Jill Baguchinsky discusses her first foray in YA horror ‘So Witches We Became’

With a premise that evokes the spooky feel of Stephen King and a razor-sharp revenge angle, So Witches We Became by Jill Baguchinsky is an ode to female rage that touches on the trauma of sexual assault and supports young women coming into their power.  Reading like a YA feminist spin on King’s The Mist, Baguchinsky’s first foray into YA horror is a diverse, queer horror about female friendship, the emotional aftermath of surviving assault, and how to find power in the shadows of your past. 

They called us witches, so witches we became. For high school senior Nell and her friends, a vacation house on a private Florida island sounds like the makings of a dream spring break. But Nell brings secrets with her—secrets that fuse with the island’s tragic history, trapping them all with a curse that surrounds the island in a toxic, vengeful mist and the surrounding waters with an unseen, devouring beast.   

Getting out alive means risking her friendships, her sanity, and even her own life. In order to save herself and her friends, Nell will have to face memories she’d rather leave behind, reveal the horrific truth behind the encounter that changed her life one year ago, and face the shadow that’s haunted her since childhood. Easier said than done. But when Nell’s friends reveal that they each brought secrets of their own, a solution even more dangerous than the curse begins to take shape. 

We talked to Baguchinsky about blending horror elements into a story centered around a sexual assault trauma, her inspiration behind writing a story set in her home state, the story behind the title, and what exactly it means for a woman to be a “witch” in this context.  

What was it like to write about sexual assault in a YA space? Were there topics or scenes you felt because of the genre you couldn’t dive into but wanted to? How did the YA genre help your writing process? 

One of my pet peeves in horror (and entertainment in general) is when sexual assault is used for shock value, or as just another scene to move the plot along. My main concern was handling the storyline with sensitivity, in a way that centered the survivor and gave her back her voice and her agency. While that can certainly be done in fiction written for an adult audience, teens are at a uniquely overwhelming point in their lives when it comes to topics like sex, trust, and consent. They’re figuring out so much; experiences that might seem somewhat clear to those of us with a few more years of experience can be confusing to teenagers.

I wanted to hone in on that, to keep the focus not on this one completely awful moment that a character experiences, but on the emotions, the fallout, the processing and the healing that follow. And the vengeance, of course, since we don’t always get that in real life. Let’s face it — society still tends to blame survivors while letting certain people get away with reprehensible behavior. The more we let teens (and adults) see that it doesn’t have to be that way — that it’s possible to support each other, and to fight back — the closer we get to changing things for the better.

What made you decide to write a YA horror queer story set in Florida? What was it like to write about your home state as someone who grew up on a barrier island? 

After Hurricane Irma hit Marco Island in 2017, I wanted to write a hurricane story set in Florida as a way to help myself process my weather-related PTSD. I’ve lived in the state for just about all of my life, so I’m familiar with the good and bad of it, and it’s relatively easy to immerse my characters in it and imagine what they’re feeling. When Tris, who grew up on the coast, talks about hurricane prep and the anxiety that comes along with tracking an approaching storm, it’s all pulled from my own experiences with tropical systems. 

Setting a horror story in such a sunny state might seem counterproductive, but I love the combination of brightness and darkness (think of movies like Midsommar). As far as the story’s queerness, I just let my characters be who they are — but it was kind of satisfying to set a proudly queer story in a state that’s seen so many ridiculous book challenges and bans and “Don’t Say Gay” debates over the past few years. 

As someone who is a fan of the horror genre, what do you think makes a horror story well-written and gives you goosebumps?

I love a good slow burn — I prefer creeping dread and lurking shadows over a lot of gore and jump scares (although those can be fun, too!) Good horror plants images in your head that linger long after you’ve finished the story. It turns that pile of clothes in the corner of your dark bedroom into something that creeps closer every time you dare to close your eyes. It revs up your imagination and lets you work through fear in a safe way. So much of horror stems from grief and trauma, and effective stories often have you processing those things right along with the main characters. 

The term “witch” isn’t used in a negative light the way most media perceive these magical creatures, especially around the Halloween season. What does the term mean to you, especially in a modern-day world? What do you hope your book sheds light on when it comes to the word and its meaning? 

I’ve seen the phrase “They didn’t burn witches; they burned women” tossed around a lot this US election cycle. I’d expand it to something like “they burned outsiders, people who thought differently, and people they couldn’t control.” There’s something about the idea of certain types of individuals (very often women, but not always) having power or influence and choosing how to use it that makes some folks very nervous. The characters in SO WITCHES aren’t reading from spell books or stirring up potions; they just put their natural talents to work in powerful ways to protect themselves and each other. I really connect with the idea of a lot of “magic” coming down to instinct and intention, so that’s how I approached it in this book. 

If you could assign a cat breed to each character, what would they be and why? 

This is one of the most creative questions I’ve ever been asked! Let’s see… Nell might be a Birman. A friend of mine used to have Birmans, and the females tended to be quiet like Nell, and quite self-reliant, which matches Nell’s role as the “mom friend” of the group. Sweet but strong.

I’m cheating a little, since this one’s a color, not a breed, but Harper is a tortie. She has that confident, sometimes demanding attitude. Harry is somewhat high-strung and nervous, so he might have some Siamese in him. Dia is an enthusiastic, sensitive sweetheart — a Ragdoll, maybe. I could see Tris as an independent but loyal Abyssinian — curious and outgoing, but also sensible. Gavin doesn’t get to be a cat. I refuse to insult cats like that. Gavin is a hairball.

What are some words of wisdom you’d give to readers who are beginning their journey of giving voice to their shadows? 

Move at your own pace, take care of yourself, and do what’s right for you. That’s more important than anything else. Everyone is different, and everyone processes experiences in their own way. If you want to speak up and let your shadow be loud, that’s great! If the path for you is different, that’s also great. A voice can take so many forms — creative expression, activism, finding ways to help others. It might be open and visible to the world, or it might be something private that’s just for you. It’s all valid.

So Witches We Became is now available for purchase. 

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Images courtesy of Hachette Book Group and Jill Baguchinsky.