PHOTO: Emerald Dodge, speculative fiction author and Navy wife, crafts stories of strength and vulnerability from her lived experience and literary vision.
Power Trauma And Redemption In Superhero Fantasy
Emerald Dodge shares how her life as a Navy wife, mother, and advocate shapes her gripping superhero fantasy, exploring themes of power, trust, mental health, and the costs of heroism.
Emerald Dodge’s literary journey unfolds like a tapestry woven with threads of resilience and imagination. Raised in Leesburg, Virginia, Emerald’s path to storytelling was forged through personal challenges and a deep-rooted passion for speculative fiction. Her novels, ranging from urban fantasy to paranormal fiction, reflect her profound exploration of identity, faith, and the intricate layers of the human psyche.
Emerald’s narratives resonate with authenticity, shaped by her experiences as a Navy wife and a mother of two sons. Her keen insight into military structures and the emotional landscapes of her characters is informed by the realities of service and sacrifice. Through her writing, she navigates themes of power and trauma, painting vivid worlds where heroes confront their own vulnerabilities amidst the shadows of authority.
In her latest works, including the Battlecry series, Emerald deftly blends superhero tropes with the chilling dynamics of cult-like institutions. This juxtaposition not only captivates readers but also challenges them to reconsider the nature of heroism and the complexities of moral integrity. Each page is imbued with a narrative depth that mirrors Emerald’s own journey of self-discovery and advocacy for mental health awareness.
Emerald’s dedication to storytelling extends beyond the page. She is a passionate advocate for empowering voices within the creative community, urging aspiring authors to embrace their uniqueness and delve into the emotional core of their narratives. Her impact reaches far beyond her novels, resonating with readers who seek stories that illuminate both the darkness and the light within us all.
What inspired you to blend superhero tropes with cult-like institutions in the Battlecry series?
I’ve always loved superheroes, but I am equally fascinated—and frankly disturbed—by how some institutions use charisma and obedience to manipulate young people. Battlecry is what happens when those two ideas collide. It’s a story about power, both external and internal, and what happens when people you trusted twist that power for their own ends. I wanted to explore what it looks like to deconstruct heroism and start over, especially when the person you used to be no longer fits the person you’re becoming.
How did your experiences as a Navy wife influence the military structures depicted in your novels?
Military culture is woven into our everyday lives, so it was important to me that my fictional militaries felt real. I’ve seen firsthand how hierarchy, jargon, and camaraderie shape people. I also understand the quiet sacrifices—the deployments, the duty over desire—and I wanted that emotional undercurrent to inform characters like Rachel Goldstein and Jillian. Being a Navy wife gave me a front-row seat to loyalty, loss, and leadership—and all three appear constantly in my books.
In Sentinel, Jillian confronts betrayal from her elders. What message were you conveying about authority and trust?
Sentinel is about waking up. Jillian starts to realise that the people she looked up to were not always worthy of that admiration. I think a lot of us, especially in young adulthood, go through that heartbreaking process of re-evaluating authority figures. I wanted readers to feel the grief of that disillusionment—but also the power that comes from choosing your own moral compass. Trust shouldn’t be blind. It should be earned, and constantly re-evaluated.
Mercury shifts perspective to a male protagonist. What challenges did you face writing from this viewpoint?
Mercury was deeply personal. Benjamin’s struggle with self-worth, body image, and masculinity echoes a lot of what I’ve observed in men I love. The biggest challenge was writing vulnerability in a way that felt true to a man who’s been taught to suppress it. Benjamin is charismatic, confident, and attractive—but internally, he still sees himself as the “ugly fat kid.” I wanted to explore how trauma lingers, even in people who look like they’ve got it all together.
How does your interest in esthetics and Tudor history inform your world-building and character development?
I love beauty with teeth. The Tudor court was full of elegance, fashion, and opulence—but also secrets, scheming, and survival. That duality influences my world-building: stylish but deadly, decadent but dangerous. I want readers to be seduced by the visuals but unsettled by what’s happening underneath. Esthetics also play into character psychology—how we present ourselves versus who we really are. Jillian’s glossy public image, for instance, hides a very fractured private reality.
The Oceanus series introduces ghost ships. What drew you to explore paranormal elements alongside urban fantasy?
There’s something beautifully eerie about the ocean. It’s vast, unknowable, and full of stories we’ll never hear. The Oceanus series explores the idea that grief doesn’t always rest—and sometimes it sails. Ghost ships became the perfect metaphor for unresolved trauma and ancestral memory. Blending paranormal with urban fantasy let me ground the action in a modern world while still dipping into the mythic. Plus, I just love a good haunting.
How do you balance the demands of motherhood with your writing schedule?
It’s chaos—but it’s my chaos. I write between school pickups, snack requests, and LEGO explosions. But motherhood has also made me more efficient, more emotionally attuned, and honestly, more motivated. I want my kids to grow up seeing that it’s okay to dream big and work hard. I may not have “balance,” but I have rhythm—and that’s enough.
What advice would you give aspiring authors aiming to write in the superhero urban fantasy genre?
Don’t just copy tropes—interrogate them. Ask what makes a hero, who gets to decide, and why. Also: lean into the emotional stakes. Powers are cool, but people connect with pain, longing, hope, and resilience. And lastly, write what you love—even if it’s weird. Especially if it’s weird. The genre needs your voice, not a recycled version of someone else’s.
