In the Spotlight: Kayla Eason
Kayla Eason’s debut novel, Mia,[1] is an intimate look at coming of age in a bleak desert landscape of abandoned buildings and severe climate near the Salton Sea. Eleven-year-old Mia is coming of age amongst hunger, poverty, and desolation. Though lyrical and dreamlike, Mia does not shy away from the visceral realities of violence and what it means to be without.
I spoke with Kayla Eason via email about the pains of growing up, how adolescence informs our relationship with the body, what it’s like to publish with a small press, and perspectives on the novella vs. the novel.
Mia is such a lyrical and atmospheric book. In many ways it feels like a sort of haunting dreamscape which I thought was such a unique and honest tone to set a coming of age story to. What compelled you to explore a coming of age story in this way?
I’m always interested in atmosphere in fiction. Tone / atmosphere / mood and setting are some of my favorite things about stories. They feel like the decorative aspect—the opportunity to dress up or pick the paint color. So, before I realized Mia was a coming of age character, I had a sense of the atmosphere I wanted to create based off the Salton Sea as the setting and associations I have with the desert. Through thinking about the geographic location as well as the abandoned structures that exist along the Salton Sea, I became interested in naked distances, strange landscapes, and surreal imagery. And on top of that, because of the abandoned buildings, I was thinking about time as a structural tool. The concept that time can be experienced nonlinearly (through memory and associations) despite progressing chronologically in real-time, influenced the book’s structure, and I think—I hoped—also creates a dreaminess in tone. The past may reappear and inform the present, or a sense of the future may manifest, through dreams, anxiety, nostalgia, desire, and sensory recollection. I was trying to create a spatial (in terms of how we feel time) experience for the reader through an emphasis on these physical and mental states, which I think when mixed, create that dreamscape you’re talking about. And I guess, too, I wanted this story to have a somewhat mythic feel to it, as moments in our childhood become part of our personal “origin stories.”
What drew you to this type of narrative? How much weight do you think our adolescent experiences have on us as adults?
I believe many adolescent experiences played a role in shaping—for better or worse—my perspective on myself, my rational, what scares me, what excites me, what makes my heart melt. Of course, adolescent experiences take place within specific social, cultural, and economic contexts, which inform how those experiences play out for individuals and therefore shade the takeaways. This idea—that certain childhood experiences shape our self-worth and how we engage with the world as adults—was an important seed to the story.
So much of this book explores beauty and ugliness in tandem. From the lyrical descriptions of horrific moments to stained teeth and acne seen through adoring eyes, there are so many surprising observations. Why did you think it was important for you to explore beauty in this way?
I don’t think this exploration was intentional, but something I became aware of as I was writing. I think this happened for two reasons: The first is that the setting presents an interesting tension between beauty and decay. The abandoned structures are, essentially, waste; but these shells have also been transformed into pieces of art. Throughout the years, artists have traveled to Bombay Beach at the Salton Sea (there is a biennial celebration) and have used the abandoned spaces as canvases. What was once a derelict building has become an art piece. There are volumes of themes which arise from the act, but I was drawn to the juxtaposition of stark desert and colorful, repurposed decay. What makes something beautiful? I think the tension which arises from two visually opposite things engenders a mesmerizing fantasy, as if you are not looking at the world as you know it, but at an alternative universe—and through that remixing of aesthetics, a sense of beauty is born.
The second reason was an interest in beauty as an indicator of power. For Mia, as for most budding teenagers, their appearance can define a sense of worth. Much of her conflict arises from the attempt to assert herself and feel important to others. I wanted descriptions or observations to reflect an appreciation for the unique details of a person or place to counteract the idea of perfection as more powerful or dynamic.
What inspired you to begin this novel and what was your experience writing it like?
When I began the novel, I was experiencing some personal upheaval. I had just undergone some uncomfortable changes in my life, and I began wondering—how did I get here? What about my personality brought me to this point? Why did I allow X to happen? Why was I afraid of Y? So, I became very interested in “mapping” choices, which led to the idea that the emotional effects of specific memories can echo through actions and choices made in adulthood. I had a sense of how the story would end, and so I was creating moments in the main character’s life which I thought would influence her to make that final choice, and suggest that similar choices may be made in the future.
Can you tell us a little about your writing process? Do you have any routines or rituals?
