Indigenous Voices And The Power Of Thrillers With Author Vanessa Lillie

With The Bone Thief releasing October 28, Vanessa Lillie continues the story of Syd Walker—a Cherokee archeologist and BIA agent caught between worlds, where missing women, stolen remains, and centuries of colonial history collide. In conversation, Lillie shares why the series is so personal, how truth fuels her fiction, and why Indigenous storytelling is as much about survival as suspense.

Transcript

[This interview has been edited for length and clarity.]

Cowboys & Indians: The Bone Thief, set to be released October 28, is the second Sid Walker novel after Blood Sisters. What drew you back to this character, and how do we see her evolving in this new story?

Vanessa Lillie: Yeah, so Sid Walker was a character who was very personal for me for a couple of reasons. First of all, I wanted to give her some of my own background. She is a white-presenting Cherokee like me. Her family history is very similar to mine: this idea that they’re from outside Nashville. Originally, they were removed on the Trail of Tears and then settled in northeastern Oklahoma. Even her last name, Walker, is my family’s last name. In fact, the ancestors of mine who were on the Trail of Tears had the last name Walker, and our family cemetery and homestead land are still under that family name. I wanted to include that because so much of Indigenous identity is fighting erasure, and I felt like—wow—wouldn’t it be great to actually use the real name of my ancestor in the pages of a book?

It’s also important to me because publishing is really, in my opinion, just now opening more doors to Indigenous voices. They’re not relying on the views of mostly white people to write Indigenous characters or points of view; they’re actually letting those voices through. And there are a couple of notable exceptions, but for the most part, the Indigenous perspective was told through a white lens. Now I feel like I’m getting a seat at the table, which is an honor, but it also comes with a responsibility to make sure the voice and the seat I’m taking are really meant for me. Cherokee—Oklahoma Cherokee—white-presenting Cherokee: all of those factors make it a seat I feel comfortable taking. That’s my voice. I didn’t want to write from another tribe’s point of view. I actually didn’t even want to write from Eastern Band Cherokee.

To me, it felt much more appropriate to keep it centered in my experience. If there is hopefully a time in the future when there are just so many Indigenous voices, I could feel comfortable taking up other spaces. But right now there are only so many seats at the table, and I only wanted to take one that felt appropriate for my background. So Sid is pretty close in that way. She’s also Two-Spirit. Two-Spirit varies from tribe to tribe; for the Cherokee, people may frame it as a queer identity, but the idea is that within us there is the masculine and the feminine spirit, and Cherokees traditionally honored that. Sexuality and gender weren’t a religious binary—that was very much a colonial import. So it also felt great to share that part of my identity and talk about it. She’s really personal to me, as you can tell, and I thought if I create this really personal character, it would be such a gift to take her on another adventure after the first one. So that’s where The Bone Thief came from.

C&I: Not to give away too much, but you’re dealing with the crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women in both books. How do you balance telling a thrilling mystery while also honoring the reality behind that?

Lillie: Honestly, truth and fiction are one of the biggest creative engines for me. It’s often why I show up for the work. History wasn’t something I learned a lot about in school, and I was kind of embarrassed at how little I knew of even my own Indigenous history—certainly the realities of other tribal nations. So, personally, as a writer, I don’t shy away from sharing the realities as best I can. I think most of my readers expect that truth-in-fiction from my books, and that’s what I like to explore. I like to think about our history, its implications now, and then the exciting challenge for me is: okay, how do you turn that into a page-turning thriller? You can’t just weigh the narrative down with facts.

You have to think about how the historical realities and present implications will affect a page-turning character—how they affect setting and plot. I love that challenge. With missing and murdered Indigenous women, part of it is awareness, but part of it is helping readers get to know a character they care about who is impacted by someone who’s missing, and bringing them along in that journey. Empathy is one of the most powerful aspects of reading—it opens your heart to experiences that are hard to access otherwise. A newspaper article isn’t necessarily going to help you understand how a mother might carry the sorrow of a daughter who’s missing and no one believes her.

That’s such a different experience, and you’re playing with point of view. You’ve got another character they care about, and you see how it’s affecting them—or the ways in which they’re even putting themselves in danger, like Sid Walker, who does that because she believes in justice. I didn’t take real stories of missing women because that felt too far, but I did read about different cases—especially for The Bone Thief in New England and for Blood Sisters in northeastern Oklahoma. I read real cases and thought about what was appropriate to write about, what reflected what I wanted to do narratively and thematically, and then built a case around that.

