Fornia stopped when she came to Soryne’s door. There had been quite a lot going on at dinner, she remembered. Soryne had looked at the prince most peculiarly, and the prince had even returned the glance once or twice. Even the queen had been acting differently from her usual aloofness; rather, she acted stern and cold, as if she was worried or angry. This was hardly proper behavior for celebrating a son’s homecoming. Something strange was going on, and Fornia hoped to find out what it was.

She moved on from Soryne’s door and continued down the hallway, pondering. The queen had slipped her a note after dinner that asked her to come to her chambers at midnight; Fornia wondered if Soryne’s actions that morning had anything to do with this. However, something in the back of Fornia’s head told her that the matter at hand would be far more serious.

“The queen is not one to be slighted this much by absent servants,” Fornia muttered, turning a corner and reaching the golden-painted doors of the queen’s chambers. “There is more to this than meets the eye.”

Carefully, she knocked, and was answered by a maidservant. Fornia entered and was immediately confronted by the sight of not just the queen but also Princess Kechria and Prince Epnotides.

The queen lounged on a couch by the window and was dressed in a white chiton with a red mantle. Her long black hair was decorated with golden ornaments that twinkled in the torchlight. The prince and princess stood off to the side, and Fornia assumed that they had been talking before she entered.

“Your majesty,” said Fornia, and bowed.

“Fornia, my most faithful muse,” Queen Ponyria drawled, her voice dripping from her lips like poison. “I am glad you have come.” The queen motioned for the maidservant to leave the room.

Fornia remained standing; the princess moved to sit next to her mother, and the prince drifted to the back of the room by the windows, gazing out towards the seacoast.

“My children are already aware of what I plan to inform you of,” the queen continued, looking at Princess Kechria with a pleased expression; then she glanced back at her son, seeming slightly annoyed. Fornia wondered if he was proving to be a different man than when he had left so long ago; she would not be surprised if this was true, and even less so if this bothered her mistress.

“I have planned a few activities to occur between now and the arrival of the king in two weeks’ time,” the queen went on. “We will have several concerts and recitations in which my muses will display their work. I think that your youngest protégé is finally old enough; she is close to eighteen, is she not?”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Fornia. The ages of the muses were something that Fornia had always been attentive to; she did not let Thysia do many things that the older muses did, since she started so young and was still a child at heart. The others were somewhere in between twenty and twenty-five; and she herself, being twenty-nine, was nearing thirty a little faster than she would have liked. However, there were no more excuses that Fornia could present in order to keep Thysia away from the public. Most girls came out when they were between thirteen and fifteen, and Fornia had held Thysia back long enough.

The truth was that Fornia did not like the queen, nor did she like the way that she exploited the nine muses’ talents. More and more as each day passed Fornia wished that she had feigned being a mute that morning that the queen had spotted her singing in an alley.

And now the queen wished to exploit them even further.

“In these concerts, I will have a few songs sung, some poetry read, some speeches given; but I wish for you to give us the great satisfaction of hearing your best poetry read to the whole city.”

Fornia looked at the queen’s children, wondering why this news should make Princess Kechria boast a smirk and Prince Epnotides hide a grimace.

“This poetry shall not be your everyday ode, however,” smiled the queen, and Fornia stood up straighter. Upon occasion she took up the poet’s pen, but it was at her own provocation and never based upon others’ ideas.

“You will be writing about the increasingly terrible deeds of the king and turning the hearts of the people against him in order that upon his return, they will not be angry when I kill him.”

Fornia betrayed no sentiment or surprise at this announcement, but inwardly she was shocked that it had come to this. Only the queen, sly and cunning as a snake, would plan to murder her own husband.

“You are perhaps wondering what could cause me to take such strong actions against him. Of course I was young and in love when we first married, and if he had continued to be the same man he was when he was young, all would be well. But he has committed terrible crimes that are unforgivable. My son may be able to vouch for this, as he has been his closest companion over the past ten years.”

Prince Epnotides, who had been staring miserably at the window, now turned and raised his eyebrows at this remark. The queen was looking back at him expectantly and when he realized that he was to speak, he cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes, well, war does terrible things to a man.”

