In “Cabbage Koora,” an Indian family connects across generations. Though the world around them changes, their traditions remain a constant – as does their grandparents’ inability to use the latest technology. In “The Last Almond,” an almond farmer prepares to sacrifice his farm to a downed levee as he remembers the last time floodwaters threatened his family.
Both stories, winners of Grist’s 2024 Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors short story contest, set the climate crisis as a backdrop to stories about family, community, and culture. The stories offer a glimpse of disasters ahead, but also the solutions that offer a path out of the crisis, if we put in the work.
In this Q&A, Grist’s Tory Stephens, creative manager of the Imagine 2200 climate fiction initiative, talks with authors Sanjana Sekhar and Zoe Young about how they find inspiration to write hopeful climate stories, and why they view storytelling as a climate solution in itself. Their remarks have been edited for length and clarity.
Read all 12 winners and finalists from the 2024 Imagine 2200 contest.
Submissions for the next Imagine contest open soon. Sign up to be updated when the contest opens.
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Tory Stephens: I know writers find inspiration in different places. Some writers find inspiration in the world around them, while others are drawn to explore specific themes or internal worlds. How does your own process of inspiration work? Do you find that external stimuli spark ideas, or do you tend to gravitate towards pre-existing thematic interests, and then seek out experiences or details that enrich those themes within your narrative?
Zoe Young: I’m the head of creative content for The Nature Conservancy in California, which means I work with a stable of climate scientists and ecologists. My job is to translate hard science into layman terms. This also means I'm really close to lots of natural climate solutions that our teams are implementing on the ground. And my inspiration comes from all of that. I love taking what's happening now, and then extrapolating it out to explore what the world would look like if this or that climate solution actually worked, and happened at scale? I really want to see it, so I imagine it.
Sanjana Sekhar: For me, it's almost the exact opposite from Zoe. I read about climate science, but my inspiration is pulled from personal stories and experiences. I think a lot of the work I do as a filmmaker, as a documentarian, and writer, comes from a more personal place. I'm listening to people's personal stories. I'm learning a lot of anecdotal stuff, a lot of qualitative stuff. I'm always cataloging personal experiences in that sense. I have so many stories and other people's experiences in my brain.
But I feel like I can write best about my own life and what I imagine about the characters, about me as a character and the people around me as characters. Because otherwise I feel like I get out of my depth really quickly. The climate crisis is such a big issue. And I don't always know how to distill it in a specific way unless I am looking at it through a lens of how it might affect my own life. And I feel like that can help people that know me tap into the story as well because they're like, oh, you thought that this would impact you like this, and I know you. And so it makes it a little bit more for my own communities. I use what is intimate and deeply personal to bridge my way into writing about macro topics.
Stephens: You both excel at portraying family life and close relationships in your work. It's both heartwarming and relatable. What drew you to focus on family in these particular stories? Is it a theme you revisit often in your writing?
Sekhar: I wouldn't say that I do that often, but if you define family as community, whether that's your blood family, or your chosen family, then yes, all the time! I think that's who ultimately you experience these kinds of things with. Whether it's a climate catastrophe or everyday moments, you're experiencing it with those who are close to you. And It's their presence that shapes how we navigate these experiences.
But the biggest motivator for me, and the reason I weave family into my stories, is that they're who I'm fighting for. We all know the ice caps are melting, and we've seen the plight of polar bears. While these environmental issues affect us all, the impact can feel distant. But for me, this fight is personal. I want my current and future family, along with my community, to have a healthy planet to thrive in. That's why I fight for solutions, and it's why environmental themes surface in my stories.
Young: I really agree with that. So many people in my community and at work have kids and say ‘my kids keep me in the game,’ and they’re doing this for them. I really feel the same way, even as a person who doesn't have kids, but would like to do that one day. When you're writing about the climate crisis, I think it's a lot easier to think that it's all over, and there will be no more humans. That's it. And that's really not going to be the case. So, latching on to something as kind of core to who we are as people, as family, kind of reminds us that, like, we're still going to be here and it's going to be hard, but we're going to be here and we're going to live through this. And so what? What will that look like? Yeah, I think generational writing is a really good way to put that in perspective.
Stephens: Yeah, that really brings me to my next question, which is around hope. Imagine 2200 is a project that is very fully invested in exploring climate futures that are clean, green and just. What was it about the Imagine 2200 call for submissions and our hopeful and futuristic prompt that made you want to pick up your pen and write.
Young: I think one of the best things we can do from a climate perspective is create a character that is living in the future. AOC maybe quoting someone else was like, “You can't be what you can't see.” And for me it’s a hundred times this. Like, we just need to paint a picture of what it could look like if we make it, because all of the narratives about climate anxiety aren't it. I need a hopeful narrative.
What is wild is I actually work with people who do science to prove out that there can be a hopeful future for us. There is hope. And we can potentially survive this in a way that could really change society for the better. I found writing for this prompt extremely cathartic and therapeutic.
