When I set out to write Claws, I wanted to develop a story with decent vocabulary for my nieces and nephews to read. That is to say, a clean story while being exciting and non-sexual.
Definitely not a YA novel.
And far from political.
So, where has a setting for a story like that intersected with my life? On the farm where I grew up and worked. I spent time in the woods, and this creepy hollow stretched the length of the farm, carved out by a creek. In the back corner of the property, there was an animal cemetery where big animals that passed were disposed of.
That creepy locale screamed for something to happen there.