Queen Ponyria laughed sourly. “My son, my daughter, what I am about to say is news to you both, and occurred nearly eleven years ago when the war in Priam was just beginning to stir. Your sister Imenrys, my eldest child, whom we had been told died from a terrible seizure in the night, was murdered. She was sacrificed to Lyatres by your father in hopes that he would have a successful war campaign. Well, now that he has, he shall die for the immeasurable pains that he has caused us.”

Fornia watched Prince Epnotides’ eyes grow wide; though he turned back to look out the window once more, she could see his disbelief in the way that his breath was rushed. Fornia knew what he was thinking: how could his beloved father go to such drastic measures to win a foolish war?

Princess Kechria, on the other hand, was exchanging enraged expressions with her mother. It was clear that she was more angry than grieved: she had been very small when the war began, only six. Clearly it was not too hard for her to see her father in such a light, for she had so few memories of him to begin with.

“This brings me back to my plans for the concerts,” said the queen. “Upon the arrival of the king, we will give the grandest one yet. You will write a lovely, long poem about how he murdered his own daughter, and then the people will order him executed.”

“Will that not be called treason, mother?” Asked the prince suddenly, and the pain in his face was evident.

“Of course it won’t. We will not dwell on that.” The queen waved this away like a fly. “I will have a dagger on me and do the deed myself, right there and then. We will say that it is an order from the gods. The soldiers will be too weary of foreign war to begin a civil one. Don’t be stupid, my son. What have all those years on the battlefield done to your silly head?” The queen obviously intended to jest, but the prince turned away to the window once more and Princess Kechria glared at him from across the room.

Fornia still stood and listened, saying nothing. It was not her place to deny what the queen had ordered, and she would offer no rebellion against it.

“You, Fornia, have been quiet all this time. Tell me what you think.”

“Your plans are steady and if executed correctly will work, my queen,” said Fornia, giving the safest answer.

The queen smiled and narrowed her eyes. “So you agree to do as I say?”

“Of course, my lady. Shall I begin the verses at once?”

“As soon as your mind can bear to exert itself,” the queen laughed. “But do not leave; I see you inching for the door. Clever girl. You must swear to secrecy if you are to leave this room.”

When all was said and done, Fornia quitted the queen’s chambers feeling apprehensive, though not more than she had when she entered in the first place. The first anxiety had simply been replaced by another.

As she passed Soryne’s door, she realized that the poor girl probably knew what was happening; the prince’s behavior towards her at dinner, though not noticeable, could tell the whole story. Coupled with the way the prince had been acting just now, Fornia thought the ordeal rather obvious. This was good; Soryne could rebel if she wished, and Fornia would not feel condemned by the gods to act against the queen’s wishes.

Of course Fornia would do as the queen said. The alternative option was imprisonment and execution, and then who would protect the muses from their tyrant and from the assassination of the king?

Fornia did not know whether or not Imenrys’ death was really the reason that Queen Ponyria wanted the king dead; no, it was probably that she had grown far too comfortable on her husband’s throne to give it up now. She was power-hungry, as many had been before her, and there were few cures.

Fornia gritted her teeth, for she thought to herself grimly that death was one of them.

At first she was nothing but surprised; but now a hint of shame came, shame that she had not recognized him for who he was and paid him the proper respect. And his prayers…

Soryne felt very sick all of a sudden. The blood drained from her face and she could hear it pumping furiously through her ears as she realized that this meant that the queen–

Suddenly she felt very faint and let her forehead rest on her hand.

It meant that the queen was planning on murdering the king.

Surely not, thought Soryne, and stole one more look at the prince, who no longer seemed to have any interest in her. However, Soryne’s initial goal of proving him different from Monepothes was dashed to pieces when she heard him say something to his mother over the hum of conversation; Princess Kechria then called him “brother,” and then Soryne knew that he and Monepothes were one and the same.

“Are you alright?” Asked Thymite, the muse who sat in the seat below her. Her voice was smooth like honey, her wit sharp and sweet.

“Yes,” mumbled Soryne, sitting upright and making sure that she wasn’t causing a scene.

“Why did you keep looking at the prince?”

Soryne heaved a sigh. “I wasn’t.” Of course Thymite would say that; she was the muse of love poetry.

“I wasn’t shaming you for it,” said Thymite, examining her nails.

Soryne sighed. Dinner could not end soon enough.

It soon did end, though, and Soryne escaped to a scarcely-frequented hallway and hoped to go to bed without delay. However, her plans were interrupted miserably.

