Nicola Young is a former student of Psychology, Philosophy and English Literature, and a current cog in the great journalism-publishing machine. She grew up in Oregon, but has since lived in Washington, DC, Spain, Boston MA, and now Austin TX.
Like most writers, she wrote her first short story as a small child. The earliest one she can remember was about a brontosaurus who adopted an egg, then found out it was actually a T-Rex egg and had to run away. Since then, she has written on and off her whole life, mainly in the literary science fiction realm. She has previously had work published on DailyScienceFiction.com.
Q: If you could travel back in time, which of the great writers would you like to meet and why?
A: I would absolutely love to spend an evening partying with Oscar Wilde.
Q: What is the first book you remember reading or having read to you as a child?
A: My voracious love of reading began with my mom reading The Hobbit to me and my sister. She would edit some of the longer descriptions or confusing passages as she went, which I took great pleasure in calling out as I learned to read myself and peered over her shoulder. I was a nuisance.
Q: Is there a book that you keep going back to, and if so, how many times have you read it?
A: I have read God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut about once a year for the last seven years or so. It’s simply the kindest, gentlest, most humane book I’ve ever read, but without ever being trite or overwrought or sappy. It’s a book that gives you permission to love and care for humanity and human beings, even though they’re really not that great.
Q: What superpower would you like to have and why?
A: Telepathy with all animals. Make sure my cats know I love them? Check. Befriend a bear? Definitely. Have birds help me braid my hair Cinderella-style? Potentially dangerous, but I’ll try it.
I swayed in rhythm, holding her head against my shoulder. One hand stroked the long black hair, the other held a wine glass steady. The song coming out of my brand-new vintage-style record player was slow, sappy, somewhat crooning. A song pulled from her music library that, if I was being honest, she had liked …