NYT Bestselling Author Emily Colin On Writing YA

Given that your career as an author began in women’s fiction/romance, why did you start writing YA fiction? What caused your interest in this younger audience?

I started writing YA because I was reading so much of it — especially Leigh Bardugo, Marie Lu, Holly Black, Cassandra Clare, Tomi Adeyemi, and lots of other fabulous authors. I found myself drawn to the extremes that YA fiction naturally embraces — first love, first kiss, first breakup, etc. — as well as the emotional highs and lows that teenagers experience. (I just reread that last sentence and realized that it includes a horrible pun. But you know what? I’m leaving it. You’re welcome.) The more I read, the more I felt inspired to write a YA series of my own — especially after attending YALLFest in Charleston, which was just amazing! Much like my adult books, my YA series features love stories with supernatural twists. If it’s got lots of kissing and a hint (or more) of the paranormal, I’m all in! 

What were the inspirations behind writing the Seven Sins series?

I was inspired to write this series for a couple of reasons. When I started writing Sword of the Seven Sins in 2015, I was deeply disconcerted by America’s political situation. I expand on this below in greater detail, but in a very real way, writing the series offered me a creative way to cope with the anxiety that the 2016 election fostered. I was also inspired by the idea of a society ruled by the Seven Deadly Sins. Lust, pride, envy, greed, wrath, gluttony, sloth … so many of these represent the extremes of human behavior. What would happen, I wondered, if these were turned inside out and used against people? What might such a society look like? What if love was forbidden, lust was a death sentence … and my two main characters fell hard for each other? And so Sword of the Seven Sins was born.

Did the political situation in America at the time you were writing the book play into the story, and if so, how?

Definitely. Back in 2015, everyone kept telling me Donald Trump couldn’t win the election, but I believed he could — even worse, that he would. And the more I thought about it, the more I kept spinning what-if scenarios: What if he wins? What if he wins, and he’s really a puppet of the Russian government, because of their shared business interests?

What if the white supremacists who despise Barack Obama believe they can elect Trump as their candidate, and then further their agenda of ignorance, hatred, and violence? (As a Jewish woman, this hit home on a personal as well as a moral level.) What if those supremacists try to stage a coup? What if the coup is successful, and then our country splinters into mini-strongholds that use religion to control their inhabitants? That’s basically where my mind went — and as I said above, I used the series as a sort of creative therapy to work through my anxiety. I will say that I began to feel a bit like the prophet Cassandra, as more and more of my worries began to materialize. I think I should’ve decided to write a book about margaritas, chocolate fondue, and afternoons by the pool instead.

Why did you decide to write the prequel novella and short stories set in the Seven Sins universe? Has that changed the way you decided to tell the story?

I originally decided to write the prequel novella because my publisher suggested it — and I had so much fun with it that it spawned an idea in my mind. I’d been reading Cassandra Clare’s Shadowhunter short story collections, and I thought — why can’t I do that with Seven Sins? It’ll give me a way to deepen the world of the series and stay in touch with readers between books, and then maybe I can bring all the stories together as a collection. I pitched the idea to my publisher, they agreed, and here we are! 

In terms of whether it’s changed how I decided to tell the story — I think it has, in the best possible ways. It’s given me insight into minor and new characters that I might not otherwise have had, which in turn has influenced what I wanted to do with Books 2 and 3. It’s been a lot of extra work — but so, so worth it!

How, in your mind, does character development and experience play into the creation of a naturally intense story?

Absolutely. When I teach writing, I always tell my students that before they do anything else, they need to understand their characters’ goals, obstacles, essential wounds, and true needs. If the goal is strong enough, the obstacle large enough, and the need powerful enough, then the story will naturally be intense — no matter what genre you’re writing. Readers will want to know what happens, because you’ve set up the characters’ arcs so clearly. Before I write a word, I make sure those elements of any book I’m working on are as sharp as they can be. Then I interweave the plot with each characters’ goals, obstacles, wounds, and needs — and the intensity bleeds onto the page.

As a mother, editor and writing teacher, how do you balance your time? Are there any productivity hacks that you’ve learned over the years?

Oh, gosh. This is a tough one. I think the most important one I’ve learned is to know myself well. For instance, I will never be a member of the 5 AM Writers Club; I’m completely dysfunctional at that hour. Likewise, I can edit well late at night but not write creatively. So, I don’t try to force myself to do those things. I’m part of a fabulous group of writers who sprint every morning from about 7:30 a.m. to 9:30 a.m., and that’s been key for me — setting time aside when I’m accountable to others, and giving myself permission to focus on my work. We set timers in 30-minute increments, and I don’t let myself do anything else during that time — check email, scroll through social media, et cetera. That’s made a huge difference. I also keep a calendar of all of my projects, including writing, teaching, and editing, so I have a realistic sense of what’s coming up and how long it will take. And I force myself to build in time to exercise each day. Sometimes I have to convince myself to take time away from my work — but I discover I’m far more productive once I take a walk and then sit down again!