“Excuse me!” Called someone, and Soryne froze in the empty hall. It was Prince Epnotides; she knew by the voice.

Soryne slowly turned around and faced the prince. Even in the dim torchlight of the hall she knew that it was indeed he who had been in the temple earlier, if she needed any more reassurance of his identity.

“Please, wait,” said the prince, catching up to her. Soryne bowed low, trying to avoid his eye.

“Your majesty,” said Soryne, keeping her eyes to the ground.

“I am sorry that I did not know you were a muse,” Prince Epnotides said, and the tone of his voice caused Soryne to wonder if he was angry with her.

“I must confess that I did not know you were the prince.”

Soryne heard a short laugh, though she still did not raise her face.

“Not even my own mother and sister knew me. I should apologize for not telling you. You see, I thought you were a priestess.”

Soryne suspected as much, and nodded at the tiles on the floor.

“So I suppose that this means you know all about the trouble with my mother.”

Soryne looked up at this; though she had nothing to say, she felt her face turning white as a sheet. “Y-yes… I… I cannot…” she could not manage anything intelligible.

“You must promise not to tell anyone.”

Soryne shook her head. “No, no, I shall not,” she assured him. “I was acting as a priestess, and even if I am not a real one, I am bound to their laws.”

Prince Epnotides took his turn to nod and play with his fingers; Soryne recognized the same awkward behavior from the temple.

“Might you… that is… would you be willing to help me?”

Soryne took a step back. “No… no, I cannot,” she blurted, looking backwards and wondering if she might excuse herself now.

“But you must! Surely the gods have placed you here in order to aid my situation!”

Soryne shook her head, her eyes flashing with fear at the mention of the gods’ will. “Who am I to toy with their machinations? I will do no such thing!”

Prince Epnotides sighed and let his head fall into his hands. “But the king’s life is at stake,” he whimpered. Exasperation reeked from him like the sweat on his brow.

“Murder is not something that the gods approve of, but what I said remains. Heroes in the old tales always get a prophecy when the gods want them to do something. I have received no such thing.”

“But what about when I asked the gods to speak through you?” The prince would not have Soryne’s excuses, and Soryne began to wonder if he could have her punished for this.

Still, Soryne shook her head. “That is… that is different.” Surely it was.

Just as Prince Epnotides had opened his mouth to retort once more, Soryne heard footsteps down the hall and craned her neck to see if they were being eavesdropped upon. The volume of their argument, though it had begun in whispers, had slowly been raised by accident.

Thysia appeared from around the corner, her red hair shining in the torchlight. When her eyes fixed upon Soryne standing there with the prince, she sputtered, “Oh! Pardon me, I’m sorry.”

“No, Thysia, if you are going to bed then I shall come with you.” Soryne nodded her head at the prince, fully aware that she should at least bow or something. However, she denied him the pleasure, and beckoned Thysia to come with her down the corridor.

The passageways to the muses’ hall were empty, and their footsteps echoed against the stones as they went along. The hall of the muses had a balcony on one side, so that the sea breeze and the chatter of the city might flow in with the fresh air. Now the stars hung about the sky and twinkled as Soryne watched them, wishing that she might never have been in the temple that morning.

“What were you doing, talking to the prince? What a joke!” Laughed Thysia presently, glancing over at Soryne with a twinkle in her eye.

Soryne looked at the floor, watching her sandaled feet as they stepped. “It was nothing. All very serious, you know.”

Thysia pouted. “You’re always serious. Lighten up, Soryne! The world is beautiful and exciting, and all you do is pray all day.”

“I help people,” Soryne reminded her. “The prince wished to be prayed for.”

“What for?” Thysia asked, furrowing her brow.

“That is none of your business, you silly girl,” said Soryne, scolding her, though thinking that she must think of something to recover her slip of words. “–But you know, he has been at war for the past ten years. Very hard life, I should think.”

“Oh,” said Thysia, skipping along the hall and reaching her room. “I suppose you’re right.”

Soryne sighed. “You must learn that some people have gone through a good deal of hardship, and life cannot be all laughs for them.”

Thysia smiled dimly and yawned, leaning against her doorframe and draping her arm over her head dramatically. “Good night, Soryne.”

Soryne shook her head, smiling slightly. “Good night.”

