It Finally Happened


 

It Finally Happened

Deep breath.

Writing has always felt like a solitary sport to me, full of highs and lows—almost like backroad biking. You put in the effort, push through the grind, but there’s always that gnawing unease, that whisper in the back of your mind: Did I just write junk, or is this one actually good?

This fall, I took a leap and wrote my first attempt at a Romantasy—A Touch of Magick. The setting hit me like a gut punch. It had to be the Everglades, with its haunting beauty, its mist-drenched cypress trees, its raw, untamed magic. A perfect place for a witch, a curse, and lovers torn apart. I wanted readers to feel it—to smell the damp earth, to hear the rustling fronds, to step into the murky depths of something ancient, powerful, and undeniable.

The story flooded out of me. I’ve always been a fan of Ladyhawke and wanted to create a modern twist on that aching, impossible love. So, I put my head down, let my fingers fly, and let the smoke rising from the keyboard shape something real. It felt magical as I was writing it.

But then came the doubt.

Had I missed the mark? Had I created something worth reading, or just another forgotten manuscript? I sent the story to my beta readers—only to be met with radio silence. The holidays had them swamped. My nerves kicked up a notch. Then, a lifeline—one good friend finished it and gave me a big thumbs-up. Relief.

And then, last night, the moment that changed everything.

A writer friend—someone I deeply respect, someone who understands story structure—read it and got so engrossed in the characters that she yelled out loud at certain passages. She didn’t want my protagonist to do the things she did—all in the name of love. She was invested. Hooked. And now, she’s pushing me to write a sequel, to keep these characters alive just a little longer.

Maybe I’ve found my niche. Maybe this is where I’m supposed to be.

For years, I’ve struggled to focus on just one thing. My creativity usually pulls me in three directions at once. But in the last two months, I’ve been reading a new Romantasy author every week, studying, analyzing, breaking down what makes these stories addictive. I’m seeing patterns. Seeing clarity. Maybe my “hot” section needs to stretch a little longer—five to seven pages instead of just three. What will make my readers squirm just a bit more?

Because in the end, what do readers truly want?

I don’t know yet, but I’m dying to figure it out.

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