I do legal support on behalf of Tribes and run across this friction between tribal traditional use and non-Indian use, which could be commercial/industrial development or, as in this story, recreational use of a sacred site. Colonizer law provides for protection of religious rights, but not all religions are treated equally. Tribes lose access to or see their sacred sites damaged or destroyed. This isn’t something from history. It’s happening right now. Those thoughts inspired the rest of the story.

Living in New York City for so long, in neighborhoods like the Upper East Side, yet in subsidized student housing, and then living in Harlem, I was always struck by the apparent modernity of NYC contrasted with its stark class and race disparities. There was so much privilege and poverty, and a racial divide that struck me as very distinct. I don’t know why I was surprised by that, but I was. There is a way, in particular, that living in NYC makes you callous to others, including the unhoused.

But in my case, during summer, I had one of those days. From my bed I could see my daughter playing in the yard. Very much like the protagonist in “Moss and Dirt,” I watched her play—worried with normal mom concerns and feeling a bit down that I couldn’t spend the day with her too.

Being powerless and voiceless for too long creates a weird dissonance. So when a ray of hope actually presents itself, it comes as a shock. It’s only when that initial feeling of shock and helplessness abates that one can learn to pick up the pieces and move on.

For me, in this story, colonialism was a bigger issue. I live and teach college English classes on the edge of the largest reservation in the US, the Navajo reservation, and many of my students are from the nearby Hopi and Apache reservations as well. How could I have a story set in Holbrook, AZ, with no Native characters, and yet how could I, a white writer, create a believable and non-stereotyped Native character? Merlene is a woman and has depression because those are two things I do know about, and I tried to add a touch of reference (the ‘rez,’ her aunties) without overstepping.

It was a wonderful collaboration. Eugen is first, very patient, and second, very dedicated. She sent me, I think, two or three versions of the first part in its growth, in which I could see the character and story develop. It was beautifully crafted and written, and I was very afraid of not being at her level! Then we discussed the homonculus/spirit role and identity and it became clearer and clearer, and I did my part.