In your story “The City Is a Graveyard,” a woman in her forties goes for a run in New Orleans in August, and sees a man she instinctively believes is a child she miscarried years before. How did this idea come to you?

The French Quarter is a place that always induces a fuguelike headspace for me. I love the Quarter and visit frequently; one day, I was there, under the influence of a cannabis gummy (Don’t do drugs, kids!) and looked down the very alley I describe in the story, and the idea just came to me.

In the course of the story, the woman relives several terminated pregnancies from her past, which means also reliving the relationships that produced them. None of the men she’s been involved with, not even the one she married, would have made good fathers—or long-term partners. Has she had bad luck, or has she been drawn to the wrong men?

I personally believe that most long-term relationships with cis-gendered straight men involve the women having a healthy dose of delusion, self-sacrifice, and conformity to the point of deformity. This is suggested by the fact that married men live longer than single men. The bar is low when it comes to men and parenting, as well. I’ve met men who are considered good fathers who don’t know their kids’ clothing sizes and birthdays, etc. I do know that there are men who are both good fathers and good partners, but the reality is that, under the patriarchy, cis-gendered straight men are socialized into a sort of tunnel-visioned self-centeredness that makes it difficult for them to be adequate in love.

For each of the men, the character gives a zodiac sign and a birth month. One man makes her decide to swear off his sign completely. Do you share her belief that astrology can tell you enough about a person to base that kind of decision on it?

Astrology has been informing humans for thousands of years; it would be hubris for me to say there’s nothing to it. My sun sign is Aries, and I feel that the characteristics of the sign fit who I am and how I move in the world. I don’t, however, believe astrology to be an excuse for human behavior or a reason to discriminate against a group of people—except Scorpios. (Just kidding!)

The character expresses strong sexual desire and refuses to be shamed for it. And she has paid a price for that: she has had to distance herself from her family and many of her friends. Do you think that her social community is particularly judgmental in this way, or would this be true no matter where she lived in the U.S.?

I think it would be true no matter where she lived in the U.S. A woman who demands and exercises agency over her own body has always been scorned and feared.

The title of the story has many possible interpretations. The woman is told that because she has had abortions her body is a cemetery. What makes you apply that to New Orleans as a whole?

New Orleans is a small city that feels crowded. I believe that’s due to the fact that most of the dead are interred above ground because of the water table and the potential for the deceased to rise in a flood. Also, the cemeteries are major tourist attractions. That said, the history of the city is palpable. It’s a place where you feel the past and present at the same time. If you go into Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, you feel as though Jean Lafitte could walk out at any minute in a leather apron. The spirits are all around here. You see the shadows they cast. You sense their weight. The city is a graveyard.

Why did you choose to tell this story in the second person, rather than first or third?

I initially tried the story in both first and third person, but neither resonated for me. Ultimately, I decided on the second person for a few reasons. One: I wanted to challenge myself, having never written in the second person before. Two: I wanted readers to be unable to avert their eyes when reading the story. Three: I knew that this character would be intensely judged by most, so using the second person was a way to put readers in her shoes, whether they liked it or not. ♦