Sekhar: So many climate stories are dystopian or depict our end as a species. And that feels really unimaginative and creatively lazy. Aren’t we tired of the apocalypse framework? I know it’s trusted. I know it sells. We know that that is something people will watch, read, or listen to. Or whatever because there's that satisfaction or curiosity in people's psyches. Right. And it scratches that itch. But I think that the idea of imagining hopeful futures with climate solutions and some social justice is a real creative challenge. I also feel the climate anxiety Zoe brought up. I ask myself, “What is my life going to look like? What about everybody around me?”
To me it’s wild that people are out here talking about where they want to live in ten, 15 years without even thinking about what the climate might be like or whatever. I read the prompt and I loved that it challenged me to imagine a better future, a hope filled one. So it was one part creative challenge, and it was a way of wringing the sponge of my own anxiety. And I think it it was a way for me to be like,” kay, if I'm critiquing the existence of these apocalyptic stories and the lack of creativity or the lack of imagination in those stories, how can I embody the kind of story that I want to see in the world and do that through my own life?”
Stephens: The thing I've been noodling on recently and advocating for when I give talks or write is that climate storytelling is a climate solution, plus by discussing this I'm trying to better understand if other people think this way too. Do you two feel this way? Do you feel that climate fiction and storytelling is a climate solution itself?
Sekhar: Yes. Oh my God. Sorry. I love this question so much and I've never articulated it that way. But that is from now on how I will articulate to myself and others. You're so right! Climate storytelling is a climate solution because it strengthens our imagination, pushing us beyond anxiety and isolation. It helps us envision a better world, not just dwell on problems. This, in turn, fosters participation. The movement doesn't require perfect solutions or knowledge; it needs everyone chipping away.
Without practicing this kind of imagination, we can't participate in building a better future alongside others. Our current systems promote a sense of hopelessness, suggesting the extractive economy is the only option and scarcity is an undeniable truth. To imagine a different future is a powerful act of rebellion, and an incredibly revolutionary thing to do.
Young: Storytelling can have a powerful direct effect. For instance, in California, we ran an ad campaign called "Let's Stop Making History," focused on preventing mega fires. For years, California's history seemed tragically repetitive – larger, deadlier wildfires each year. The campaign gained serious traction, with legislators even echoing the call to "stop making history" on the assembly floor.
This, I believe, played a role in bringing prescribed fire and controlled burns back into the California conversation. Historically, Native American land stewardship practices included controlled burns, a knowledge lost through genocide and fire suppression policies like Smokey Bear's message. We need to regain the ability to manage our forests effectively.
That means workforce development for prescribed fire specialists, supporting the return of native forest stewardship, and acknowledging the value of controlled burns. This is all achievable, and storytelling can be the catalyst for change.
In essence, I'm advocating for a broader perspective on natural climate solutions. Storytelling can open the window to possibilities and inspire action. If we can imagine it, we can achieve it.
Stephens: Your point about storytelling in legislative advocacy resonates with my experience working on healthcare campaigns. While leadership often favored dry statistics laden reports, I argued for a different approach. Facts and figures are important, but they lack the emotional impact of personal stories.
I championed focusing on the human element – the single person struggling at their kitchen table because of a funding cut. These stories connect with people on a visceral level and make policy issues more relatable. In that way, storytelling was a powerful tool in our advocacy efforts, and it's exciting to see its influence extend even to legislative debates, as evidenced by your example of chanted slogans.
I want to pivot the conversation towards culture and food. Sanjana, your story about cabbage koora piqued my curiosity. With so many delicious dishes, what made this particular food so special to you and your family? Why did it become the centerpiece of your story?
Sekhar: It's sort of an everyday dish. Nothing special. It's a side dish, with no major cultural significance. I think the reason it wound up being the core part of the story is because that first interaction with my grandma on FaceTime actually happened, and that day she was actually making that dish. And so from that moment on, I was like, that's a really water intensive vegetable. Like, what happens if that is no longer an option to make? Right? And I'm FaceTiming her and there's that element of diaspora, there's this element of.
TS: Zoe, your story prominently features almonds, a crop that requires a lot of water to grow. Why did you focus on almonds specifically? Was there a particular reason you chose them over something else? Perhaps it holds a special place for you, or maybe there's another explanation?
Young: For whatever reason, saying the last sprig of alfalfa didn't really ring. Almonds, on the other hand, are known for being water-intensive, and there's frequent news coverage about almond trees being removed due to water scarcity. Despite this, I was also drawn to almonds. Their beauty is undeniable – the blossoms resemble cherry blossoms and are absolutely captivating. My ultimate goal for the story was to end with a vivid image: salmon swimming amidst almond trees, showered by falling blossoms. The challenge became crafting a narrative leading to that powerful ending.
Sekhar: I feel like food is something that is so quickly affected by climate, and easily noticed by people. It’s undeniable that climate change has and will continue to have a significant impact on our food systems, which are already strained in many ways. Building a sustainable future requires considering this impact, including the potential unavailability of familiar dishes due to climate-related factors. This reality is evident in the everyday examples of food we take for granted - almond milk, readily available cabbage, or even mangoes from the Indian store - all potentially affected by climate change. The question of sustainability becomes paramount. Food, whether a common ingredient like cabbage or a specific cultural staple, offers a personal lens through which to understand the challenges of climate change and its impact on our lives. It really makes the impact personal.
