After the Fire Burns Out began as a blend of life and fiction. Latifa started as a secondary character in a Young Adult series I was writing, but the more I wrote about her, the more she came alive. Sometimes a character surprises you, asserting a presence you didn’t expect, until the story you’re telling shifts completely. That’s how Latifa emerged—and how I found myself drawn to writing New Adult redemption stories: a broken woman trying to find her way home.

When I wrote Latifa, I didn’t base her on any one person I met, but on the emotions I saw again and again—shame, resilience, the need to be seen. I start with those emotional truths, then ask: What kind of life would create that feeling? From there, a character’s story unfolds almost on its own.

I’ve never believed anyone is beyond redemption. Life is a tapestry of experiences that shape who we are, but no matter what we’ve done, every person deserves respect. Our past may influence us, but it should never define us. That belief—the capacity for growth, change, and dignity—is at the heart of my books.

My first two redemption stories grew out of this belief—and from things I observed as a teenager.

When I was younger, one of the guys I’d known since I was two earned the reputation of a “ladies’ man.” He was the kind of guy who would go to a strip club, buy a three-dollar beer, then drop a ten on the table and say, “Keep the change.” God only knows what he paid for lap dances—he never told, and I never asked. Somehow, the ugliest guy you could imagine managed to bring a different girl home every night.

Here’s a life lesson I learned the hard way: don’t give your spare key to a guy who lives with his mom and frequents strip clubs. He can’t bring them to his place, so you inevitably wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning with a half-naked stranger asleep on your couch.

It wasn’t the half-naked girls that stuck in my memory—it was the journey that had brought them there. Each one had a story, even if I only glimpsed fragments. Most were ordinary people, shaped by choices, accidents, and circumstances beyond their control, all converging in that strange, fleeting moment.

In one of my novels—and a few short stories—Latifa wakes up naked on a strange couch. That moment came from one of those mornings when a girl woke up on mine, the smell of fresh coffee in the air, asking where she was and whether she’d come there with me. The fear and shame in her eyes stuck with me. I didn’t realize I’d written that moment into fiction until much later.

I never knew the full stories behind the faces I saw, but I caught glimpses: the quiet exhaustion behind a laugh, the tension in a hand that wouldn’t quite relax, the way someone’s eyes hinted at a past I could only imagine.

Most I never saw again, disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared. But a few crossed my path later in life, carrying the echoes of those same struggles—some finding their way home, some still wandering. It reminded me, in the most vivid way, that life is rarely a straight line. People stumble, get lost, and sometimes crash through someone else’s life in the most unexpected ways. And yet, even in the chaos, there is the possibility of redemption—of finding a place to belong, of becoming more than a single moment or mistake.

Sometimes the people we meet in fleeting moments leave the deepest marks—and inspire the stories we tell.

Those moments didn’t just stay memories—they became the emotional fuel for my writing. When I sit down to build a character, I think about those fragments: the way someone’s laugh tried to hide exhaustion, or how a single glance told a whole story. Those details become threads in my fiction—reshaped but real.

Those are the kinds of redemption stories I now write.

If you’re interested in redemption stories rooted in real human experiences, my latest short story releases this Sunday

— James D. Simser