​There are a lot of pieces of advice floating around the writing world. From magazines to writing manuals, you will find many things that tell you what not to do and what to do.
But I am here to tell you that all of it is a load of crap.
And I say this from my deepest experience. When I began my writer journey, or really just decided that I wanted to write a book, I had the age-old question that I believe pops into everyone’s mind when they decide to become an author. That is the simple question of, “How do I do it? How do I write a book?”
This is where I fell into the trap of what I call “advice overload.”
You will find many magazines, such as Publishers Weekly and Writer’s Digest, filled to the brim with headlines such as “Top 5 Things to Stop Doing in your Novel” and “10 Key Things to Write A Novel.” These, I believe are unhealthy for any beginning writer, mainly because it confuses and limits instead of providing clarity and freedom. In the words of Neil Gaiman: “When you start out, you won’t know what you’re doing. This is great!”

​Art is freedom, and if you write yourself into a cage of do’s and do not’s, you will miss the point and beauty of storytelling altogether. Stories are not bound to algorithms, and the best of stories are the ones that dare to defy the rules. Stories are organic, living things, and it is up to you the writer to decide on how to give them breath.
So then, you may ask, “If I shouldn’t listen to advice, how will I find help with figuring this novel thing out?”
Well, there are only two things you must do to be a writer, and you must forgo all the rest. Simply put, a writer must do only two things: a writer must write (a writer who doesn’t write is no writer at all), and you must read.
Reading is the ultimate teacher. In reading a story as a writer, as an analytical mind, you will learn all of the things that the lists and rules fall short of. You will read an author and think, “Oh! They did this! I like that!” or “Oh! They did that! That doesn’t work for me!”
In reading you will see storytelling in action. You must read stories and take the time to understand them. The key to good storytelling is found in understanding how they work and how the pieces fit. Pay attention to each to plot device, each character, each arc, and it will reflect upon your writing. In the words of the Stoic philosopher, Epictetus: “You become what you give your attention to.”
Writing is practice; reading is study. One directly affects the other and they are not mutually exclusive. Write your heart; read the hearts of others. Iron sharpens iron, and one story sharpens another.

​According to Musashi, there are two opposing forces when it comes to resolve. In his explanation of the correct way to grip the longsword in battle, he brings about two contrasting terms: fixation and fluidity. As a samurai warrior and master duelist, Musashi became keenly aware of the force and necessity of mastering and solidifying one’s resolve in any endeavor. For him, life was a continual cycle of staring death in the face, then thwarting its clasping grip. So, then, what does he mean by “fixation,” and why is it considered the way to death? And conversely, what about “fluidity” is so life-giving?

​In the terms of life and death, and just as well in the terms of anyone striving towards a dream or really anything of value and purpose to the world or immortal soul, a fixated resolve is rigid, stiff, and unable to bend. In the context of Musashi, a rigid attitude in fighting, an inability to mold to the requirements of the situation would mean certain death. A rigid resolve is prone to breaking. Musashi’s answer to this conflict, both in war and in life, what he called fluidity. Where fixation is the inability to depart from one’s ways, fluidity is the ability to be aware of a situation and adapt to it.

​Does this, then, work against our resolve or goal. No. For a moment, imagine the world in Musashi’s mind. In a duel where his life was on the line, Musashi knew that he would have to adapt to the situation—be fluid—to survive. But did this mean that his goal of victory was altered? Of course not. What it did mean was that, in his ability to understand the needs of a situation and how it related to his goal, he was able to reach it more effectively.

​Like the duels of the legendary sword-saint, life is a conflict. We all have dreams, and many dreams shatter for being too rigid. But if we have resolve and traverse our path situation by situation, day-by-day, step-by-step, we will find that we can be strong as the sea.

​Miyamoto Musashi (1584-1645 CE) was a legendary samurai, winner of over 60 duels, and quite possibly the greatest swordsman to ever live. Throughout The Book of Five Rings, his masterful manual on swordsmanship, one cannot stress enough that, through his teachings, Musashi had a deep sense of self-awareness and a keen understanding of human psychology.
His teachings are numerous, and there is a bounty of practical advice within them; I would like to focus on three of his teachings about the power of self-awareness.

​The genius of Musashi can be founded in a myriad of teachings, but there is one key virtue that is apparent in his work. That is, Miyamoto Musashi was a man who understood himself deeply. So what did he mean by observing “reflectively?”
In his text, Musashi explains that a reflective observer is one who is overall aware of the large and the small matters in their life. In this section, he is likening the inner individual to battle, single and large combat. But one must become aware of the conflicts within their own self, both large and small. Individuals must be able to introspectively look clearly at themselves at all times.