In her rooms, she began to comb her dark hair and mull over all that had occurred. Monepothes was really the prince, and that meant that Queen Ponyria was going to kill King Ophases, perhaps even as soon as he returned.

And then, in one harrowing moment, she realized that the prince had continued to speak to her whilst she was not in the temple. She was now rid of her obligation to keep his secret. If she told anyone about the queen’s plan, she would be perfectly in the right.

Soryne sat down on her bed, her legs unable to hold her. This was a whole different matter now, and yet she still felt bound to the prince’s confidence. There was no knowing what to do.

A breeze blew in from the sea as Soryne walked to the north wing of the palace, where the muses’ rooms were. The marble and sandy stones of the pathway through the gardens made her stroll pleasant; the myrtle flowers crept over the walk and delighted her with their periwinkle blossoms. The fig trees provided mild shade and interrupted the glaring sun when she passed by them. Pulling a fig from a branch, she bit into it and sighed; there were few things she liked more than a ripe fig. None of the luxurious foods of the queen’s tables could satisfy her more.

The thought reminded her that before dinner that night, there was to be a concert, and this dampened her spirits. Concerts themselves were not that bad; they were a key function of her position, after all. It was the long and boring dinners that followed that bothered her. Tonight’s banquet would be especially boring, as it was being held to celebrate the prince and would be full to the brim with nobles and all of the queen’s friends. Perhaps Monepothes would be there, she thought; but maybe his parents would bring trouble. This only made her dread the evening more.

Since Soryne was one of nine muses who had been selected for the queen’s entertainment, it was mandatory that she attend. It would not surprise her if she received a talking-to later that evening, delivered by Fornia, the head muse. Soryne knew she would be scolded for skipping the morning celebration, but her duties at the temple were far more important and she was sure that the queen would not be too upset by her absence. Soryne was a wallflower, anyway.

As she went on and entered the palace, she passed two servants tarrying in the hall; they were rattling on about something, and resorted to whispers as soon as Soryne was in their sight. She still heard them, however, and they spoke about how strange it was that the prince should come home early, before his father or older brother. The queen had sent for him, whispered one; but why? asked the other.

Soryne was too far to hear any more; but she also thought it queer that the queen should ask for Prince Epnotides to come home so early. The war was over; but still, the prince came only with a hundred men, and surely there were far more troops still recovering on the battlefield. Soryne did not involve herself much in matters of state, but she knew that Myphotos had been cutting plenty of strings already; she did not wish to begin even thinking about the many who were succumbing to disease and battle wounds as she walked through the palace halls without a care in the world.

“Without a care, really,” she mumbled to herself, and opened the door to her bedroom.

“Soryne!”

Soryne stepped back into the hall to find Fornia beckoning from her door. Well, here came that reprimand Soryne had expected.

The doors were ordered according to age, and Soryne and Fornia had two doors between them; Soryne walked over, dust rising from the stone floor and dancing in the streaks of evening sunlight.

“You missed the celebrations earlier,” said Fornia, and Soryne frowned.

“I was at the temple.”

Fornia sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. “I know that your prayers are very important to you, but surely you understand that greeting the prince should be far more so!”

“Nearly all the Agioi were at the ceremony. I was needed at the temple, and surely the prince was not offended by my absence.”

Fornia looked at Soryne curiously and began to say something, but then stopped. Soryne started to turn away, thinking that Fornia only wished to reprimand her more; but Fornia reached out and caught her by the shoulder.

“Soryne. Listen to me, please.” Fornia’ voice was gentler now, more like the mother she was prone to act as.

Soryne tilted her head, crossing her arms and nodding.

“The queen specifically asked after you today, Soryne. She wanted to know why you weren’t there.”

“My duty is not to the queen. My duty is to the gods,” Soryne mumbled, eyes to the ground. She had no patience for this.

Fornia stepped back, her jaw tightening and her gaze hard. “You had better not let the queen hear that. You must recall that she was the one who brought you here and now provides for you without question. You ought to feel a good amount of duty to her.”

Soryne looked up at Fornia, knowing that she was right. It was a dangerous business, to want one’s own way in the presence of Queen Ponyria. But the queen was not the one who had found her and brought her to the temple: it was Fornia.

“I’m sorry,” Soryne whispered. “But for your sake, not the queen’s.”

Fornia pursed her lips and let go of Soryne’s shoulder.

