I certainly didn’t mean to, not consciously. “Cozy fantasy” wasn’t a thing when I set out to write A Turn of Light, my first fantasy novel, but as the term’s used today? In hindsight, what a perfect fit!
A bit of backstory, if I may. I kept my intention to write fantasy secret for decades. For a couple of reasons. Most importantly, I was already, and happily, writing science fiction for Sheila E. Gilbert at DAW Books, with several novels under contract, as well as editing my own anthologies. Not the best time to put forth such a, well, off-track notion.
And, I confess, I was hesitant. Could I write the type of fantasy I wanted? Lyrical, filled with wonder, immersive—to write it, to do it justice, I’d have to find my fantasy voice, distinct from my science fiction one. To develop a living landscape in terms that wouldn’t feel like my customary science-based planet-building, even to me. I like challenges but those seemed daunting. (Note to amuse you later: I was also firmly convinced I could and must do all that in under 90K.)
The easy part was knowing what kind of fantasy I’d write if I had the chance. It had to be joyous. No victims. No violence. No wars. I craved wonder and wild magic.
More than that, I wanted a story with community. People who were kind to one another, coming together as needed to work to a common goal. You know, ordinary folks living ordinary lives, just surrounded by wild—as in natural—unpredictable magic, under no one’s control. Lacking the term “cozy,” I thought of it back then as my “cup of cocoa and a blanket on a chilly damp afternoon” story. To write, one day.
Years, in fact, went by. I’d decided to wait for the right moment to broach this to Sheila—maybe to hand her a completed manuscript (yes, you can laugh). Alas, all I could manage to do was scribble more notes in my still-secret, still carefully hidden journal (which I succeeded in hiding from myself for two full years—eek!). I did have a working title: Night’s Edge. It was the name of the paint colour we used in our great hall, a rich twilight blue. (Later rebranded as Toronto Maple Leaf Blue—can’t argue with that, being a fan.)
That might have been it. I continued to be busy with writing and life. The Offspring moved away. My dear Poppa moved into town to be close to us, which was pure joy. I might never have gone further with Night’s Edge than a title and notes.
But then I hit the point where my next contracted work was the final trilogy of my Clan Chronicles SF series. I would conclude what had been my first story, revealing the answers and tearing apart, well, everything to get there. It would be—had to be—grim before reaching the end.
But I couldn’t start it. I wasn’t ready to be in that place. First, I needed to dive into something happy and light for a while, namely my cocoa and blanket story. I finally got up the courage to call Sheila to propose a different book than the three she rightly expected, a book I wanted to write first.
Sheila listened to what had to be the least polished pitch ever, then graciously gave me license to “get it out of my system.” Those words were an honest and experienced assessment of the odds that I, being a biologist/SF writer, could successfully switch to fantasy. I remain beyond grateful for her trust and DAW’s support.
The payoff came two and a half years later (it took me that long to get my voice and landscape right). Sheila read what had become a 375K (oh yes, not 90K at all, laugh with me) brick of wordage and told me, “I don’t know what this is, but I love it.” She’d probably have used the term “cozy,” but this was 2012, after all. “Grimdark” was the trend.
I love it, too. To this day, I’ll open random pages from A Turn of Light and settle in to enjoy one or two or ten. Doesn’t matter where in the book—I’d been entirely, deliberately selfish throughout, infusing every scene something special from my heart for me, be it joy and charm, poignancy and hope, or simply wonder. Pie. There’s a great deal of baking.
Looking back, I can see why. As it happened, I wrote the latter half of A Turn of Light at my Poppa’s bedside in hospital. (Trust me, he’d be fine with me sharing that with you. He was ever so proud of me and my work. We’d such wonderful visits.) Poppa stayed with us long enough to be the first to hold a print copy, and to know Sheila had bought sequels—and to meet Sheila, who very kindly came to visit him in his final weeks, which tells you a great deal about her deep compassion and kindness.
And yes, the scene in the sequel, A Play of Shadow, depicting the gentle end of a beloved elderly character, came from my being with him for his. Those years, that experience, solidified my sense of the fantasy I would keep writing, for myself and for you.
I’m delighted to finally have a good short name for it. “Cozy.” Coming home to lights on, supper in the oven, and hugs. Cocoa and a blanket—and a rainy afternoon spent reading. A setting I’d like to inhabit. People I’d like to be or meet, who do their best for one another when it matters. A story that sings to my heart, that has me crying so hard with joy I can barely read the words—in sum, a story that restores me.
Cozy fantasy. These days it’s not hard to find and I’m so glad. I love reading it. Check out Sarah Beth Durst’s delightful Spellshop if you’ve yet to try some. And whatever it’s called in years to come, I’ll keep writing more.
However far we are apart, may stories like these keep us close.
Award-winning author and editor Julie E. Czerneda is a member of the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame. She has twenty-five science fiction and fantasy novels published by DAW Books, as well as numerous short stories and anthologies. Julie’s works combine her training and love of biology with a boundless curiosity and optimism. Out now: Imaginings, Julie’s first short story collection, and standalone science fiction novel To Each This World, as well as the fourth installment in her beloved Night’s Edge fantasy series, A Shift of Time, just published on July 22. Julie is represented by Sara Megibow of Megibow Literary Agency. www.czerneda.com.
