I first stumbled on Mo Haydr’s works when I was a poor, broke grad student haunting the local library in Leeds. My favorite sections were horror and crime, and Haydr’s work settled comfortably in both. One of the first books I read was Pig Island which made me, as a reader, pretty mad. I could respect what she was saying with the plot, but I could also respect that I had checked out a library book and could just shove it back in the return bin without remorse.

Years later, I read Wolf. It took the underlying young woman protagonist arc that was first mapped in Pig Island and said, well, yes, but what if the other characters did something a little differently? It was a good book on its own, but a fantastic counterpart to Pig Island. Even if I weren’t already a fan, as a writer I could really get behind the conversation taking place between the two works.

How freeing! To be able to have both timelines, the present and of course, the darkest timeline. Or perhaps, in creating a response timeline you may find you were already in the darkest timeline. In writing complete worlds, we aren’t bound to characters talking to each other. The entire structure of our universes unfold in new and different ways with a single, “But what if I did it a little differently this time.” Perhaps you learn that you have grown optimistic in aging or perhaps the person you become takes the patina of age as whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses might be.

You can’t respond to yourself unless you’ve said something in the first place.