I used to think I had an odd imagination. I spent most of my youth reading everything I could get my hands on. Fantasies, westerns, mysteries, sci-fi, young adult, general fiction, romances that I probably shouldn’t have been reading. If I could check it out at one of the two libraries I had access to, I consumed it with every ounce of free time I was allowed. Then if someone I knew (usually stuck in the car or school bus with me) was willing, I would regurgitate the story back to them. Most found it endearing. They tended to be the adults in my life who were just glad I was reading. Others hoped I would keep my ramblings to genres they preferred. 

My best friend Tyler liked Star Wars. So I would drone on about The Jedi Academy Trilogy like it was my job. 

My Dad wanted to hear about westerns. I think I read and re-enacted just about every book of Louis L’Amour’s. Except any of his books in a series (I was weirdly only a fan of his stand alone titles).

My Mom just wanted to be able to do her chores while I droned. Which, now that I am an adult, is painfully understandable.

This habit evolved over time. Soon I was creating oral fanfiction by changing the outcomes of all these stories I loved in order to create something even cooler. It was like keeping a book past the library return date, without all the anxiety. But many of the new stories I created to yap about, consisted of themes that my friends and family were not very keen on.

“Nancy Drew wouldn’t leave Ned to just hang out with Bess. That’s her boyfriend.” -My Mom, way before I came out as a lesbian.

“Why would Chewbacca die in the arms of Han Solo, deep in the spice mines, his gigantic hand holding onto Solo’s cheek? That’s not cool.” -Tyler, since he didn’t really prefer romance.

“What do you mean you want to rewrite a L’Amour where the main character dies in a tragic way and the female love interest comes into her own through grief, saving the ranch and his dignity?” -My Dad, probably.

Love, death, grief, connection, mental health, addiction, redemption, the return of love after the crushing weight of it all; those were just some of the themes that interested me the most. As I grew up, I began turning those oral tales into written fanfiction. Borrowing the characters and settings of creatives that I adored and throwing them into the gauntlet of my own thematic obsession. And that obsession has never dwindled. It’s followed me through life, slowly morphing as I experienced a wide array of emotions, events, and struggles. 

And now, as I surround myself with other creatives in the book world, I know I wasn’t odd at all. Just maybe a bit young to be hoping that Chewbacca would die in a heroic way. These themes are just part of being human. They should be explored, as long as one is willing and able, and understood for what they are. Building blocks that make us humans, human.

So I am excited to start writing a little blog series that I am going to call Themes That Keep Zoe Up At Night. Because let’s be honest, who hasn’t been kept up by their own imagination? In order to delve deeper into my favorite themes, I will utilize my published works, my own life (probably my cats), and occasionally my own disappointments. Hopefully you will tag along in this adventure, connecting with me on all these delicious emotions. But if not, I will at least get a few solid writing exercises out of it.

-Zoe Caswell