C&I: You also took an interesting pivot in The Bone Thief with stolen remains and the shadow of the Founder Society. What was the inspiration behind that part of the story?

Lillie: Sid Walker is an archeologist for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Honestly, I didn’t know she was going to be an archeologist when I began writing Blood Sisters. I was doing interviews with people who worked at the BIA, and one interview was with an archeologist—she was friends with someone I knew, so I thought, “Okay, tell me your view. What’s your philosophy about your work?” It was beautiful. She essentially saw herself as a midwife from the past to the future, supporting tribes in a world in which their land and resources are often still taken. For example, if a pipeline was coming through tribal land and there was nothing they could do to stop it, she might work with the tribe to figure out whether certain plants, medicines, or ceremonies could be moved elsewhere or supported.

It’s not always about saving the day—sometimes you’re an intermediary. For a character, you always want conflict; creating someone with a foot in both worlds—the BIA, which has a contentious history with tribes, and being a Cherokee woman who cares deeply about Indigenous history and futures—creates that conflict. As I explored the world of archeology, I saw another area influenced by colonialism. Early archeology helped excuse white-supremacist views—othering races and even gender with things like cranium size. More broadly, the idea of putting something on display creates distance. In a museum, there’s a natural othering—an emotional distance that can make a culture feel removed or even extinct, like dinosaur bones.

Archeology has writing and history rooted in very racist views. That exploration leads to things like NAGPRA and the history of Indigenous remains used as trophies or for study without permission, as well as cultural items that have been taken. There are still hundreds of thousands of remains on shelves in universities around the country. This is still happening. As I thought about why people want bones on their shelves—they’re not digging up their own ancestors—they’re very particularly taking Indigenous remains.

I looked at actual history in New England. There are Supreme Court cases involving a sachem (a chief)—his remains and his daughter’s remains were stolen from graves; it went to the Supreme Court, and the Narragansett Tribe lost, with the remains belonging to a historical society for a long time. Another example: the Skull and Bones club at Yale, which allegedly obtained Geronimo’s remains and had rituals around them; the family sued to get them back and still wasn’t allowed to. So the book is fictional, but it’s rooted in larger questions about why we other, why we collect, what it means to us, and what the power dynamics are—and, of course, the implications for the tribes involved.

The Narragansett Tribe is a Rhode Island-based tribe—an old nation here—and it’s where I live. Part of my responsibility living here has been connecting to the tribe. There are so many interesting traditions beyond that aspect. There’s an early scene at their August Meeting, which is like their powwow; it’s the longest-running powwow in North America. I was just there a couple of weeks ago—it was their 350th recorded celebration. They’ve gathered in the same place for centuries with dances, ceremony, regalia, celebration, and honoring. It’s beautiful and powerful. I wanted to incorporate that side of it within The Bone Thief because it’s where I live now.

C&I: In the novel, there are also the living members of this tribe—people impacted by choices throughout history. You highlight modern issues they face: generational violence, long-held secrets that, at least in your novel, refuse to stay buried. Were those themes you set out to write when you started The Bone Thief, or did they emerge as you went?

Lillie: Some of it started with questions: What does it mean to live in a country founded on violence? I did a lot of research into this part of American history. The Mayflower is a little piece of The Bone Thief, because most people know that moment. There are many others in colonialism. There’s a great book, Our Beloved Kin by Lisa Brooks, an Indigenous author and scholar—she delves deep into the colonial history of New England. My job as a thriller writer is to think of contemporary implications, but I was fascinated by that time period and wanted to delve into questions like: I have benefited from colonialism even though I’m Indigenous. What does that mean for me? For the land I live on? For the people who are still here? Am I aware of it?

I asked: What’s an example of privilege? At the heart of colonialism is resource control—making sure those with your background (once religious, now more economic) are protected. Here in New England—home to the first country clubs in America—it’s protection of resources: the same bankers and doctors, “Oh, you should go here; our kids play together; they go to the same school.” That’s a microcosm of protecting resources. Then there are questions of economic empowerment. So much of the Indigenous journey is about getting a leg up economically. That’s a big theme in The Bone Thief. There are questions around casinos (a real issue here) and the smoke shop (also real). When you’ve oppressed a people, how do they gain economic benefit? How do they rise when oppression continues? Juxtapose that with hundreds of years of country-club/secret-society protection and it’s easy to see why challenges persist.

C&I: You put Sid in law enforcement, in the modern community she lives in, and in the scientific/academic world of archeology—lots of different worlds and conflicts. Why was it important to put her in the middle of all these juggling acts?

