I’ve lived my whole life under the shadow of polite fascism, where the systems of power may speak loudly of equality and inclusion all the while violently oppressing those communities and voices who speak truth to those lies. This experience lives at the core of The Neskan Chronicles, with a queer protagonist, often feeling like an outsider, seemingly powerless against an oppressive, fascist regime, who discovers he might possess the very ability to dismantle it. As an author, and as a human navigating this increasingly complex world, I often return to the question of why this particular narrative resonated so deeply with me.
Writing this series has been an act of personal catharsis. My life has often felt like existing between worlds, constantly striving to define myself in spaces where I technically belonged but didn’t quite fit. There’s a particular kind of quiet powerlessness that settles deep within when you feel perpetually othered, when your very being is a source of discomfort for others. Crafting a character who embodies these vulnerabilities, only to arm them with the potential for immense power, is one way to process and portray these internal battles on an epic, speculative canvas.
It’s impossible to ignore the unsettling realities of our world. In recent years, we’ve witnessed a terrifyingly rightward shift in governance, both locally and globally. The rise of authoritarian voices and tightening grip of oppressive ideologies casts a deep shadow, particularly over marginalized communities like mine, where our anxieties about the erosion of our rights and the ever-present threat of hatred aren’t just abstract concepts. But, speculative fiction, with its ability to build clear allegories of fascism and systemic oppression, can be a vital lens for confronting these very real fears, grappling with overwhelming, truly grim realities within a fictional space that offers an opportunity for agency.
These stories imagine radical possibilities of empowerment and defiance. They’re more than just an escape. They’re empowerment fantasies for my protagonist, for myself, and crucially, for my readers—especially queer youth who might feel marginalized, disempowered, or unseen. They’re meant to instill hope, defying the narratives that relegate marginalized individuals to victimhood, and asserting that the capacity for profound change can reside in the most unexpected places. If we can conceive of societies like Port Abarra, where basic needs are met and individual contribution is freely chosen, where equity is built on autonomy rather than control, we can begin to build elements of that reality in our own world. My writing, in this sense, becomes a defiant act of hope, asserting that the power to envision a better world is the first step towards building it.