S.J. Winter Answers Questions About Crafting Devil’s Hope

Q: What first inspired the world of Devil’s Hope — the mythology, the characters, or the emotional arc?

A: All of my books begin as dreams. I usually experience them almost like I’m watching a movie unfold, and Devil’s Hope was no different. In the earliest version of the dream, the evil spirits were actually historical murderers. (I may have been watching a little too much true crime at the time.) Ultimately, I chose not to use real figures as it felt insensitive to the victims’ families. Instead built a supernatural framework that allowed me to explore similar themes without exploiting real tragedies.

Q: Cassielle is complex: traumatized, powerful, stubborn, and deeply human. What was the most challenging part of writing her character?

A: Honestly, the hardest part of writing any character for me is keeping my facts straight. I’m not blessed with a great memory, so I rely heavily on spreadsheets to track details. When I build a character, I map out their quirks, trauma, strengths, weaknesses—everything that shapes how they move through the world. I want each character to feel fully rounded, because we as humans carry our histories into every behavior and decision. My background—a bachelor’s in Psychology and a master’s in Rehabilitation Counseling—definitely influences how I approach character development. It helps me think about how past experiences shape present reactions, and I tried to bring that depth into Cassielle.

Q: Cassielle’s grief and avoidance shape much of her early journey. How did you approach writing trauma in a way that felt authentic rather than exploitative?

A: I try to approach trauma the same way I approach character development in general — with honesty and respect. Like I mentioned before, we all carry experiences that shape how we react to the world, and I wanted Cassielle’s trauma to feel rooted in that kind of emotional truth rather than used for shock value. My background in Psychology and Rehabilitation Counseling helped me think about how people cope, avoid, compartmentalize, and slowly heal. I focused on showing her reactions, not sensationalizing the events that caused them. Her grief isn’t a plot device; it’s part of who she is, and I wanted to treat it with the same care I would give a real person’s story.

Q: The novel blends Voodoo cosmology, Christian lore, and demonic mythology. What research did you do, and how did you balance accuracy with creative freedom?

A: I initially considered creating an entirely fictional religion, but after speaking with a friend who had extensive knowledge of Vodou, I decided to use it as the foundation instead. I’ve always been fascinated by religions and love researching them, but this was one tradition where I couldn’t learn everything I needed on my own. I was incredibly fortunate to have his guidance—he answered my questions, shared insights, and helped me approach the material with respect. Sadly, he passed away before I finished the book, so he never got to see the final version. If readers who are well-versed in Vodou notice anything I misunderstood, I genuinely welcome corrections. My goal has always been to portray the tradition as fairly and thoughtfully as possible while still leaving room for creative storytelling.

Q: Heylel is both a father figure and a cosmic force. How did you decide where to draw the line between his humanity and his inhumanity?

A: It might sound strange, but I didn’t over‑engineer that balance at first. When writing deities or cosmic beings, I’ve always been drawn to portrayals where they feel other—not cruel, not kind, just operating on a scale that doesn’t align with human logic. So with Heylel, I kept that in mind. He’s capable of affection, pride, and even a kind of parental warmth, but those emotions are filtered through a being who doesn’t experience the world the way mortals do. His “humanity” is more of an echo than a lived experience. I let his inhumanity show in the gaps—the moments where he doesn’t quite understand why something matters to Cassielle, or when his priorities feel unsettlingly vast. Instead of trying to make him relatable, I focused on making him consistent: a cosmic force who can love his daughter, but never fully be what she wishes he were.

Q: Samedi and Nibo are charismatic, dangerous, and emotionally layered. What guided your interpretation of the Loa, and how did you avoid flattening them into stereotypes?

A: I spent a lot of time researching the Loa because I wanted them to feel like individuals rather than archetypes. I read everything I could find about their personalities, domains, and even the kinds of offerings traditionally associated with them—those details helped me imagine how they might behave, what they value, and how they express themselves.

My friend also shared insights I never would have found on my own. He helped me understand the Loa as living, dynamic spirits rather than the flattened versions that often show up in pop culture. Between his guidance and my own research, I tried to approach each Loa with respect, curiosity, and a willingness to learn.

My goal was never to “use” the Loa as supernatural set pieces, but to portray them as complex beings with their own histories, motivations, and emotional textures. By grounding them in real tradition while still allowing room for creative interpretation, I hoped to avoid stereotypes and instead offer characters who feel layered, powerful, and deeply rooted in something larger than the story itself.

Q: Cassielle’s emotional pull between Nick and Samedi is subtle but powerful. Did you always intend for both relationships to exist, or did one emerge unexpectedly during writing?

A: I actually didn’t plan for Cassielle to have any kind of romantic or emotional tension with Samedi. In my earliest drafts, he was meant to be a powerful, complicated presence in her life — but not a potential love interest. It wasn’t until my editor read the first pass that she pointed out a few moments where the chemistry between them was… well, undeniable, even though I hadn’t consciously written it that way.

Once she said it, I couldn’t unsee it. There was something in the way they challenged each other, the way they understood each other’s darkness, that felt worth exploring. So instead of pulling back, I decided to lean into it and see where it naturally went.

I joke with my friends that whenever I write myself into a love‑triangle‑adjacent corner, I tend to solve it by killing one of the romantic interests — a habit that may have shown up in Legacy of Shadows. But with Devil’s Hope, that didn’t feel right. Cassielle’s relationships with both Nick and Samedi serve different emotional purposes, and removing one would have flattened the story rather than sharpened it.

Letting both dynamics exist — quietly, subtly, sometimes painfully — ended up giving the book more emotional texture than I expected when I first started writing.

Q: Nick’s possession is one of the most emotionally intense parts of the book. What were your goals in writing possession — fear, empathy, violation, or something else?

Q: Buer is terrifying, manipulative, and theatrical. What makes a compelling supernatural antagonist for you?

Q: The second half of the book balances high‑stakes action with deep emotional introspection. Which was harder to write — the battles or the feelings?

Q: Cassielle repeatedly asserts her free will, even against cosmic beings. Why was autonomy such an important theme for you?

Q: Cassielle’s decision to leave and face more demons is both triumphant and bittersweet. What did you want readers to feel at the end of the book?