What’s your idea of a perfect day?

Well, first I wouldn’t have to wake up early. That is the worst. Then, when I finally got up, I’d discover that my boyfriend went to the coffee shop and got me a mocha & a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon (in this scenario, the pandemic’s over, so I don’t have to worry that he’s putting his life at risk to caffeinate me). I’d sit on my back deck, watch the turtles splash about in the pond, and chow down. Then, I’d go inside and do some yoga (I adore Yoga With Adriene — she’s just the best). Post-downward-facing-dog, I’d sit down and write. Inspiration would’ve struck, so the words would come easily. Two beautiful, mystical hours later, I’d take the dog for a walk with my son. Then — again, in a world with no pandemic — I’d meet a friend for lunch and browse at a bookstore afterward, where I’d find an amazing novel that I never knew I needed until I held it in my hot little hands. Then I’d come home, read a bit, make something really yummy for dinner, and settle down with my favorite blanket and my boyfriend to watch Netflix. Boom! Best. Day. Ever.

If you hadn’t become an author, what would you have done instead?

Well, I spent many years working at a nonprofit that provides multidisciplinary, free-of-charge arts programming for youth in need. I was, and remain, extraordinarily passionate about that cause; I truly believe that art has the power to change and save lives. Just look at how all of us have turned to stories and movies during the pandemic! 

I challenge any politician who defunds the arts and claims that they don’t matter to take a close look at how most of us have managed to hang on to our sanity during these challenging times. Stories, music, art, and other creative pursuits have sustained us. Okay, getting off my soapbox now! Anyway, after that I worked as a community engagement specialist at a performing arts center that hosted national acts and touring Broadway shows. I loved that too — the sense of connecting the community, especially underserved populations, with the incredible, transformative power of the arts. BUT, in college, I studied dolphins at Duke’s Marine Lab, and then I took a semester off and interned at the Dolphin Research Center in the Florida Keys. There’s something so restorative about being out in nature for me; I think if I hadn’t ended up working in the arts, I would’ve loved to have a job that enabled me to travel to beautiful places and help to keep them safe for future generations, including working with the animals that call those places home.

Where do you get your ideas?

From everywhere … really. A line of dialogue in a movie, which spawns an entire plotline in my head. A beautiful painting, wondering what went on before and after the moment captured on canvas. Conversations overheard (sorry, person next to me at the coffee shop!). Sometimes, I write down lists of disparate things that are fascinating to me at the moment, draw lines between them (Oh, look! Running a truffle shop and a crime heist!) and then pose a what-if question. What can I say … the inside of my head is a messy place.

What do you do when your ideas won’t come?

Weep? Rend my garments? Just kidding. Here are my go-tos: Taking a walk, doing yoga, talking with friends, listening to music (every book of mine has a playlist, which helps me drop into the mood of the story), taking a shower (that’s where I have my best ideas, alas), and engaging with other art forms (reading, watching movies or shows, going to museums — when such things were possible). The more I try to force an idea, the more elusive it is … so I do whatever I can to relax and open myself up to the world around me!

EMILY COLIN’S debut novel, The Memory Thief was a New York Times bestseller and a Target Emerging Authors Pick. She is also the author of The Dream Keeper’s Daughter (Ballantine Books). Her young adult titles include the anthology Wicked South: Secrets and Lies and the Seven Sins series, both from Blue Crow Publishing, as well as the anthology Unbound: Stories of Transformation, Love, and Monsters (Five Points Press). Regardless of whether she's writing for adults or teens, all of her books feature love stories and supernatural twists.

A Writer’s Education

by Bella Mahaya Carter,

Author of Where Do You Hang Your Hammock?: Finding Peace of Mind While You Write, Publish, and Promote Your Book

Have you ever thought you can’t be a writer because you lack the “right” education? If so, think again.

I studied dance, literature, filmmaking, and spiritual psychology—not exactly a direct or obvious path to a writing life. But perhaps more than any other calling, diverse experiences lend themselves to writing.

One of my favorite clients published her first book at eighty, so it’s never too late.

Often our life paths make more sense when looking in the rearview mirror. Many of the changes in direction we take, what may feel like swerves in the road, or even obstacles or mistakes, upon reflection look more like divine course corrections. Life rarely moves in a straight line. It zigzags and circles.

