Interviews with Latin Heritage Contest Authors: Emma Lopez, Cordelia Scoville, Jayla Hall Cabrera, Anakaren Aviles, and Zola Ortiz de Montellano
- jua kim
- Apr 8
- 15 min read
Interview Questions by Natalia Arruda and Julian Riccobon
Interview Answers by Emma Lopez, Cordelia Scoville, Jayla Hall Cabrera, Anakaren Aviles, and Zola Ortiz de Montellano
Polyphony Lit's Latin Heritage Contest Winners are now live! In this special feature, we'll be taking a behind-the-scenes look at the writing processes of Emma Lopez, author of "abuela's kitchen on domingo", Cordelia Scoville, author of "Chicken and Rice", Jayla Hall Cabrera, author of "No Sabo Mixed Girl", Anakaren Aviles, author of "Scoville Scale", and Zola Ortiz de Montellano, author of "Pasteles, Peppermints, and Praise".
Interview with Emma Lopez
Author of "abuela's kitchen on domingo"
Natalia: This poem is filled with sensory details, from the sound of domino tiles “click[ing] like castanets” to the smell of “café bustelo strong enough to wake the dead” to the fear which “tasted like metal.” How do you go about selecting details to include in your work? How can aspiring writers do the same, when it comes to building vivid imagery?
Emma: When I write, I want the reader to feel fully immersed in the world I’m creating, and sensory details are the best way to do that. I try to pull from real-life experiences, especially memories tied to strong emotions. In this poem, every detail—whether it’s the sound of dominoes, the strength of the coffee, or the metallic taste of fear—connects to my abuela and the atmosphere of her kitchen.
For aspiring writers, I’d say start with personal memories and think about what made them vivid. Was it a particular smell, sound, or texture? Small, specific details often make a piece feel the most real rather than trying to be general.
Natalia: I absolutely love the line “until her feet bled beautiful,” because it presents such an unexpected combination of words with conflicting connotations. What was running through your mind when you first wrote this line?
Emma: That line came from thinking about the sacrifices woven into my abuela’s life—how beauty and struggle often exist side by side. I imagined her younger self dancing, the joy of it, but also the pain, the resilience. To her, the beauty of dancing, of being young and free in Havana, was worth remembering the pain. That’s what I wanted to capture: the way something can be both painful and breathtaking at once.
Natalia: In the final stanza, you give readers a glimpse of the speaker’s abuela leaving Domingo, further developing this connection between the Domingo that she left behind… and the recipes that she still carries with her. Throughout the poem you explore the resilience of memory and intuition through lines like “the scent of home preserved / in recipes she carries / like photos in her wallet” or “she never measures / just knows by heart, by hand.” What do you hope to convey to readers about memory or legacy?
Emma: I wanted to show how culture, history, and love persist in the smallest ways. My abuela left behind one home but carried it with her through things like food, tradition, and instinct. The idea that she “never measures, just knows” speaks to an inherited wisdom—one that isn’t written down but is deeply felt. I hope readers see how memory isn’t just something we recall; it’s something we live, something we pass down in ways we don’t even realize.
Natalia: Whenever you feel stuck with your writing, where do you turn for inspiration? Do you draw from real-world experiences? Do you have a favorite author or book that inspires you?
Emma: I turn to real-life moments, especially those tied to family, food, and heritage. Even small things—like the way my abuela moves in the kitchen or the way a certain song makes me feel—can spark something. I also find inspiration in poets who write with rich, sensory language, like Ocean Vuong and Ada Limón. Their work reminds me that poetry isn’t just about what’s said, but how it’s said—the textures, the sounds, the silences between words.
When I feel really stuck, I step away from writing and try to experience something tactile—cooking, listening to old songs, flipping through old photos. Usually, inspiration comes when I stop searching for it and just let memory do its work.
Interview with Cordelia Scoville
Author of "Chicken and Rice"
Natalia: Your poem begins with the line, “I don’t remember / the chicken and rice times,” and then proceeds to explore the details that the speaker “lived in” but does not remember. From your perspective, how are food and memory connected – or disconnected? Does food still persist, even when memory might fail us? Does food serve as a reinforcement for memories that might otherwise fade without its support?
Cordelia: In the poem, food serves as a fragile link to the past—vivid and alive in its absence. The “chicken and rice times” contrast with the present’s monotony.
Natalia: Who is the person who speaks about the “chicken and rice times”? Is she the speaker’s mother or another relative? And how does food shape the speaker’s relationship with this person?
Cordelia: A daughter recalls her mother describing the “chicken and rice times” as “clean” and “lively.” These memories shape their relationship, with the mother’s vivid past contrasting the daughter’s present of “beans and rice,” reflecting both inherited connection and cultural fragmentation.
