Pay attention, there is work to do at the end of this!!!
You know that feeling when you sit down, crack your knuckles, open your current WIP, and tell yourself, “Today’s the day I’m gonna write 3,000 words”?
Yeah, that’s me. Every single day.
And then, like clockwork, my brain whispers: “But what if there was a murder mystery… in space… with sentient cats?”
Listen, I don’t make the rules. The Writing Muse operates on chaos and spite. Here I am, actively editing and releasing the chapters for this current Year of Ruin four-book series, staying on schedule, being a responsible author, adulting like a champion… and what does my brain decide to do? Start outlining an entirely NEW series.
The worst part? These ideas always seem AMAZING in the moment. Revolutionary. “This is the one that’s going to change everything,” I think, as I frantically scribble notes instead of working on the chapter I’m supposed to be editing. You know, the one with the deadline. The one people are actually waiting for? Or better yet, writing in the new series of books for the Light Dies World with Raventhorne Books.
*Ahem, I would be remiss if I didn’t share my other Raventhorne Titles with you.
But no. My brain has decided we need to explore the absolutely essential story about… *checks notes—a lone wolf type who’s spent years perfecting the art of brooding in corners and growling at people who get too close, only to discover that, shockingly, being alone kinda sucks. Who could have seen that coming? Certainly not him. He’s too busy scowling and doing that thing where he stands in the rain without an umbrella because feelings are for weak people.
Except now he’s stuck with people. Actual people who—horror of horrors—might care about him. And he has to figure out how to function in a group without his trademark move of dramatically walking off into the sunset.
And because one emotionally constipated character isn’t enough, let’s throw in the reluctant badass. You know the type: the guy who really, truly, desperately just wants to live a quiet life. Maybe grow some tomatoes. Read a book. Take a nap without someone trying to kill him.
But can he? No. No, he can’t.
Because the universe has decided that he’s just too damn good at being dangerous. He’s the human equivalent of “I didn’t ask for this superpower, but I guess I’m stuck with it now.” He tries to walk away from trouble. Trouble follows him home, kicks down his door, and makes itself comfortable on his couch. Every. Single. Time.
“I just want peace,” he says, right before absolutely obliterating three guys who made the mistake of threatening someone he cares about. “Why does this keep happening to me?” he wonders, standing over the bodies of his enemies like a confused golden retriever who doesn’t understand why the squirrels won’t play with him.
Spoiler alert: It’s because you’re terrifying, my dude.
And then…because I clearly hate myself…there’s the fierce woman with an attitude, (we all know that’s my alter ego). This sharp-tongued, incredible woman, with…yes, a nice ass. Because why shouldn’t she have all three? She’s worked hard for all of them.
She’s the woman who walks into a room, and every smart person immediately reassesses their life choices. She doesn’t suffer fools, she doesn’t apologize for taking up space, and she absolutely will call you out on your nonsense while looking phenomenal doing it. She’s got walls higher than a maximum-security prison, a glare that could melt steel, and exactly zero patience for the lone wolf’s brooding or the reluctant badass’s existential crisis.
She’s also, and this is the kicker, probably going to have to work with both of them.
God help us all.
Here’s the thing about new story ideas: they don’t come during convenient times. They don’t wait until I’ve finished my current project and have a nice, tidy opening in my schedule. No, they show up at 2 AM when I’m trying to sleep, or in the middle of writing a completely different scene, or—my personal favorite—when I’m in the process of editing and releasing chapters for FOUR OTHER BOOKS.
Four books. Ongoing. With actual readers. Waiting for updates.
And what am I doing? Outlining this beautiful disaster of a series because apparently I thrive on chaos and my brain thinks sleep is for quitters.
The ridiculous part is that I’m not even fighting it anymore. I’ve learned that resistance is futile. When the Muse decides it’s time to birth a new story into the world, I can either fight it (and be miserable) or I can grab your metaphorical midwife gloves and help deliver this baby.
So yes, I’m doing it. I’m outlining the whole thing. Character arcs, plot points, the works. While simultaneously releasing chapters and writing something else. Because who needs sanity when I can have MULTIPLE STORY WORLDS living in my head rent-free?
Some of my best books started exactly like this…as intrusive thoughts that hijacked my brain during completely unrelated projects. That rom-com I thought of during a horror scene in my as-yet-unpublished psychological thriller book (this one is so good, twisty, and just plain psychotic). The fantasy epic that interrupted my mystery novel for my romance alter ego…kudos if you know what that is. This is just how my brain works. It’s like a Vegas slot machine, except instead of cherries and bars, it dispenses emotionally damaged characters and complicated plot lines.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So here’s where you come in: What do you want to see in one of these new series? Should the lone wolf have a tragic backstory or just be dramatically antisocial for no good reason? Does the reluctant badass deserve a break, or should I make his life even more hilariously complicated? What should the fierce woman with the killer attitude be fierce about?
Drop a comment and help me feed this beautiful monster of a story idea before it consumes my entire brain. Because at this rate, I’m going to need a flowchart to keep track of all my series, and my organizational skills are already questionable at best [.ne of these will be forthcoming so y’all can witness the mayhem first hand].
Keep swimming, friends. And maybe keep a notebook handy to help out when my brain inevitably mutinies. 🐠
More shenanigans soon!
