The first image that came to me when putting this story together was the lipstick scene, and the idea of make-up as body modification or even physical abuse. There seemed to be a natural extension from this to the idea of stage make-up, so housing the imagery of the story in the setting of a theatre helped support that process. Theatre is an art form that recreates physical reality in a way that is tangible and living but still never quite real.

I’ve written quite a few stories with unnamed protagonists, and I honestly thought this was going to be one of them. Then the issue of her name came up within the context of the story, so I knew I couldn’t leave her nameless, but I also knew I couldn’t just give her any name. I wanted something that whispered, but didn’t scream, sadness. Lola is the diminutive form of the name Dolores, which is Spanish for sorrows, and Mae is a Hebrew name meaning bitter.

But in fiction, it’s harder for me to intentionally scare people. I can make a story creepy or disturbing or gory, but scary? That’s deeply personal, and subjective; what one person finds viscerally terrifying another will find utterly mundane. Humor is subjective, too, but most people will groan in response to a well-done pun.

“It Was Never the Fire” started off with an image of a boy eating smoke. I knew in my gut that that was all he ate, and if he ever ate anything else, he wasn’t going to show me. I knew he had secrets, and I knew he wasn’t going to tell just anyone, probably not even me. In fact, he wasn’t telling me much at all. You know how characters can be.

I left Nevada in 1976 and I’ve lived in a number of other places since then, but none have affected my writing more powerfully. I think it’s pretty common for writers to feel an emotional attachment to settings where they spent big chunks of time as children or young adults. But I don’t just have an emotional attachment to Nevada; I’m in love with it.