Soryne turned and rushed down the hall again, the wind blowing from the open windows and brushing her dark hair into her eyes. Soon she entered her own room and shut the door fast after her.

“I’m not being selfish,” Soryne told herself. The queen was not important in the grand scheme of things. And if Soryne had it her way, she would be a priestess, not a muse.

Right after her parents died, Soryne had found sanctuary in the temple. This was when she was about six; and when she was ten, Fornia chanced to see her and took a liking to her. Fornia was kind and good to Soryne, and brought her food and the occasional poem to put to music. It was after a few months of this that Queen Ponyria was informed by the Agioi that this young girl was extremely devoted to serving the temple. The queen evaluated her– quite possibly the most frightening day of Soryne’s life– and then decided that Soryne would be the muse of sacred hymns and poetry, and would from then on reside in the palace. The room that she had been given then was the same she now lived in.

Soryne opened the curtains at the far end of her chamber, throwing a bit of light over the space. On one side was her bed, and on the other was a vanity-table and washbasin; beside the bed was a chest of clothes. Around the room sat personal items: a pot of hyacinths grew in the corner by the window, and a tripod stool with elegant carvings sat by the door. This stool was all that Soryne had left from her previous life, but of it she remembered little. According to the priestesses who took her in, she was the daughter of the carpenter who had made it. It meant little to her, besides the convenience it provided when she wanted to compose verses or prayers for temple ceremonies.

She was not heartless, but had only been orphaned young. When she was ten years old, the war began; and when the king’s men had been removed from the palace, the queen began to gather her muses as a way to amuse herself. Fornia, she had found first, and named her muse of lyrical poetry; this was her favorite art, and thus Fornia had become her favorite muse. It was not six months later that three more had been gathered: Doxa was the muse of history, and Orane was the muse of astronomy. Then Soryne was added, and five more after her: Palysa, Moina, Thymite, Oreva, and Thysia.

“I am not bitter,” Soryne grumbled as she sorted through her chest of clothes, looking for a mantle or something to use for the night’s more formal dress code.

The temple was a far more worthwhile occupation. At least Soryne had been recognized for her dedication during her youth and was chosen as the corresponding muse. Some of the other muses did not have this to boast about. Not that Soryne would boast…

“I would simply have a better answer, were someone to ask me,” she muttered, biting her lip.

Soryne was soon in the dining hall, servants rushing in folds about her, preparing for the great feast. The muses stood around the room idly, talking amongst themselves; but Soryne sat alone in the performance alcove. It was set back from the dining room, facing the head of the table, and it contained three rows. During concerts, muses stood upon it to sing, and they were placed in order of age. Soryne’s place, and where she now sat, was on the far left side of the second step.

A tap on the shoulder plucked Soryne out of her silent observation of the room. Soryne turned to find that Thysia, the youngest muse, was sitting behind her.

Thysia was the muse of comedy, and always had something to laugh about. Indeed she was the sweetest girl Soryne knew, and yet the sight of her shining red hair and her blazing eyes, always delighted, made Soryne feel too solemn for the world. Perhaps she ought never to talk to anyone, nor ever try her hand at anything worthwhile again.

Even now she looked so pleased about something, and the noise of the room caused her to raise her voice as she said, “you did not get to see the prince earlier, did you?”

“No,” Soryne replied, wishing to roll her eyes and turn away; yet she didn’t.

“Well, he was very handsome. A good jaw, you know. Although he is rather tanned, from being at sea and out fighting; and I wonder if he has seen such terrible things? How funny to think about.” Thysia sighed and leaned her head on the heel of her wrist, gazing upwards wistfully.

Now Soryne did roll her eyes; and there was not much time for further reflection, for Fornia came in and gathered all the muses into the alcove to make ready for the concert.

As a rule, Soryne did not look at the audience when singing; she was a little bashful, though she was loath to admit it. The singing was done in as little as ten minutes, though, as the feast waited. There would be more singing when the meal was over.

Introductions must have been made that morning, for when the singing was over the muses followed Fornia to their seats at the table, which lined the nine chairs down the left side. Queen Ponyria sat at the head, and immediately to her right was Princess Kechria; and Soryne drew her eyes to the prince, who was on the left of the queen, and about four seats away from her.

