Cynthia Johnstone’s debut novel, “Nomad” (She Writes Press, October 13, 2026) is an atmospheric look at healing and reckoning in the American West.
Set in the desert wilderness of Sedona, Arizona, “Nomad” is a lyrical novel about grief, resilience and the landscapes that shape us. After her brother’s sudden death, Corey retreats to a remote, off-grid ranch outside Sedona seeking silence and escape. Instead, an unexpected stray dog—and a handful of unlikely connections—begin to draw her back toward the world.
For more, visit https://www.cynthia-johnstone.com/.
What inspired you to write this novel?
At its heart, “Nomad” was inspired by the idea that nature is always teaching us, if we are willing to pay attention. The natural world doesn’t resist change the way people often do. Forests burn and grow back. Seasons end and begin again. The landscape adapts, endures, and finds ways to create new life from what appears to have been destroyed.
I wanted Corey’s healing to grow from those lessons. She retreats into nature believing it will help her escape the world, but over time, it becomes her guide back to it. The land teaches her about patience, resilience, surrender, and renewal. Even Nomad arrives as part of that wild world—unexpected, wounded, and carrying exactly the lesson she needs. The novel grew from my belief that nature doesn’t simply surround us; it speaks to us. Sometimes it even shows us the way forward.
How does the setting of Arizona shape the story, and how has your own time there influenced the book?
Arizona is more than the setting; it reflects Corey herself. The landscape is rugged, beautiful, uncompromising and shaped by everything it has endured. Its isolation gives Corey a place to disappear, while the demands of off-grid living allow her to turn survival into an identity. But Arizona also teaches her that destruction is not always the end, sometimes it’s the beginning of something new.
Living in northern Arizona has deeply influenced the book’s spirit. I’m continually struck by the vastness of the land, the force of the weather, and the quiet resilience required to live here. I wanted readers to smell the juniper, feel the heat rising from the earth, and understand why Corey would seek refuge in such a wild place—and how that same place might eventually lead her home to herself.
What is the journey that Corey takes as she copes with her loss?
Corey’s journey begins with flight. At 18, devastated by her brother’s death and her mother’s imprisonment, she disappears into the Arizona backcountry and creates a life governed by routine, hard work and complete self-reliance. She believes she has moved on, but she has really suspended herself in time, avoiding anything that might reopen the past.
As the life she has carefully constructed begins to change, Corey can no longer keep memory, guilt and anger buried. She must reconsider the story she has told herself about her brother’s death, confront her mother, and decide whether solitude is still a choice—or has become another kind of prison. Her journey is not about leaving the wilderness or becoming someone entirely new. It’s about allowing herself to grieve honestly and discovering that moving forward does not mean leaving the people she loved behind.
Tell me about the relationship between Corey and the stray dog.
Corey wants nothing to do with Nomad when he first appears. To her, the stray dog represents everything she has spent ten years avoiding: attachment, responsibility, love…and the possibility of losing something she cannot bear to live without. She repeatedly sends him away, but Nomad refuses to give up on her.
His loyalty is patient, unwavering, and entirely selfless. He asks for nothing beyond the chance to remain beside her, and little by little, his persistence wears down the defenses Corey has built around herself.
Through the ordinary intimacy of sharing her home, her routines, and her land with him, she remembers both the comfort and the risk of loving another living being. Nomad becomes the first crack in her carefully constructed isolation—and, in the end, an unexpected discovery reveals just how profound their connection may have been.
How did you develop Corey’s character? Did she change much from initial idea to final version?
Corey Collins was inspired by the women around me here in the small mountain town of Flagstaff, Arizona. They’re strong, adventurous, capable women who seem able to do anything. I admire their visible toughness, but I’m even more moved by the strength we don’t always see.
I have found that so many women carry invisible wounds while raising families, building lives, climbing mountains, taking risks, and beginning again, often without anyone understanding what they have survived. Corey became my tribute to that quiet, independent survivor.
She did evolve from my initial idea. At first, I imagined her primarily as tough, self-sufficient, and unconventional. As I wrote her, she became more vulnerable, complicated, and emotionally honest. Her strength was no longer about being fearless or untouched by her past, but about building a life despite it. Corey’s path may not resemble what others consider healing, but it belongs to her. That evolution helped me understand that healing has no single shape or timetable.
Corey’s journey begins with flight. At 18, devastated by her brother’s death and her mother’s imprisonment, she disappears into the Arizona backcountry and creates a life governed by routine, hard work and complete self-reliance. She believes she has moved on, but she has really suspended herself in time, avoiding anything that might reopen the past.
As the life she has carefully constructed begins to change, Corey can no longer keep memory, guilt and anger buried. She must reconsider the story she has told herself about her brother’s death, confront her mother, and decide whether solitude is still a choice—or has become another kind of prison. Her journey is not about leaving the wilderness or becoming someone entirely new. It’s about allowing herself to grieve honestly and discovering that moving forward does not mean leaving the people she loved behind.
Tell me about the relationship between Corey and the stray dog.
Corey wants nothing to do with Nomad when he first appears. To her, the stray dog represents everything she has spent ten years avoiding: attachment, responsibility, love…and the possibility of losing something she cannot bear to live without. She repeatedly sends him away, but Nomad refuses to give up on her.
His loyalty is patient, unwavering, and entirely selfless. He asks for nothing beyond the chance to remain beside her, and little by little, his persistence wears down the defenses Corey has built around herself.
Through the ordinary intimacy of sharing her home, her routines, and her land with him, she remembers both the comfort and the risk of loving another living being. Nomad becomes the first crack in her carefully constructed isolation—and, in the end, an unexpected discovery reveals just how profound their connection may have been.
How did you develop Corey’s character? Did she change much from initial idea to final version?
Corey Collins was inspired by the women around me here in the small mountain town of Flagstaff, Arizona. They’re strong, adventurous, capable women who seem able to do anything. I admire their visible toughness, but I’m even more moved by the strength we don’t always see.
I have found that so many women carry invisible wounds while raising families, building lives, climbing mountains, taking risks, and beginning again, often without anyone understanding what they have survived. Corey became my tribute to that quiet, independent survivor.
She did evolve from my initial idea. At first, I imagined her primarily as tough, self-sufficient, and unconventional. As I wrote her, she became more vulnerable, complicated, and emotionally honest. Her strength was no longer about being fearless or untouched by her past, but about building a life despite it. Corey’s path may not resemble what others consider healing, but it belongs to her. That evolution helped me understand that healing has no single shape or timetable.
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