​One thing is evident not only in The Book of Five Rings, but in the legendary ronin’s life, as well: Musashi understood people. It was common for him to psyche out his opponents by appearing hours late to duels, enraging them and causing them to become cloudy-minded.
Though the text is technically a manual on his unique two-sword Twin Skies style, it is actually closer to a study on the psychology of conflict. In understanding the things that caused his opponents to falter and be defeated, Musashi became resolutely aware of who he was through his observations of others, seeing what qualities and attitudes to stay away from. He not only used his understanding of conflict to gain victory over his enemies, but also to sharpen and hone himself.

​Observation was one of the key attributes that led the genius warrior to legend. Musashi took nothing for granted and tried his best to understand things clearly. He understood that his path to excellence—what he refers to as martial science and martial arts—was paved in taking nothing for granted and exercising caution to contemplate and react to everything, large or small, with integrity and impunity. This single quote encapsulates Musashi’s teachings on self-awareness, demonstrating his constant state of watchfulness and careful observance of both himself and the people around him. He took notes, so to say, and learned to be the better for it.

​Musashi was an interesting warrior-philosopher who any and everyone could benefit from reading and contemplating the words of. He wasn’t just the greatest swordsman to ever live, but also a deeply insightful philosopher who understood how people operate. Today, almost five hundred years after his death, his sagely words inspire people of all walks of life to live a life of excellence—the same excellence that led Musashi to victory over sixty times, and marked him a legend.

​Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been a fan of mythology. The only thing is that myths can be hard to digest because of their age, or they can be dry and tedious because of poor translation or such. That is why I found Neil Gaiman’s “Norse Mythology” a breath of fresh air. 

​This book tells these myths the way they were intended to be told—not by a scholar or such, but instead by a storyteller! Gaiman does a fantastic job breathing life into these ancient tales, bringing their lush world and rich characters to life. As a fan of both mythology and Neil Gaiman, this book was a match made in heaven! I would definitely recommend it to anyone who loves myths or even fantasy in general.

​My first serious project took place from 2016 to 2018. This project, a manga version of what would later become my Angelica/Demonica webnovel, would ultimately fail and lead me to pursuing a career in writing prose.
The project failed, yes, but it was an experience that I duly needed to truly begin to understand the wild, mercurial beast that is a story—and thusly, understand the concept of fantasy.
“Fantasy” is an odd word for the genre, given that the proper definition of the word aptly applies to all fiction. But I speak of the term in the common disambiguation that one would consider when they think of it in terms of fiction.
That, in turn, refers to a genre that often has a unique world (or an unnaturally modified version of our world), magical components, and possibly (and usually in some form or another) mythical characteristics.

​This is a short list and is in no way comprehensive nor does it give justice to the vast area of themes and elements that the genre encompasses. My point in this list is to gravitate the mind to the idea that fantasy is the greatest creative form available to the writer.
Given its creative breadth, the beast of fantasy holds a unique power, akin to that of literary fiction, yet more covert and easier to swallow. That is, what gives the fantasy genre its power is not its ability to exit or warp reality; it is instead its ability to mimic it.
You might say: “Wait! You just defined fantasy as unnatural or far from reality!”
This is true. But it is that very element that allows the power of fantasy to work.
In this, short and simple, fantasy allows the reader to approach the self and the world in ways that they might not in another genre. When we follow a hero or heroine, we meld with them. This is a key component of fiction in general, but more so with fantasy. Given the idea that the reader wants to escape, they are drawn into the problems of the illusory world in the book. And, in turn, they see themselves in the characters. This may happen subconsciously, but it works as a mirror.
Within the character’s struggles, we see our own; within the character’s world, we approach our own.
Fantasy is the jagged black mirror, its truth only available in the light of suspended belief. Its truth is not the truth of the tale, but the truth of the one reading the words. The reader follows the character, but they’re really following their hearts.

I write all the time, typically to a rigid schedule with personal deadlines to which I impose upon myself as a tyrant proposes some oppressive edict. To be honest, writing is such a crucial and essential part of my daily life that I can’t imagine life without it. I often jokingly say that writing (and art proper) is a “most beautiful burden.” This is irony, of course, because if I didn’t adhere to the making up and writing down of the stories and characters that plague my mind, I would be a rather miserable fellow.

But, despite my ascetic and monk-like attitude toward writing—despite the fact that I have written a novel, several short stories, and even won awards, I still experience something that seems to pervade the mind of every author.

Impostor syndrome.

​Everyone, no matter how successful or obscure, experiences it. It’s impossible not to. You write and write, only to feel that it’s not good enough and that you aren’t a “real writer.”

