, at best, achieved peaceful coexistence.