Natalia: At the beginning of your final stanza, you touch on the importance of not just consuming but preparing food. Whenever you eat “anything… as long as it's quick,” you sometimes miss out on all of the thought and care that goes in making food by hand. How is the preparation of food significant to this poem and the themes you wanted to develop?
Cordelia: The “chicken and rice times” are tied to thoughtfulness—the spices, the balance of flavors—whereas the present’s “whatever’s-in-the-fridge” meals lack that intentionality. This shift reflects the lack of deliberate preservation of culture over time.
Natalia: What do you hope that readers will take away from your poem, even long after they’ve finished reading?
Cordelia: I want readers to recognize how food can reflect both continuity and change in culture and family relationships.
Cordelia Scoville is a high schooler and writer living in Los Angeles, and she loves to write both prose and poetry. When she's not writing, she spends her time playing and teaching piano. Her work has been published, is available, or is forthcoming at Skylight Books in Los Angeles, Polyphony Lit, and Crashtest. She is the winner of a silver medal and four gold keys in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and a two-time winner of Polyphony Lit’s Hispanic Heritage Month Award. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, DePaul’s Bluebook, and the Writopia Lab 2024 Youth Essay Conference.
Interview with Jayla Hall Cabrera
Author of "No Sabo Mixed Girl"
Julian: The opening lines of your poem immediately struck me as introspective and moving, because they plunge readers into the speaker’s internal struggles. As a writer, what do you think makes for a good hook or a good opening line? How can aspiring writers achieve this in their own work?
Jayla: Making a good hook is not being critical of yourself as you write. It may not always be perfect the first time but what I can guarantee is if you are being honest in your writing, then you have nothing to worry about. Something that works for me that I would recommend to other aspiring writers to achieve this in their work is the advice I heard a few years back. Brainstorm what you want to write about, even if it's incoherent or not a full sentence. The one you feel uncomfortable to delve into, that's your hook.
Julian: I find the title of your poem really thought-provoking, because it could potentially be interpreted multiple ways. Of course, “no sabo” means “I don’t know,” and in the context of the poem, the line “no sabo mixed girl” appears to describe how the speaker does not know how to speak Spanish fluently. At the same time, though, I could potentially see this phrase “I don’t know” speaking to the narrator’s identity crisis in a broader sense as well, encapsulating how they don’t quite know how to define themself, based on social and cultural conventions. Could you tell us a little more about how you chose this phrase for the title, and what it signifies to you?
Jayla: For me the "no sabo" comes from the "joke" that those who are not fluent Spanish speakers are conformed to the ideal that they'll never know. I find it a cruel stab at those who are naïvely confident in improving their skills, who will nevertheless experience a truth. The reality is that if they want to be fluent in their mother tongue then it has to come from them, and not the ones around you. The "mixed girl" is because for me when you are the birth of two bloods, there is a line drawn between the two. You'll never be 100% of either or, nor "prove" yourself to outside expectations. So the title is a way of accepting this fact and coming to terms with it.
Julian: From your point of view, how do food and language both play a role in shaping cultural identity?
Jayla: In my opinion, love comes in all forms—words, actions, and food. It plays a part in shaping cultural identity because it's how you relate to the culture, a shared experience for those who are rooted in it. It's how, in both food and language, you can say I am from here, as it is something you've experienced.
Julian: In L10 of the poem, you refer to “the rhythm of language.” While here, it seems to be used to describe the rhythm of the Spanish language specifically, this line drew my attention to the flow and rhythm of your poem as a whole, which reminds me (in the best way possible) of the works of Elizabeth Acevedo and other slam / spoken word poets! In the final lines, you also return to describe how words can “dance” or “stagger,” and you convey these ideas with your own carefully-constructed cadence and pacing. How do you develop rhythm or cadence in your writing? Does it develop in your first draft, or does it take a lot of revision and refining? Do you read your work out loud as part of the writing process?
Jayla: Thank you! I always enjoy hearing readers' favorite lines, what they are reminded of, or how they relate to specific parts of my writing. I find it comes naturally to me, and the way of my mind is what prompts my authenticity or style. Usually, my poems are done in one draft, or for some, I may work over them a second or third time. Although my English teachers have informed me that the more you revise the better, I find the opposite to be true in creative pieces. As the more your own experiences or creativity is kept to the writing then the better it comes off to those who read it. My writing process usually starts from a thought I had on a whim or formed after reading a prompt, then I get into a world similar to when you read a fiction book, and the story comes with ease. I work better at a fast pace, and afterward, I either read it back to myself or – if it is on a digital platform – I let the computer read it out to me, and fix parts that didn't sound right when I initially wrote it.