Prince Epnotides had dark hair, like his mother and sister, and perhaps Thysia was right about his face being good-looking. But he looked tired, and as he glanced her way…

Soryne started as he caught her eye in passing, just for an instant. She looked away immediately, abashed, but in his face she saw the same likeness as that of Monepothes from the temple.

It could not be. That was the prince, to be sure; he was seated next to his mother, and Princess Kechria looked so like him that they could be twins. Soryne dared to flick her eyes upwards again, and got a better look at him in the candlelight.

There was no mistaking it. Soryne was not very good at recognizing faces, but she could see in her mind’s eye Monepothes admitting to her what he needed prayers for; and this was the very same man.

Today, she was alone on the steps; usually there were many other worshippers who came to beg the gods to grant them their wishes. Soryne felt that it was useless to plead with the gods for anything. Surely they ordained how all things would come to pass long before they happened.

Soryne was alone because the rest of the kingdom was celebrating the arrival of the prince, who had just returned from war across the sea with a hundred men from his father’s troops. War had been long and there were ten years of it to look back on; but now they had secured the victory and so the prince had returned. His father, King Ophases, was to return in a few weeks with his oldest son and the rest of their soldiers. For now, however, the kingdom was taking advantage of the reason for high spirits and spending the day by the seaside in festive mood.

Not Soryne, though. She could not be prevailed upon to celebrate when there were prayers to be said and canticles to be sung.

She knelt about three-quarters of the way up the steps, and the sun beat upon her face. Soryne glanced up at the temple, her thoughts pausing for a moment while she gauged the time. The sun was nearly at the tip of the triangular roof of the temple, which meant that the afternoon was waning.

When Soryne came to the end of her prayers, she always thanked each of the gods for their mercy. First she thanked Stisla, the goddess of beginnings who spun the threads of life; then Lyatres, the god who wove the threads into tapestries; and finally Myphotos, who cut the threads, tied off the tapestries, and hung them either in the hall of the heavens to be remembered, or cast them into the fires beneath the earth to be forgotten.

Soryne stood, her knees aching from the hours that she had been kneeling for. The fabric of her dress was hot on her skin and she let out a sigh; now she must go and change for the evening.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind her. Soryne turned to find a young man nervously knotting his fingers a few steps below her.

“Yes?” Soryne asked, nodding her head in greeting.

“You are a priestess, I think,” the young man began, and Soryne nodded once more. It was her habit to act as one, if necessary, and her station allowed it.

“I was hoping that you might be able to pray to Myphotos for me,” said he, glancing up at the statue farthest to the right.

“Of course,” Soryne replied. “Perhaps you have an ailing relative?” She was accustomed to this; Myphotos was often called upon when someone was dying.

The young man opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he squinted as Soryne, and spoke. “Well, you could say that. My mother ails, maybe, but from a sort of head-sickness. You see, she is determined to murder my father.”

Soryne was taken aback, and nearly tripped over the higher step behind her in her surprise. “Well. That certainly… certainly needs to be prayed for at once.”

The young man knelt and began to mutter under his breath as he prayed. Soryne knelt next to him and pretended to do the same, but in truth she did more thinking than praying. How horrible this young man’s situation seemed… She hoped that he did not have younger siblings to receive the worst of the affair. He seemed to be nearing twenty-five at least, and it was possible that if there were young ones at home, it would fall on him to support them if the terrible business was carried out.

“You will forgive me,” interrupted Soryne, and glanced over at the young man. “But has your father committed any crimes?”

The young man sighed. “I… I do not know.”

Soryne raised her eyebrows and looked down at the steps again, resuming her prayers. How horrible, to plot a murder without a just motive– and to not let the queen handle the case.

There were no more words spoken between them and soon nearly fifteen minutes had gone by. The young man stood, and Soryne bid him good day.

“I hope your mother comes to her senses,” said she, knowing that even if the young man’s father had done something terrible, it would be more terrible still for a wife to murder her husband.

The young man looked at her intently for a moment, then clapped his hands together once. “I knew it!” He exclaimed, and Soryne knit her brow in confusion.

“I was praying the whole time that the gods might tell me what to do through you, and you have just told me that my mother’s intentions are not right. It will be hard to convince her of this, because Kechria is on mother’s side, but–”

“Kechria? You mean the princess?” Soryne’s mind had delayed, focusing first on the forwardness of such a thought; but at the mention of the princess she caught up.

