I suppose you can use me as a cautionary tale. My new young adult novel, The Girl Who Could Silence the Wind, came out in March, but I started working on it in 2005. Clearly, my writing style, which doesn’t include outlining of any kind, leaves a lot to be desired. But I have no regrets. Seven years of hair pulling and revisions helped me shape a tale about young people, personal dreams, and one of the most savage issues facing Latin America today.

Whenever I begin a manuscript, I have only a character and a problem in mind. This time, she was 16-year-old Sonia Ocampo, who was born during one of the worst storms Tres Montes had ever seen. At the moment of her birth, the tempest quieted and from that day on, she was mistakenly believed to be a holy child sent to protect the miners and their families. By the time the novel opens, Sonia has become their living, breathing alta, her manta covered in silver and copper charms— milagros — representing all the petitions her neighbors have made over the years. Then a boy entrusted to her care is found murdered in the valley.

Meeting characters is always the most exciting part for me as a writer, mostly because they endear themselves to me with their quirks the way my friends do in real life. The novel was almost overrun with odd personalities. Lovesick bike-taxi boys. Tattooed bartenders with soft spots for orphans. Bossy tías who perfumed themselves to feed the goats, and old-fashioned miners steeped in dusty traditions. Smart girls with quiet voices and nerves of steel. Ghosts, and then, there were the thieves, murderers, and predators — the whole lot cleverly disguised as reasonable people, as they always are.

Day by day, the cast chattered in my head until I felt they were my own familia. They pulled me inside their lives in Tres Montes and along the long train tracks that led through the Haunted Valley to la capital. Along the way, they showed me what it’s like to be trapped by circumstances — whether social or economic. I had once been so sure I was telling Sonia’s story. But in the end, I could see she stood alongside a whole generation of young people desperate for a future full of options and willing to take unspeakable risks to achieve it.

Of course, as Latinos we’re familiar with a harsher, real-life version of that tale. Whether our families have been in the United States for more than a generation or we are one of the nine million people estimated by the Pew Hispanic Center to be living in “mixed status” families, we all have a ringside seat to the situation at our borders. As I researched details for my novel, I found newspaper accounts filled with stories and photographs about young people being kidnapped, mutilated, or murdered as they tried to reach a new future. Whatever your political leanings, it’s impossible to ignore the human tragedy that’s unfolding — and the huge toll it’s exacting on young people.

My first hope for this book is that readers enjoy it. But I secretly pray the story of Sonia, Pancho, and Rafael becomes more than an adventure in magical realism. I want my characters to do what strong characters in literature always do: make readers talk about our truths. I’d love to see the novel open a dialogue in families who might have their own reckless Rafael somewhere in their ranks. A dialogue in our classrooms, where young Latinos deal with negative stereotypes and, in the case of undocumented youth, shrinking educational opportunities. A dialogue at neighborhood parties, where people of all backgrounds might carefully debate what we owe young people, if anything at all.

Meanwhile, I’ll be doing my own small part to add to the conversation. This spring, I’ll launch my book in the usual way — while unveiling The Hope Tree Project in partnership with the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden in Richmond, Virginia, with more than 500 high school students of all backgrounds. I’ve asked these students to decorate selected trees with their own milagros, representing a dream they have for themselves. When I look up into the branches at those shiny foil pieces, I’ll be thinking of all of the characters who shaped my story. I’ll be offering thanks for the honor of writing for children. And I’ll be thinking, too, of young people everywhere who deserve a future that is just as glittering and bright.

Meg Medina is also the author of Tia Isa Wants a car, illustrated by Claudio Muñoz. The daughter of Cuban immigrants, she grew up in Queens, NY and now lives in Richmond, VA. The Girl Who Could Silence the Wind, Candlewick Press, Young Adult Fiction, in stores. The Hope Tree Project, April 30 – July 4, Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden, Richmond, Virginia. For more information visit: http://www.lewisginter.org/events/event_detail.php?event_id=910">http://www.lewisginter.org/events/event_detail.php?event_id=910.