Lillie: Mostly, it’s the questions. I’m curious why archeology has this tradition. Why did the government of Rhode Island continue to oppress the Narragansett Tribe? Is it related to the—let’s say—political processes affecting tribes? And I’m always thinking about my own Cherokee history. Things that happened to the Narragansett feel like echoes of what would later happen to the Cherokee. For Sid, she’s trying to understand as much as I am. Writing lets me explore those questions with characters connected thematically to different issues.

Things would pop up. I’d research one area, learn about something else, and think, “Oh, this is connected.” I’d go in that direction. In early versions there was a lot more with a kids’ camp; later, it became more about the remains and families connected to them. Staying open—because it deals with real history—and seeing where it leads is exciting. It meant I had to rewrite the thing about four times, but the result is better because I let the history and compelling questions guide me. If I’m curious about it, I hope it moves the reader, too.

C&I: Along with that natural curiosity, you mentioned pouring parts of yourself into Sid—like Two-Spirit identity. Why was it important to foreground aspects of who you are in your character?

Lillie: Number one, I wanted to make sure the voice I’m bringing forward is authentic. There aren’t a lot of Indigenous thriller writers—there are a few, and more are growing, which is great—but I wanted to be very authentic. Part of it is, I don’t know if “ego” is the right word, but I really wanted Cherokee words in books. I wanted my family’s last name in there. I wanted to mention our family cemetery and history. It felt good. I was lucky Blood Sisters was picked up by Target, and the idea that there were Cherokee words in the opening pages, and that my whole matriarchal line appears in the dedication—being in every Target in the country—and I’m part of a tribe the government tried to destroy… I don’t know. That felt good.

C&I: What was your experience getting Blood Sisters published, and what challenges did you encounter?

Lillie: I’ve always been a writer. I don’t have a lot of ideas; I have the bright, burning issue at hand and I follow it. I’d written two other books dealing with other bright, burning issues. For Blood Sisters, it was writing about where I’m from in northeastern Oklahoma. It’s set in 2008. The environmental injustice where I’m from—called the “Most Toxic Town in America”—was an early bellwether of environmental-justice fights that would continue for decades. Even though I lived it as a kid, as an adult I hadn’t looked back yet. There was no alternative—that’s what I wanted to write.

You cross your fingers that someone will buy it and you get to publish. Then COVID happened, and I wasn’t able to return to Oklahoma. For the first time in my life I didn’t go back for a whole year—the longest I’d been away—so I had real homesickness. Even though it’s a dark thriller, sharing where I’m from felt good. I’ve heard a lot of people say when they read Blood Sisters they feel like they’re in northeastern Oklahoma, which is a real compliment. Part of that is because I was homesick; I put in my memories and feelings because I longed to return and wanted to share it. I think that really came through.

C&I: Did you intend Blood Sisters to start a series?

Lillie: I did. Blood Sisters went to auction, so I spoke with several editors. I ended up with Jen Monroe at Berkley—she’s been wonderful—and she loved the idea of a series. Berkley was supportive and signed me for two books. I knew I’d get at least two adventures for Sid. I have ideas for more—it’s a business, so let’s see how this one sells—but I’d love to continue. Whether it does or not, I feel lucky I was able to write about Oklahoma and my Cherokee heritage, and also this place I’ve lived for 11 years—Rhode Island—and, I hope, honor the tribes here and their endurance through the heart of colonialism. That’s no small thing. It’s incredible.

C&I: Any challenges going from book one to book two, now that readers know the characters and might have expectations?

Lillie: A series is easier and harder. I already knew Sid—and I knew what drove people crazy about her in the first book, which is good. She needed to mature a little. She’s going to be a new mom, and she’s about 30. I love writing 30-year-old characters; I don’t know why—that must be my arrested-development age. She needed some growth and maturity. She’s headed toward motherhood and keeps putting herself in risky situations for justice.

The challenge was pressure I put on myself. It’s one thing to write about your own tribe and experience; even then, especially not living in Oklahoma anymore, coming in to write about it makes me nervous. But I am Cherokee; I can write from my point of view. While that character continued in The Bone Thief, most of the tribal representation in The Bone Thief is the Narragansett Tribe. That’s not my tribe. It’s a tribe I’m connected to, but I was—and remain—nervous about doing justice to my view of them and what they’ve accomplished and endured, and also not making them a caricature of perfection. We don’t want that either; we want real Indigenous identity with complexity and shades of gray.

Knowing I was writing about another tribe was hard. I put a lot of pressure on myself and did way more research than I necessarily used, but that mattered to me. On book tour I’ll be in conversation with folks—Lorén Spears, the executive director of the Tomaquag Museum (the museum of the tribes of southern New England) and I will have a couple of events together. I’m excited those voices will be part of the release.

