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Women Asking Women: Keiko Honda & Kayla Williams
Writer and community organizer Keiko Honda (The Broken Map Home, Caitlin Press) and children’s book writer and illustrator Kayla Williams (Aurora’s Journey, Kegedonce Press) talk about the power of stories to connect us across generations, cultures, and experiences, while reflecting on the creative and technical challenges of bringing lived experience to the page.
In honour of Women’s History Month, we asked women writers from across the country to pair up and interview each other about their process, their inspirations, and everything in between.
Interview: Keiko Honda & Kayla Williams
KAYLA WILLIAMS: Your grandfather’s memoir holds so much history and survival within it. When you were translating his words, did you ever find yourself imagining the world through his eyes? How did stepping into his story change the way you see your own life?
KEIKO HONDA: His words immediately pulled me into his world, stirring a profound sense of unease and anxiety. Despite knowing he survived and went on to live a full life, I felt a desperate vulnerability—like a single leaf lost on a violent, endless ocean. I couldn’t even begin to grasp what it’s like to have one’s security, safety, and fate so abruptly thrown into a no-man’s-land. At that very moment, my thoughts went out to the countless tortured and displaced people and children across the globe and throughout history who have faced similar fates due to war, political injustice, open violence, or the simple loss of their parents. This included those who died and suffered in South Asia during the atrocities committed by the Japanese military.
As I connected with my grandfather’s heart, I found myself sharing in his unwavering hope to reunite with his family. This hope, I realized, was what gave him the courage and will to survive. His story shows me that regardless of our backgrounds, we can find common ground in our shared humanity and capacity for resilience. Even in the face of unimaginable adversity, the human spirit’s desire for connection and peace remains a powerful force.
With so many devastating situations in the world today—including a rise in militarism and a global amnesia about the tragedies of war—it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. But his experience showed me that we must not lose sight of hope. We cannot afford to look away.
KEIKO: What is a personal story or a specific memory that has become a recurring theme in your work, even if it’s disguised?
KAYLA: As a child, I was literally escaping into books to drown out the harsh realities of my life. Reading was a lifeline—it gave me a safe place to disappear into when the world around me felt overwhelming. That experience has carried into my work today and continues to shape my path. I think that’s why I’ve ended up writing and illustrating stories for children. I’m always, in some way, speaking to that younger version of myself—and to other children who might be going through something similar. At the core of it, I want them to know they’re not alone, and that there is beauty, strength, and hope to be found in their own story too.
KAYLA: Sometimes our most personal stories are the hardest to tell. Was there a moment in working on this book when you had to pause and sit with the weight of what you were reading? How did you find the balance between protecting yourself emotionally and honouring the truth of the story?
KEIKO: In his book, brutal and miserable scenes were countless. Yet the most poignant moment was reading about people who, already enduring unimaginable hardships, were dying from epidemic typhus. So many precious lives were extinguished without any means of defense—a stark and painful reminder of just how fragile human life is, and how war exacerbates such misery. Amidst this despair, the only remarkable and reaffirming sight he witnessed was a Buddhist priest, dressed in civilian clothes, who came to recite sutras for the deceased with a resolute expression.
That small act of humanity, a single sliver of light against a backdrop of darkness and suffering, brought me a profound realization. It raised the universal questions of “Who are we, and where do we come from?” The priest’s presence highlighted the enduring human need for meaning, for ritual, and for a spiritual anchor even when all else is lost. His selfless act of compassion in a place devoid of it underscored that our shared humanity—our capacity for empathy and grace—is a fundamental part of who we are. It is the very force that allows us to find hope and dignity even in the face of our darkest moments.
KEIKO: How has your “voice” evolved over time? Do you feel like you’ve found it, or is it a continuous process of discovery?
KAYLA: My voice was very shaky at first, and to be honest, it still is. I’m definitely still exploring it, and it evolves a little bit every day. In the beginning I was very unsure of myself, but as I’ve gained more experience, I’ve slowly grown more confident. I’ve made mistakes along the way, but each one has taught me something about being true to myself. For me, voice isn’t a fixed destination—it’s a journey, and I’m still walking it.
KEIKO: As a writer/illustrator, what’s a skill or technique you had to learn that you didn’t anticipate?
KAYLA: I didn’t anticipate how much I would need to learn about translation—not from one language to another, but from lived experience into a form that others can connect with. For example, throat singing, northern landscapes, or cultural practices carry a depth that’s hard to put into words or pictures. I had to learn how to suggest and evoke, rather than explain everything literally. On the technical side, I also didn’t expect to spend so much time learning design programs and file formatting—sometimes it feels like half the work is just making sure your art will print the way you imagined it.
KEIKO: When you’re illustrating a story, what’s the most difficult feeling or idea to translate visually? And for a writer, what’s the most difficult image to describe with words?