Writing is in every form a drug, a chasing of a dragon to a point that does not exist. Writing is a freedom bound in chains; it is a passionate romance with a fickle muse who only speaks to you when she feels inclined.

But we have all experienced this discouragement. Anyone who writes can definitely tell you that the occupation is not as romantic as it seems to those non-writers who find the idea of making things up and writing them down foreign and exotic.

But I have realized that, despite the discouragement, it’s a waste of time to feel this way. There’s no benefit in doubting yourself. I’ve written a novel! That alone makes me a writer—no matter what my brain tells me. And even if you haven’t written a novel, you still write, and that’s good enough. The writer writes. That is all there is to it.

We’ll get there soon, slow and steady wins the race.

Impostor Syndrome, I find, comes when I look at others and what they’re doing. I think “they write more than me” or “they get more book sales...”

What a waste of time!

What good does that do for you? Even if those things are true, they have nothing to do with you. All you can do is move forward. Move forward and cut your path.

To end, this reminds me of a quick story. When I was in high school, I was told relatively late in the year that I needed a quote to put under my picture for the yearly book of school staff and students.

As I said, it was late in the year, and I eventually and happily submitted a quote.

But the quote was too late, and I was given a random one instead of my choice. It was:

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

So do just that. Go forth as the only thing you can be. Go forward as yourself.

Carcass of a Star is a piece of flash fiction that I wrote back in 2016. A concise tale about the feelings of love and loss, this story would later win me the Cygnet Fiction Award in 2019, earning me my first real award as a writer!

The following is my audio narration of the piece. Enjoy!

The life of the author is not an easy one. It takes patience and perseverance to write a novel (or anything for that matter), and quite commonly, the writer feels like they exist in a vacuum. The writer is a strange animal, an entity that seemingly exists here and “there” (wherever “there” may be).

We pop in and out of this world, between the odd landscapes within our minds. There are many times when I ask family and friends to repeat things because I was “there” instead of here.

​What exactly a writer is—well—that’s a rather interesting conversation. I say this mainly because not everyone is a writer. Not everyone has these curious voices in their minds; not everyone dreams intently about scenes or plots. The writer constantly is a deviser, an ever-working clockmaker, fixing and crafting a tale while hoping that the muse will look their way. Sometimes, she will. The muse is a fickle woman, but her voice is sweeter than song.

​Everything about writing is mysterious, and there’s a beauty in that. Perhaps it is because if we writers understood our craft fully it might be harder to respect it. The humble wish to grow; the comfortable are content.

And the writer must always be humble, for it is when they believe they understand the art that, like a feral dog, it will betray them.

​So, what to take away from this. Well, if you’re a writer, then you should know that you are a lucky creature to hold the beautiful burden of imagination and the love of storytelling. Don’t—and I mean never—take that for granted.

​Enjoyed this post? Comment your thoughts! I'd love to hear them! :)

An interesting question came to me in a conversation with a friend. That is, the conundrum of “Where do story characters come from?”

I say that it is interesting because I quite candidly don’t know the answer. The arrival of a character is almost as enigmatic as the character is themselves. Characters are, in a materialist’s opinion, figments of the imagination. They are merely creations of the engine of the mind put forth for the writer’s use in a story. But we know that’s not all there is to it, though the above opinion is partially correct, of course.

But it is not wholly correct.

Characters are human; they are just as human as you or I. They have personalities; they have quirks and nuances; they laugh, and they cry. And most human of all, they possess the most remarkable resilience.
But their origins are unknown. Perhaps they are mere figments, ghosts of the psyche that are conjured for the very purpose of slaving to a plot. Or maybe they are a stroke of providence, a unique piece of “somewhere else” (if you believe there is somewhere out there that one could consider “else”). Of course, both explanations seem fitting on a philosophical spectrum, I believe there is more to it than that, and my beliefs come from a particular part of my writing process.

I do not brainstorm characters. Honestly, I rarely research name meanings to fit a character’s personality. Though there is no correct way to make or name a character (just as there is no correct way to write a story), I personally believe this takes away the sense of organism that the character possesses in my mind.

So, what do I do when I need a new character, you might ask? Well, I’m a bit careless. I clear my mind and simply ask:

​“What’s your name?”

It’s curious to me how I will always get an answer. Of course, I have planned characters, but most are happy surprises.
And because of this, I cannot say that they are mere figments for a story. Many of them don’t have a story yet. And as for providence, I don’t believe any of them are given to me.

No. Characters are something entirely other. Perhaps they are real? And I believe I love the mystery of it. They are blessings to the writer. They teach us; they surprise us; they show us the beauty in the world when they overcome
adversity. They are unique and wondrous little voices that speak to our hearts and minds…

​And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy writing.