C&I: To portray that authentic experience—especially writing about a tribe that isn’t your own—did you have a community you leaned on during the writing?

Lillie: Most of it was my own experience—events I’ve been to, going to the August Meeting powwow, trips to the museum, friends from the tribe. It was a delicate balance. I really don’t want anyone to read The Bone Thief and feel like they’ve read a book by a Narragansett author; that’s important to me. I want them curious about the tribe and to seek out information and voices from the tribe.

I didn’t push my friends in the tribal community—“take me to your house, show me your day.” I have a visceral reaction to that. That’s not my story. My story is a Cherokee BIA agent working with the tribe professionally, trying to help solve crimes. I delve deeply into history because that feels comfortable—we should all know it. But if someone felt they truly understood a Narragansett community member just from my book, that would make me nervous. I tried to create characters that felt authentic based on my experience. I hope the history piece feels live and active. And then there will be Narragansett voices who can provide a much more in-depth and rich experience within their community.

C&I: A clear layer of Sid’s character is the law-enforcement side. What research went into that, and how did you find the information for the books?

Lillie: I did interviews with different tribal officers—informational interviews for Blood Sisters. From there, it’s a balance. One of my favorite moments: in a draft cover for Blood Sisters, Sid was in a vest and at one point there was a gun, and I said, “Guys, she’s an archeologist. We want her to be exciting, but she’s not that exciting.” There are a lot of guns in my books, sure, but you have to walk a line. Nobody wants to read about a bureaucrat (maybe if it’s done really well, but not from me). A lot is paper-pushing. My brother worked for the BIA for almost 20 years, so I know a fair amount about that.

It’s more about the exciting moments of investigation. She has a boss and accountability. She’s not completely free-range. The boss will say, “We’ll have to file a report,” and that’s mentioned. But Sid sitting at a typewriter writing reports isn’t going to make the cut.

C&I: Speaking of the BIA—you mentioned the complicated history, even in the modern era. How much did that factor into your research and story? Did you learn anything new about the relationship between the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the people they’re tasked with supporting?

Lillie: There’s a real range, and it often falls to people on the ground to build relationships. Building trust is no small thing—that’s a lot of Sid’s job, to rebuild trust, because her old boss didn’t do much for it. Building trust takes time. I spoke to people with the BIA who were white and came into communities where there was a lot of distrust—I heard stories about that. It’s an ongoing issue for good reasons.

In Blood Sisters, for example, the Quapaw Tribe had billions of dollars of wealth stolen by the BIA. Within the past few years, a tribal member brought a lawsuit against the BIA to reclaim some of that money. It’s not an old issue; it’s ongoing. Like any government organization, there are great people and not-so-great people. Sid has to fight expectations; that makes good conflict and forces her to rise and prove herself.

There’s also a tribal protection officer—TIPO—Officer Ellis. He’s not based on anyone, but he’s a good guy doing his best. He can’t just be best friends with the BIA person; he has obligations to his tribe, and it’s hard to trust. Sid has to cross her t’s and dot her i’s on the BIA side, too. It’s a dance between them. If it were easy, you wouldn’t turn the pages as fast. The complexity makes it interesting.

C&I: Let’s talk about your writing. It’s intense, visual—often cinematic. How would you describe it, and what’s your main goal when bringing scenes to life in the reader’s mind?

Lillie: I see it almost like a movie and try to describe what I see. It’s fun—like replaying a scene different ways and finding the most interesting point of view. Then I’ll dig in. Often I add research and think, “This is chunky,” and I’ll need to speed a scene up.

A thing I do a lot is read a scene like a reader, not a writer. That’s a different hat. When am I getting bored? When does it drag? We’re all good at consuming books and media—we have instincts. You don’t have to be a writer to know when a turning point should happen or when something drags. I lean on my reader instincts. For example, the opening of The Bone Thief—Sid is being hunted while trying to break into a camp—came together because my original opening was slow. My editor said, “This isn’t the right opening.” I asked, “What am I trying to do? What’s exciting?” By then I’d written the book a couple of times; I knew the characters and direction. The kids’ camp is a big piece. The remains are a big piece. Sid putting herself in danger is on-brand. I rewrote to introduce those big pieces.

Then I keep asking, “What would be most exciting here? What’s the best thing that could happen?” I get bored easily as a reader, so I’m always thinking about readers. By the back hundred pages, if you’re not flying, I haven’t done my job. Set-up is hard, but if you do it right, you should burn through the back half. I try hard to make sure when you shut the book you’re like, “Whew—that was wild.”