Before I begin writing, I need to have personally formed an emotional attachment to an idea of tone / atmosphere / mood. I can have a list of plot and character ideas, but until I’m really feeling the story’s atmosphere, it’s difficult for me to sit down and write much. So, as I make notes concerning the story, I’m researching paintings, photographs, maybe sculptures, and the relationship between a place’s architecture and natural landscape—essentially, a collage of images which in themselves present associations in emotion, mythologies, stories, histories, all of which begin to shape and accentuate my story’s tone and atmosphere. I’m not necessarily using a painting in the story, for example, but something about the way that painting makes me feel helps me to associate a quality of atmosphere that I will use. The painting’s composition could be mysterious, or the color palette dark, or the subject matter conveys an emotional detail that relates to my character. I think that having a grasp for the story’s atmosphere helps me to better understand my character—helps me to imagine their world, their perspective, how they interact with their setting, and how their setting interacts with them.
After all that happens, I usually write a first draft pretty quickly (short stories). A novel draft takes much, much more time of course. For a first draft, I have to print the manuscript. I really can’t edit that first draft on the computer—the experience needs to be tactile for some reason, in order to feel thorough. Life often gets in the way, but I try to write a little bit each day. Sometimes that happens at 5 AM when I’m able to drag myself out of bed. Sometimes that’s at random intervals after work. I don’t like to put too much pressure on the when and for how long because, knowing myself, I tend to buckle under high expectations. If I trick myself into believing there are no expectations for productivity, I am usually more productive.
Mia is being published as a novel though it also falls into standard novella territory (though at the longer end). I am always so curious about these distinctions (short story/novella/novel). What do you feel separates one from the other, particularly the novella and the novel? What do you think most identifies Mia as a novel vs. a novella?
This is a great question! While I wrote the book, I was reading novellas and short novels, which were essentially indistinguishable in terms of what labeled them one or the other. Traditionally, a novel is a longer, more encompassing story, and a novella is a shorter, more focused story. Novellas remind me of plays or movies—rarely any tangents or long-explored branches within the subject matter. Rather, the novella offers immediacy, and yet, just as much poetry as a longer narrative. So, I think the answer is ultimately subjective, and possibly determined by industry strategies, but for me, I like to think of any short-length book as attempting the succinct, jewel-like quality of film or theater. In one sitting, you can experience the beginning, middle, and end of a vivid, immersive narrative. For Mia specifically, I think the book could be labeled either, but my hope was, regardless, that the reading experience was poignant through its immediacy.
Can you talk a little about your experience with publishing Mia? I know you chose to work with a small (but mighty) press. How did you come to this decision and what was the process like?
Because of the untraditional length and structure of Mia, I felt more optimistic about submitting the manuscript directly to independent publishers. I compiled a list of indie presses I thought might be interested in the book’s style, and then wrote a pitch for the book. The process was actually very encouraging—I received positive feedback even from those not interested in or unable to work with me. And working with my publisher turned out to be extremely positive. The editing process was comfortable and I felt part of the team. I was even able to contribute largely to the art direction, too, which was a dream and not something I would have been able to do with a larger publisher. I do hope to work with an agent in the future, but I’m very grateful to have had such a good experience going at it on my own this first time.
If you could share one piece of advice for aspiring writers, what would it be?
Read widely. Translations, in particular, have taught me so much about how you can arrange language and how story structure is open to interpretation.
[1] Out April 28, 2020 and published by Orson Publishing, “a small but mighty book publisher from Seattle, Washington focused on gutsy fiction.
Kayla Eason was raised in Angels Camp, a small town in the rural foothills of Northern California. Her writing has long explored unassuming pockets of the world, and the eclipsed inhabitants tucked therein. Place, nature, and wild silence often rule her imagination.
In 2017, she earned an MFA in Fiction from San Francisco State University, where she taught undergraduate courses first as a graduate teaching assistant and then lecturer. In the past, she’s been an arts journalist and jewelry designer. Alongside writing, she pursues film photography. Her work has appeared in various literary publications. Kayla currently lives in Southern California. You can read her other writing and check out her visual work at kaylaeason.com.
About Shelby Hinte
Shelby Hinte is a writer and educator living in the Bay Area. She received her MFA in Fiction from San Francisco State University where she was the recipient of the 2019 Distinguished Graduate award. She has been a contributing food and beverage writer for Edible Santa Fe. Her fiction has appeared in Vagabond Lit, Witness Magazine, Hobart, Quiet Lightning's Sparkle + Blink, decomP magazinE, and elsewhere. She is currently at work on a novel about women and vortexes in the desert.