Sometimes you can’t see the connections between where you’ve been and where you’re headed, or how one set of skills you have might apply to other areas in your life.

In my case, choreography and dance taught me about creating something from nothing. Open space was the blank page upon which I explored storytelling. I learned about narrative structures, phrasing, pauses, keeping time, the creation of shapes, and deep listening. I also learned how to receive what wanted to be expressed through me—that I am a vessel, a receiver, and a conduit for something larger than myself. As such, I learned the importance of not taking myself too seriously. My job, regardless of my creative medium, has been to honor inner creative impulses and act on them even when I feel afraid or insecure. I also honed my discipline and developed a deep respect for practice.

My first creative writing teacher, Jack Grapes, an actor, playwright, and poet, warned me that as a young performer transitioning to writing I should resist the temptation to perform in my new craft. “You don’t have to ‘put on’ or impress anyone,” he told me. I didn’t have to show up bigger than life on the page, the way I did on the stage. Writers observe life. There’s no need to project outward; the key is to take a deep dive inward.

That said, today’s writers wear many hats. We engage in public speaking, read work in public, interview fellow authors, and emcee events. These activities are easier for people accustomed to being in front of audiences.

I learned a lot from my time as a dancer and from my film school experiences, about being onstage and hosting large events. I learned, too, from being a screenwriting TA. I studied and taught classic dramatic structure, discovered the difference between a story and a sketch, learned how to tell a story in a visual way, and more.

Making films reinforced these skills, and taught me how to work collaboratively on creative projects. I also learned that the story is discovered not in the writing, but in the editing. This has been valuable as a writer, since writing involves so much rewriting. Writers need to patiently explore and listen as the story reveals itself.

My training in spiritual psychology taught me how to be gentler with myself, and others, to become a better listener and observer, and how to say “yes” to my dreams.

Your path to a writing life may feel like a circuitous one, or it may seem to make no sense at all, but anything that helps you flex your creative muscles will serve you well as a writer. Consider your innate skills, too, your personality traits. Are you organized? Do you enjoy breaking things down so they’re more easily understood? Do you think of yourself as a storyteller? Do you have the gift of gab? All of us have skills we can lean into when we come to the page, ready to tell a story—whether it’s a true story or a fictionalized one.

If you want to write, it’s never too late. Assume you know everything you need to know, that you’ve been sufficiently educated, that you carry within everything you need. Of course, we never stop learning, and writing is one of the best tools I know to facilitate growth. It’s certainly not the case that you need to earn an MFA in creative writing or have had any other formal training in order to start your dream project.

One of the most important things my education has taught me is to plow through obstacles erected by judgment, doubt, and fear. Release your expectations and show up for yourself and your creative work. Play. Be lighthearted. Be okay with not knowing what you’re doing or where (exactly) you’re going. Have two metaphorical stamps at the ready—“Permission Granted” and “I Don’t Know”—and use them often. Be free. Be bold. And keep saying “yes” to your dreams.

Bella Mahaya Carter is the author of Where Do You Hang Your Hammock?: Finding Peace of Mind While You Write, Publish, and Promote Your Book. She is a creative writing teacher, empowerment coach, and speaker, and author of an award-winning memoir, Raw: My Journey from Anxiety to Joy, and a collection of narrative poems, Secrets of My Sex. She has worked with hundreds of writers since 2008 and has degrees in literature, film, and spiritual psychology. Her poetry, essays, fiction, and interviews have appeared in Mind, Body, Green; The Sun; Lilith; Fearless Soul; Writer’s Bone; Women Writers, Women’s Books; Chic Vegan; Bad Yogi Magazine; Jane Friedman’s Blog; Pick the Brain; Spiritual Media blog; Literary Mama; several anthologies, and elsewhere. For more information, please visit https://www.bellamahayacarter.com

J.L. Torres On Writing the Puerto Rican Diaspora

by J.L. Torres

My second book of short fiction, Migrations, is a thematic collection focusing on selected moments in Puerto Rican history and their impact on everyday people.  Searching for a strong epigraph that could convey the historical essence of the collection, I stumbled across the opening sentence in an essay found in Victor Hernández Cruz’s Red Beans: “Migration is the story of my body.”  With these seven words, Hernández Cruz, a Puerto Rican poet whom Life Magazine named one of America’s greatest poets in 1981, not only epitomized the thematic thread running through my collection, but he aptly described the lives of so many Puerto Ricans, including me.