C&I: When ideas burn bright, does that make the first draft easier? What’s your process from first word to last on that draft?

Lillie: The burning bright helps, and surprises come in drafting. I naturally like to write without a plan—but that’s not good for me. I make myself plan. I constantly pause, look at structure, make sure things are in the right place. Then I get back into flow where anything could happen. That surprise keeps me going.

I usually know my main twists as I’m writing. Twists are important to me; I love them as a reader, so I work hard to put good ones in. Working toward a twist is exciting because I want to set it up so the reader is surprised. Sometimes an image drives me. In The Bone Thief, there’s a scene in a cave—that one’s intense. I knew that scene for a long time. It was fun to build everything that needed to go into it so I could lift the curtain on those worlds colliding.

C&I: We’re seeing a rejuvenation of Indigenous voices in storytelling—film and TV like Dark Winds, some of the Yellowstone series. As a thriller/mystery writer, why is this medium powerful for these stories?

Lillie: The way our communities continued was through storytelling. It’s part of religious and cultural identity, a way of understanding history and staying safe. Storytelling is integral to our survival, so we are naturally storytellers. Now that we’re finally being allowed to share our voices at the table, it might feel like there’s a surge. These voices were always here; it’s just that now we can share more widely.

I hope the resonance comes from hearing people connected to the place you live. That’s powerful. I’m having that experience with the Narragansett people. I’m not Narragansett, and learning history can be heartbreaking. But after the heartbreak—and this is part of reconciliation—once you understand what happened and your role, culpability, or ignorance, you can connect. That connection is most important: to be actively connected to the people of the land you live on. A lot of healing comes from that. It feels good. I’m about to hit the road for the Cherokee National Holiday—it’s open to the public.

Unfortunately, colonialism and other forces disconnected us—from land and people. Boxes, cars, driving from here to there—that’s how it continues. We need to fight it: read voices connected to land and history; engage in local events. My son goes to story hour at the tribal community here. They come to our schools. There’s so much fun, exciting opportunity to connect to the tribal identity of where you live. I can almost guarantee it will feel really, really good.

C&I: Speaking of connection—one of the most important for an author is with readers. You had events for Blood Sisters; The Bone Thief isn’t out yet. What’s that connection been like? What’s the response—especially among Indigenous communities you’re writing about? Do you have events planned for The Bone Thief?

Lillie: I do. I have a whole book tour—you’re going to be sick of me. I love events. I’m excited if even one person shows up. More is great. I’m still a little surprised I’m an author. I’m amazed people want to give me eight or nine hours of their time—and their money, or a library checkout. It’s incredible when people show up and want to talk about my books and the issues in them, which mean so much to me. They share their own connections—tribal connections, friends, stories they’ve heard. People long for something more. It feels spiritual to me—maybe that’s not the word for everyone—but the connection many Indigenous voices bring feels good to people. I see it when I talk to them.

I love bookstores—they’re the hearts of our communities—and library events. Most of the time I’m writing and wondering if anyone will read it; I have to finish it and make it good. It’s a pleasure to be done and have people, for the most part, like it—and to talk about it. It’s a hard job, but a tremendous blessing to give people what I love: reading. The idea I can create something that gives people a little of the experience I have with my favorite authors is a privilege.

C&I: You can’t determine yet whether there’ll be another Sid Walker book, but what other bright-burning ideas might you tell next?

Lillie: I’m working on two books right now, not related to Sid. One is set back in Oklahoma—right now I’m calling it The Cherokee House. It’s about a poker player on the run from the Kansas City mob. She has one asset: her family’s Cherokee allotment land. But there’s a serial killer tied to that land, and she’s got to help solve the crime. We’ll see how it develops. I’m a poker player, so I’m excited to write about poker—there’s a whole philosophy I find interesting. I’m going to base some of it on my family’s allotment land in the same area. I love putting real identity into my work.

The really wild one is a speculative thriller I’m calling my “sexy Da Vinci Code book” with real angels and demons. I know—it’s wild—but it’s fun. I went to a Catholic college (I’m not Catholic) and became a little obsessed with Gnostic gospels—gospels left out of the Bible. Many have women’s voices and fascinating world history. So, again, I get the history piece and think about what would be exciting for readers. Why not? Angels are real—it sounds great to me.

C&I: We’ve enjoyed having you so much, Vanessa. We’ll have you back when the next one drops, and we look forward to seeing you on tour for The Bone Thief, out October 28.