The young man stopped talking, now stepping back and looking at Soryne curiously. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“You know her?”

The young man burst out laughing. “Of course! She and I have been at odds since birth.”

Soryne peered at him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

After a moment’s silence, the young man blurted, “Monepothes. I’m– I’m the brother of one of her friends.” Then he twiddled his fingers again, like when he first asked her to pray for him. “Really a shame, that we’ve never gotten along…” Now he grimaced, showing his fine teeth. This led Soryne to believe that perhaps he was not lying. Dental hygiene was not so common in the lower classes.

“I see,” Soryne breathed, not sure why the sudden confusion had given her such unease. “Well, if you are part of one of the noble families, I hope it does not cause too much of a scuffle.”

“Thank you,” said Monepothes, and with a nod of his head, he was gone.

Chapter One: Terrible Business ~ May 26th

Chapter Two: Prince Epnotides ~ June 2nd

Chapter Three: The King Condemned ~ June 9th

Chapter Four: The Queen’s Plan ~ June 16th

Chapter Five: The Duty of Soryne ~ June 23rd

Chapter Six: The House of Mortrites ~ June 30th

Chapter Seven: A Letter to the King ~ July 7th

Chapter Eight: Prince Kaioryses ~ July 14th

Chapter Nine: Thysia’s Past ~ July 21st

Chapter Ten: What Was Accomplished ~ July 28th

Chapter Eleven: The Final Concert ~ August 4th

Chapter Twelve: They Depart ~ August 11th

Pronunciation Guide

These names are written in the Greek fashion.

Main characters:

• Soryne: SOR-ihn-ee

• Epnotides: Epnoh-TIE-deez

• Fornia: FOR-nee-ah

• Thysia: THY-zee-ah

• Ponyria: Pon-EER-ee-ah

• Kechria: KECK-ree-ah

• Ophases: Oh-FAY-zeez

Side Characters:

• Kaioryses: KAI-oh-RY-zeez

• Monepothes: MON-eh-POTH-eez

• Imenrys: eye-MEN-reez

The muses:

• Fornia ~ muse of lyric poetry

• Soryne ~ muse of hymns and praise

• Thysia ~ muse of comedy

• Doxa ~ muse of history

• Palysa ~ muse of instruments

• Orane ~ muse of astronomy

• Moina ~ muse of tragedy

• Thymite ~ muse of love poetry

• Oreva ~ muse of dance

Just kidding. That sounds so pick-me.

I started to write ideas for a bunch of filler posts that I could schedule out so that I wouldn’t lose all my subs because nothing was coming out, and then it hit me: the idea for a new story.

So I daydreamed for about a week, mulling over this new idea, and then I realized that I could just condense it to twelve chapters and post it over the twelve weeks that I would be gone. All those posts are now scheduled and ready to come out on May 26th.

But many of you who don’t keep up with my notes don’t know what this new serial is about. So… here you are!

The Blurb for The Faded Muse

Soryne never thought that victory after ten years of war would end in a plot to kill the king.

She did not involve herself with such matters to begin with, but when the newly returned Prince Epnotides begs her to aid him in thwarting the plot (and at the foot of the temple, to boot), she cannot help but obey. Her duty as the muse of sacred hymns and praise bind her to the will of the gods.

What started as obedience soon becomes a tangled case of loyalty. The queen’s plans are lethal, and the head muse, Fornia, is unable to escape her employ. Soryne worries that both of their actions will change their fragile yet perfect lives forever and longs for real purpose. She will soon find out if she is more loyal to the gods or her family, even if they are not related to her by blood.

Will she and Epnotides succeed in saving the king from a terrible fate and keep the queen from carrying out her power-hungry plans?

Find out in The Faded Muse, a story based off Aeshylus’ Oresteia featuring found family, friends-to-lovers, and an ancient Greek setting.

Chapter 1 releases May 26th!

What do you think?

Please drop a comment below and make sure to share this with everyone you know!

I love my readers and want you to be able to discuss this without me present! I’ve created a thread in my subscriber chat just for you so that you can talk all about the chapters with those who are also reading along.

Thanks for reading and make sure to join in this summer— it’s gonna be a heck of a ride.

Do you have an idea, but you don’t know how to express it? Do you have characters, but nothing to do with them? Are you looking for a quick and easy guide to putting a novel together fast… so that you can actually enjoy brainstorming?