KAYLA: For illustration, the hardest thing to capture is silence. In Labrador, silence is never empty—it holds the weight of the land, the cold of the snow, the waiting of animals just beyond sight. Translating that stillness into an image without it feeling flat or lifeless is always a challenge.
As a writer, the hardest images to describe are the ones tied to the love of our ancestors and the deep sense of belonging that comes when you’re practicing your culture. Those feelings are immense and layered, but language often feels too small to hold them.
KAYLA: I’ve always believed that sharing our stories can ripple outward in ways we can’t always see. Since working on this book, have you noticed any unexpected ways it has shaped your community, your family, or even your own healing?
KEIKO: From the very beginning of this translation project, I was met with immense encouragement, particularly from older Canadian friends. Their curiosity was a genuine surprise—a desire to learn history through “living accounts” that are often missing from textbooks and are not limited to a Western perspective. This eagerness instilled in me a profound sense of responsibility to translate my late grandfather’s story as authentically and timely as possible, especially as we commemorate the end of WWII. This project ultimately came to fruition with the unwavering curiosity and support of my publisher, Vici Johnstone, who was also dedicated to bringing this largely unknown chapter of history to light. The encouragement from these individuals, whose interest transcended family and nationality, was a delightful surprise and a deep source of courage for me, and my family in Japan is equally delighted and grateful that my grandfather’s story will find such a welcoming and enthusiastic audience in Canada.
Personally, this project became so much more than a work of translation; it was a deeply intimate journey. The act of meticulously working through my grandfather’s words allowed me to connect with him in a way I never thought possible, long after he was gone. It felt less like transcribing history and more like rediscovering his voice, his humanity, and his hopes. Through this work, I’ve come to feel an invisible ripple effect, moving both inward and outward.
Inwardly, this journey has been a profound re-examination of my own identity, connecting me to my heritage and to a well of strength I didn’t know I possessed. Outwardly, the project has become a bridge—a way to share a deeply personal history with the world and, hopefully, inspire others to seek out and preserve the stories of their own families. It’s a powerful reminder that even the quietest voices from the past can create the most lasting and meaningful change.
KEIKO: What was the biggest surprise for you in the publishing/art world? Was there something you thought would be one way, but turned out to be completely different?
KAYLA: The biggest surprise for me was how accepted I felt as a new author and illustrator. To be completely honest, I thought it was going to be a much harder road. I didn’t think anyone would really connect with my stories or see a future for them, and I was bracing myself for rejection. Instead, I was pursued by two big publishers who both wanted one of my stories. I remember feeling overwhelmed with gratitude—but also scared, because I had to make the choice of who would represent my work in the way I envisioned. In the end, it all worked out, and I still carry that sense of surprise and thankfulness with me.
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Keiko Honda is the author of Accidental Blooms (Caitlin Press, 2023). She is also a scientist, writer, community organizer and painter. She holds a PhD in international community health from New York University, but when she suddenly contracted a rare autoimmune disease that confined her to a wheelchair for life, she had to leave her career in research at Columbia University in New York. After moving to Vancouver in 2009, Keiko started hosting artist salons, for which she was awarded the City of Vancouver’s Remarkable Women award in 2014. Shortly thereafter, she founded the Vancouver Arts Colloquium Society to bridge generations and cultures through the arts and to offer members of marginalized communities in Vancouver opportunities for artistic self-discovery. She teaches the aesthetics of co-creation in the Liberal Arts and 55+ Program at Simon Fraser University. She lives in Vancouver, BC, and enjoys watercolour painting and hosting her salons.
Photo of Keiko by Si Ming Zheng.
Kayla Williams is a mixed-heritage artist born in Goose Bay, Labrador, who has a strong connection to her Inuk roots. She cherishes her family’s ties to Makkovik and Rigolet in Nunatsiavut, along with her Scottish and French ancestry. Growing up, she spent her summers in Cartwright with her grandmother, deeply immersing herself in the rich culture and community of Labrador. A self-taught artist since childhood, Kayla runs her own business, Big Land Design, where she channels her passion for art into various creative outlets. She illustrates and writes children’s books, aiming to ensure that Labrador Indigenous children see themselves represented in literature. Additionally, she paints public murals throughout her community, contributing to its vibrant cultural landscape. As a devoted mother to her two children, Lilian and Samuel, Kayla is committed to inspiring them and other young dreamers to embrace their heritage and pursue their aspirations.
Photo of Kayla by Jennifer Rideout.
Many thanks to Keiko and Kayla for their thoughtful conversation on storytelling and personal community.
Order The Broken Map Home here and Aurora’s Journey here, or from your local bookseller.
Next up on Women Asking Women is Heather Birrell and Meg Todd. Stay tuned for their discussion on Wednesday.