Julian: Lastly, are there any writers or creators that you turn to as a source of inspiration?
Jayla: Right off the bat, A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly, is a writer I source inspiration from when it comes to my writing style. I read her book many years ago, and it still has the same effect on me when I first read it.
Jayla Hall Cabrera is a senior in High School based in NYC. She enjoys creative writing, filmmaking, and song writing. Jayla’s work is published in over 9 book collections, and she herself has been working to publish a book of her own, Greenville, a collection of fictional stories that embody everything from childhood wonders to the realities of adulthood. Coming soon in May 2025.
Interview with Anakaren Aviles
Author of "Scoville Scale"
Julian: In your work, I noticed that the references to the Scoville Scale serve as an underlying backbone for the piece, with the comparison of the chile veins to the speaker’s veins serving as a subtextual way of exploring the speaker’s identity. You lace these themes throughout, weaving in subtle references to how the speaker wishes they resembled their mother more closely, while simultaneously exploring how the speaker wishes they had a higher tolerance for spicy food. How did you come up with this conceit behind the narrative? How did you initially make this connection and how did it formulate – in your mind or on the page – as you began writing?
Anakaren: Both the mind and the page are vital. For creative nonfiction, I brainstorm by identifying my life’s patterns. I realized my mom adds chile to anything edible, so my concept began with Tajin. It didn’t bode well; I can’t limit myself to one memory, so I amassed them, creating a palette of experiences. As I brainstormed, I wrote bullet points like; chiles capones, chiles rellenos, la Feria del Chile, chiles asados, etc. This process is to weed the junk out; most of it never makes the final cut.
My brainstorming is flimsy; I must be disloyal to my ideas. I Frankenstein my rough draft, or set my mind to spewing nonsense until it’s long enough to work with. With my first draft done, I go back, reread obsessively, and catch subconscious themes. For ‘Scoville Scale’ (or ‘Tajin’), I often talked about color, but felt stuck, so I researched chiles and found my central theme; a spectrum. I went back and weaved in motifs. I wrote my palette of memories as a gradient, emphasizing mother-daughter relationships, and extremes like hot and cold, sun and moon, and fire and ice.
Julian: While the title and themes suggest a primary focus on chiles, you beautifully describe a wide variety of foods over the course of this piece, from the gazpacho at the vendor’s stall, to the mole that the mother makes for the speaker’s birthday, to the taquito con queso which the speaker’s mother eats instead of the mole due to her allergies, to the canela drinks that the speaker and their mother sip towards the end. How does each dish or flavor fit into the mosaic of food and culture that you build throughout this piece? How do food and cooking play a role in shaping the speaker’s relationship with their mother – or with others?
Anakaren: Mexican culture emphasizes spiciness, so any non-spicy dish was a subversion or deviation of the culture. Every dish was picked for its connection to Mexican culture, my mother, and/or its color. I painted a gradient with them, going from a scorching red to a refreshing white. I took liberties with the Scoville Scale; I decided to add white and brown, inspired by the Mexican flag.The food established my relationship with my mom by emphasizing our extremes through color and/or spice. The foods go from Mom's preferences to our shared ones. At the end, I conveyed our similarities by having two drinks made by the same ingredients, but had vastly different temperatures, preparations, and tastes. The white horchata symbolizes my surrender to my ‘lukewarm Mexican-ness.’ This is exemplified by me accepting or even seeking out Mexican cuisine myself.
Julian: The ending of your piece really leaves readers on a thought-provoking note. What do you believe is essential for crafting a strong ending line in prose?
Anakaren: To write a strong, charged end line in prose, you must analyze your themes. With these themes, you’ll craft a final line that concludes your arc and leaves your reader with a satisfied, lingering feeling. If something feels off, it needs adjustment. You’ll know when you have the right line when you feel it.
Julian: On a stylistic level, I couldn’t help but notice how expertly you develop the pacing of this piece, interweaving various threads of the narrative. You share observations about the setting, you show dialogue and character interactions, and underneath it all is the speaker’s wandering thoughts. It can often be challenging for writers to develop so many narrative threads simultaneously. Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who want to create smooth pacing in their own work?
Anakaren: Some advice for writers that want to create smooth pacing is: don’t focus on length but instead, connections. What connects one scene with the other? You can always come back to add or remove bits; your goal at the beginning is to make scenes flow between each other. You can have one scene be 500 words, and another 50– so long as there’s a strong connection between the two, both can exist. If a scene or memory doesn’t support the theme, trash it. Again, don’t be loyal to all your ideas.
