Spanning more than two decades, Naima Coster’s second novel, What’s Mine and Yours, examines a community in North Carolina that is dealing with a county initiative to better integrate public schools. It is the story of two families, their experiences and struggles with motherhood, classism, and racism, and the power of relationships—both biological and found.

There is a lot in this story: systemic racism, gun violence and its long-term impact, class issues, family conflict, motherhood—was there a certain inspiration for this book?

The book started with a short story about a woman named Lacey May struggling to keep the heat on for her three girls while her husband is away. It was about the lengths to which a mother will go to protect her kids’ future. I was also thinking about another character, a woman named Jade, wondering if she was pregnant after the death of her partner. I decided to bring these two women into the book I’d been thinking about writing for a while, about the integration of a local high school and the families involved. All the other issues emerged organically from the characters’ lives.

All the characters are so richly drawn—as were the characters in your previous book. It feels like you could write a book about each one, with their backstories and how their lives intertwine throughout the years. Do you prepare anything, character-wise, before writing the book, or does it evolve naturally as you write?

Before writing What’s Mine and Yours, I put together pages and pages of writing about each of the characters. I wrote about how they felt about one another, what they were afraid of, what they wanted and needed, their beliefs about themselves. It gave me a foundation to put them all in motion, to know who was in the room as I was writing. But whatever I’d figured out before writing wasn’t enough to sustain the whole novel—I had to keep learning about them and questioning what I’d already decided about them so that they could surprise me and gain depth.

How did you first decide to pursue writing?

Writing kept moving closer and closer to the center of my life. I always knew I’d wanted to write, but I thought it was something I’d do in addition to my “real” work, whatever that wound up being. I even applied to and got into medical school, which, in retrospect, was ridiculous. I was too afraid to choose to dedicate myself to writing simply because I wanted to do it. I think I was maybe twenty-three when I admitted to myself writing was the most important work and practice in my life.

This is your second novel, but you’ve also written personal essays and nonfiction for a variety of outlets—the New York Times, The Cut, Bustle, Catapult, Lit Hub, to name a few. Do you find one genre easier to write than another? Does your writing process differ with each?

I find writing essays very hard—the form is always a huge question for me, and when you’re working with ten to twenty pages, determining the shape of the piece is so hard. Novels are large and more forgiving. I’m long-winded, so all the space of a novel helps.

Do you have a writing routine? If so, what does that look like? How has the pandemic affected it, if at all?

I can honestly say I no longer have a writing routine. Because of the pandemic, off-and-on childcare, and limited hands-on support over the last year, it’s been impossible to be precious about a routine. I write when I can, which is to say, when someone else is caring for my child, and I don’t have another pressing project to tend to. It’s not romantic, but it’s true. My routine is I get a cup of tea or coffee, then I sit my butt in the chair. I try to work in silence as much as possible.

How do you think the creative community can support women, and mothers, especially?

Money! I got a grant in 2020 from The Freya Project. They do fabulous work and I used their Juno grant to pay for childcare. Also, childcare! I read that when Camille T. Dungy’s child was very small, she would request childcare for her speaking engagements. The universities that invited her would find someone to care for her child while she gave her lectures. I think that’s incredible. The expectation is so often that a mother will find a way to keep her private life and professional life separate, and make the fact that she is a mother totally invisible. But offering childcare could certainly become the standard, which would enable writers who are primary caregivers to participate in festivals and all kinds of opportunities.

What are you struggling with, as a parent and as a writer, right now?

I have always struggled with the idea of seeing my writing as ‘necessary.’ It’s continued to be a struggle in the time of COVID, as we’re discussing what constitutes essential work and what doesn’t. It’s a struggle to put the writing above other kinds of labor: teaching, feeding and caring for a child. I have to constantly tell myself it’s enough to write simply because I love it and it’s part of the way I know how to live.

What books inspire you, and what are you reading right now?

I just started Libertie by Kaitlyn Greenidge, and I already love it. I’ve been counting down the days until I could get my hands on it, and I finally have it! I’ve long admired Kaitlyn’s writing and mind. She’s a powerhouse.

What’s next on the horizon for you?

I am working on a novel about two longtime friends who move near each other while they’re both pregnant so that they can raise their kids together. Very quickly they’re forced to confront the ways their lives have diverged: one friend is wealthy, in a loveless but stable marriage, and she’s harboring a delicate secret. The other is broke and struggling to keep up her creative practice while her husband pursues his lofty dreams as an activist-academic and leaves her largely alone. It’s about new motherhood, female friendship, and class mobility. Besides working on that book, I probably have a lot of trips to the park on the horizon, and a lot of playing with stickers and Legos.

Author photo: Sylvie Rosokoff