Most people would not readily associate the migration out of Puerto Rico as a diaspora.  The word is mostly connected to the Jewish diaspora, although the movement of human beings from one region of the globe to another is a constant in world history. Puerto Ricans leaving the archipelago known as their homeland has been primarily a twentieth-century phenomenon, with the biggest waves coming after World War II.  Our migratory history began earlier than that, though. Migration is literally the story of our DNA. Our ancestors had origins in Spain, other European countries, Western Africa, and even the indigenous Tainos were descendants of tribes from the Orinoco region.  The earliest recorded number of Puerto Ricans in the United States was 196 in Lousiana, 1860, but most of our migratory history until the twentieth century was static, our lives quite insular. 

The Spanish-American War dramatically changed all of that. After the United States invaded Puerto Rico in 1898 and colonized it—and later forced citizenship on its inhabitants in 1917 to fight in World War I—the migratory flow out of the islands increased exponentially. At first, the expensive cost of sea travel to the mainland stifled any desire to migrate.  With the advent of affordable air travel in the forties and fifties, the number of Puerto Ricans leaving the islands grew. Between 1940 and 1970, over 835 thousand Puerto Ricans packed their bags and ventured to a new life in the States. I was one of them.  Our arrival at Idlewild Airport (now JFK) on that cold, rainy April day in 1960, was such a powerful memory that decades later I would write a poem about it. For a five-year-old traveling in an airplane for the first time, hearing the foreign sounds of English, absorbing the strange sights, the only thought in my mind was the adventure waiting for me in this new land. In my innocence, I could not have imagined that my mother was trying to reconcile with my father, and that the trip would be their last futile attempt at salvaging a failing relationship. In that way, our departure was different from many other Puerto Ricans who came before and would come later. My mother was fortunate to hold a job working at one of many emerging 936 factories on the main island. Later she would tell me that it was not just my father who motivated her to leave the security of that job. It was a wanderlust that I probably inherited. Other Puerto Ricans did not have such options. 

The main force behind the diaspora has always been the economic instability that creates chronic unemployment and poverty. Meanwhile, factories in the United States, along with agribusinesses, have actively recruited Puerto Ricans. This typical push-pull effect was the primal reason for major waves in our migration. But disasters have also played a major role. In 1898, Hurricane San Ciriaco devastated the sugar industry and forced many sugarcane workers to migrate to Hawaii, an event that serves as the basis for one of the stories in my collection. More recently Hurricane Maria and a series of earthquakes, along with nagging debt and imposed austerity measures, have sparked a new wave in migration, most of which has settled in Florida. Today, there are more Puerto Ricans in the States than in Puerto Rico.  Puerto Ricans reside in all fifty states, something that makes me wonder what the life of a Caribbean person in Alaska must be like. Surely, there is a story there.

In fact, every Puerto Rican’s migration is a story. The title of my collection, Migrations, operates as a metonymy for “stories.”  Those stories include experiencing the migratory process as a brutal assault on our bodies. I still recall my mother coming home from a day at the factory, flecks of cloth covering her hair, as she hastened to cook dinner.  Or her hunched over a sewing machine in our South Bronx apartment, surrounded by dozens of sacks of piecework. Or my stepfather losing three fingers trying to clean a faulty snowblower. Like any writer, I am always searching for story ideas. Recently, a colleague emailed me a scholarly article on Puerto Rican adolescents shipped off to the Carlisle Industrial School, the “crown jewel” among residential schools designed to “kill the Indian and save the man.” My ignorance of this incident in Puerto Rican history appalled me. I realized that if these historical events were buried, they needed to be excavated and put to paper. This new awareness compelled me to write a story about those young people at Carlisle, and to research other similar stories for a collection embedded in Puerto Rican history. The result of that effort is Migrations.

As a writer of Puerto Rican descent, I have always felt a responsibility to serve as a voice for my people. To serve in that capacity requires understanding that our bodies and minds represent the consequences of continuous disruptions suffered under our colonial condition. It means accepting that we are all the Diasporican in Mariposa Fernández’s poem. That our diaspora is not only about dispersion and displacement. It is also about our shared psychological, physical, and historic trauma; and for me, it is what fuels the imaginary that drives my writing.

J.L. Torres was born in Cayey, Puerto Rico, a town in the center of the island, and grew up in the South Bronx. After his formal education he returned to the island to find roots and material for his writing. Now he lives in New York and teaches literature and creative writing at SUNY. His work focuses on the Puerto Rican “diasporica”: living in in-betweeness. He is exploring what it means to live a life yearning for belonging when you’re told nation and home are empty concepts, and you have no historical memory of what they ever meant. His latest book features a cast of characters estranged from their loved ones, family, culture, and collective history. It is the inaugural winner of the Tomas Rivera Prize from the L.A. Review of Books.