Anakaren Aviles, 18, is a creative writing senior from Houston, Texas. She enjoys writing creative non-fiction, fiction, and reading magical realism. Her influences are LEGO, animated short films, and her sister.
Interview with Zola Ortiz de Montellano
Author of "Pasteles, Peppermints, and Praise"
Julian: As a writer or reader, what sort of themes or topics do you find most compelling? Are there any authors or books that you turn to as a source of inspiration?
Zola: As both a reader and writer I am drawn to simple and personal stories. My favorite author is Jane Austen, and her humoristic approach to very real everyday struggles and crises really draw me to her work. I think it is especially her heroines whom I find most compelling, strong women who defy stereotypes of what a strong woman should look like, who have stayed relatable hundreds of years later, and who are most importantly very imperfect. I enjoy imperfect characters because I find they are most easy to identify with, and, in fact, seeing your own flaws in a character you still love can be extremely comforting! It is the stories about flawed and imperfect lives that reflect the world, and it is when these stories are ultimately joyful or optimistic that I enjoy them the most.
Julian: One of the images that really struck me in your piece was the image of the “pastel assembly line.” For me, it evoked the image of a (pleasantly) chaotic family dinner, where everyone is making pasteles at various stages of preparation, and I felt that it also served as an apt comparison for how every member of the family plays a part. How are pasteles made? What is the SparkNotes version of the recipe? And how do the pasteles (or the process of creating them) reflect on the family dynamics in this piece?
Zola: Pasteles are sort of reminiscent of tamales, except that the dough is made of green bananas and yuca instead of corn. The different steps in the process are first, making the meat filling and the dough (which involves grating all the bananas and yuca), then assembling them and wrapping them in banana leaves, and finally boiling them. Pasteles are the quintessential Puerto Rican holiday food, and a large part of Puerto Rican tradition. As such, having the narrator not only be unfamiliar with the preparation but also actively repulsed by the flavor illustrates her uncomfortable separation from her culture. However, the process of making pasteles is so elaborate that it is by necessity a family affair; it forces the narrator to take part and contribute, and though each person may be working on a different task, every part of the process, and therefore each person's role in the family, is important in creating the end product. In its final form, it becomes a representation of a family coming together and connecting over a shared tradition.
Julian: The speaker’s relationship with their cousin Isabela seems to contain a unique combination of warmth, admiration, envy and nostalgia. Although the speaker has fond memories of building pillow forts with Isabela, it seems like Isabela also serves as a representation of what the speaker longs to be (a member of the younger generation who is fully connected with the family’s Puerto Rican heritage and feels completely at home at this family gathering). Could you tell us a little more about the significance of this relationship to the story?
Zola: That is totally right! When the narrator was younger she always felt very close to Isabela, the connection was easy, and by extension she felt like less of an outsider. When she is older, the interactions with Isabela become marked by unfamiliarity instead, illustrating how she has unintentionally distanced herself from her Puerto Rican identity. Isabela simply becomes an unpleasant reminder of how much she does not belong: as the narrator compares herself to how Isabela acts, and how at ease Isabela is, she feels it is impossible for her to be the culturally-connected version of herself she longs to be. Importantly, although Isabela is the one who at the beginning is “expertly tying up banana leaves,” the narrator is able to almost surpass her, which we see through Tia Felicia’s statement designating the narrator as the one who will “take the charge”; she realizes she can feel like a part of the family in her own right, distinct from her cousin Isabela.
Julian: As a fellow Latinx writer who is not fluent in Spanish (I am self-taught, with only beginner level fluency), I found your exploration of multilinguality to be incredibly relatable. Tell us about some of your choices, when it comes to the multilingual dialogue in this piece. Where did you choose to incorporate Spanish in this piece and why? Do you think language is an inherent part of cultural identity? Is it simply one of many facets?
Zola: Throughout the story, the presence of Spanish marks the moments in which the narrator feels most isolated and most like an outsider. From my early childhood, Spanish has separated me from my extended family. My brother and I have been the only ones at family gatherings who do not speak Spanish, and it truly has always made me feel like I do not quite belong. I started taking Spanish at school five years ago, but still struggle a lot when I try to speak with my Grandma in Spanish. I think the importance of this story, though, is that the narrator learns she does not have to speak Spanish to be an important part of the family, and that there are other ways (for instance through food) that she can connect with her cultural identity. In all honesty, however, I do think language is an extremely important part of any cultural identity: it is the most natural way people communicate and connect. Though there are many other forms of connection, I know that I will always feel like an outsider in a community in which I cannot speak the language as easily as everybody else.
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