Young: I agree with that. Yeah. It's such a quiet personal way to bring the climate crisis home. I truly believe our generation is going to be the first that won't have lots of food we all take for granted.
Sekhar: I also want to add that I think this is such an American problem too, because we are used to getting anything we want, anytime we want. At home in India we have these moments where we celebrate a certain food because it’s in season, but here nothing is rare, and so we lose the celebration that can happen around a food item. Back home when it's mango season, everyone is so excited, because you're not going to eat mangoes out of season. However, here we expect this fruit at all times. Instead, it’s quite the opposite. Most of the time, food is something that is an inconvenience that interrupts our productivity. And you hear people say things like, “I wish I could just take a pill in the morning and get all my nutrition that way.” And healthy foods are such a privilege for people, and if you’re poor you don't have access to fresh food. Food matters, and we need to be thinking about how climate is going to impact what we eat and when we eat certain foods.
Stephens: You're reminding me of stories my aunt used to tell me about oranges coming up from Florida on the train for Christmas. But now you can get oranges anywhere all the time. That celebration and specialness is lost. And the part you mentioned about taking a pill is so relatable. I thought of Soylent. The inventor was trying to solve this issue. It makes me so mad that we're trying to take away the time where we get to sit and be with each other. Food is so much more than nourishing one's body. It's about all the other things; community, celebration, gathering, and life..
Stephens: There's a lot of talk in the climate fiction space around leading with dystopian visions versus hopeful ones. I’m a firm believer that dystopian stories serve an important purpose. Yet, I think the balance is off. To me it seems as if it’s dystopian story after dystopian story. How do we inspire folk to write hopeful stories and get more hopeful stories into the world?
Young: I think pragmatism and honesty are going to really help. Like, I don't want to be Pollyanna ish about what climate change is going to look like. I don't want to lie and say this is going to be easy and if we make a few small changes we don't have to disrupt the status quo, because that's not true. Things are going to change. We're going to it's going to be work and we're going to have to think differently. So I think showing that and not being afraid to put disaster next to hope, disaster next to recovery. That aspect of recovery, that creativity in terms of what comes after the flood, what comes after the mega fire, like, that's that's going to be life for us. And there can be a lot of beauty there. And I think not shying away from the truth of the climate disasters that are coming will allow these moments of hope to resonate more deeply because they'll actually be attainable.
Sekhar: I really resonate with that. Zoe. I think you're absolutely right. That hope stems from an honest look at what's actually going on. And I think we have. I think we misunderstand hope sometimes. We think it's this very flowery thing. But I think it's a very gritty thing, and it requires a lot of tenacity and a lot of imagination. And I feel like so much of getting people on the same page is about making it really sexy, you know, like, it's really sexy to think about solutions, and it's kind of lazy to just think about the problem. And I feel like encouraging people and showing them that they have a place in this movement, because sometimes activism can feel really closed off, and I think people want an invitation into it, and they want to know that their voice is part of the solution, and it needs to be part of the solution. So I feel like a lot of it is really about empowering people, that you don't have to be a huge study in climate science to participate in solutions, right? Like we need everyday people to be thinking about how they're going to participate in whatever we're building next. And I think also normalizing that we don't know the answers, but that that's part of the fun of it and part of the message of it. And part of the reason that we want everybody on board. And I love what you said, Zoe, about putting the disaster next to the solution and putting like, what happens after the flood because I feel like it's really the whole idea of an apocalypse. And I mean, apocalypse in general actually just means a reckoning. Right? But I think that in the West it's come to mean the end of the world, because it's the end of a certain lineage. Right? It's the end of a colonial lineage. And to people that have a vested interest in that as a status quo, that does feel like the end of the world. So I think it's about understanding that stories are what created a colonial structure and have maintained a colonial structure. It was a story of colonialism, a story of extraction, a story of scarcity, a story of othering. And we can combine that with our own stories. We can reclaim that with our own stories of abundance, our stories of cooperation, diversity, etc. That's the piece of empowering people and telling them, “You can be anybody and you can write about it.” Right. Like even looking at the 12 writers of this anthology, everybody has a totally different job. And that in itself proves that you don't have to be super, you know, you have to be like a climate erudite to figure out how to participate in this movement.
TS: I really appreciate speaking with you all. This is really what gives me life. I'm going to take these seeds, and sit with what we discussed. I needed this. Thank you.
Read Cabbage Korra and The Last Almond.
Zoe Young (she/her) is based in San Francisco, where she serves as head of creative content for The Nature Conservancy in California and teaches playwriting and screenwriting at Berkeley City College. You can read more of her fiction in McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern and Identity Theory Magazine. She is currently at work on a novel. Find her at ZoeYoungHere.com.
Sanjana Sekhar (she/her) is a socioecological storyteller amplifying character-driven stories that help heal our human relationships to ourselves, each other, and our planet. As a writer, creative producer, and film director, her work has been featured in the Hollywood Climate Summit, Tedx Climate Across the Americas, VH1 India, Sage Magazine, and the Webby Honorees. She is currently based in Los Angeles on Tongva homelands.