It sounds like you would love my Novel Outlining Bootcamp, now only $5.99.

It includes:

• An explanation of the 8-point plot structure model

• The best way to keep your plot moving: scenes that direct your readers and characters from point A to point B

• How to give your characters meaning through arcs

• And a few tips on how to avoid burnout!

BUY NOW

It’s golden hour, and we three walk down the driveway in bare feet. There’s a rain front on the horizon; we imitate our dads and say we can smell it in the air. We hum a few songs, exchanging notes while we spend these last few hours together before I leave for the summer.

It’s May, and I’ve just graduated high school. I’m trying to get a life, trying to understand the world. There’s too much of it, from what I can tell. But I’m doing my best.

After dinner the porch swing creaks beneath us. Our brothers play and shout in the yard, the waning sunlight filtering through the thick boughs of the trees and reflecting off the freshly mown grass. Our toes skid along the brick of my porch and we don’t speak very often. It’s late, but our parents are still talking.

You lean you heads on my shoulders, both of you. It’s embarrassing that I’m so much taller than you, but it always works out somehow. I think I’ve finally figured out why I hate that people can see that part of me: because I like keeping the special parts of myself secret. Locked up. Invisible. So that I can show you when you mean that much to me. Because you do mean that much to me— plenty of people do. But only a few people realize it when I share myself, when I share those intimate emotions and thoughts that have been walled up for years. The people that realize that’s how I show love are my closest friends.

When you finally leave, it’s nearly ten o’clock. Later I lay in bed and think about the beauties of friendship. It’s like a tree that keeps growing, keeps building roots, keeps branching out. There will always be more time and more life in which to grow.

A gift that I received today was a scrapbook. The friend who gave it to me is one of my favorite people in the whole world, and we’ve known each other for nearly five years. We’re as opposite as north and south sometimes, but we have too many inside jokes and memories that we can’t help being friends.

The photos in the scrapbook prove it. We’re making silly faces, holding up smoothies and coffees, camped out on our friends’ driveways, or blasting music in our cars.

Half the things I only remember because of the notes you wrote in it. They’re good memories, lovely stories, and I laugh and cry and don’t know what to do with myself. I think I’m crying because I’m going to miss you so much this summer, but that’s not the only reason.

It’s because I don’t know how I ever became friends with you.

I remember the first time I heard your name from across the volleyball court. I remember the first time we went to get coffee together (and yes, I got decaf because I am nuts when caffeinated). I remember the first time you called me by my nickname because your sister and I share a first name. I remember all these things.

But I don’t know how I did it. I feel like I received so much more than I gave. I know you’re a gift-giver (and a good one, too); but you’re always asking to hang out and even though I always say yes, I never remember to ask you. You ask to study or get coffee or go for hikes, and the code-word we have for when we need to talk about serious personal things (and not just goof off) was your idea.

I didn’t instigate any of that.

Then I remember.

I let you in.

I unlocked myself.

I opened the door and asked you to come in.

There’s too many personal things to mention, and they would take too long to explain. But that proves the heart of the matter.

You were one of those people. One of those people who understood what I’m doing.

And it even sounds selfish as I type this. I worry that you’ll read this and tell me that I never tell you anything, never want to hang out, never put effort in.

But I know you, and you know me, and we know that no matter what the dynamic is between us, we’re friends and we love each other and God has blessed our relationship.

God does wonderful things for me when I unlock myself and let people in. When I tell them, yes, I will hang out with you. When I purposely have decaf because you love it when I go kind of crazy. When I offer to go on a walk down the driveway because the wasps are bugging you even though I’m not afraid of them. When I lean my head on yours even though I absolutely hate physical touch (or do I? Do I keep that locked up too?).

Because friendship is a blessing, and it takes up a thousand corners of my heart. My effort is thoughtless, as is my way, and I often worry that it’s not enough. But I have to remember that while some show love by doing things on purpose, I can show love by doing things on accident.

And that means that my doors are wide open because you are the key.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I finished reading them for the first time back in August of 2025, and I’ve read them at least three or four times since then. I hate staying up late and it takes a really good book to keep me up past 10pm, but I stayed up until 3am reading so that I could finished volumes 6, 7, and 8 in the same 24-hour period. It’s obvious that these books are something special, something new, and something worth obsessing over.

But why?

Redemption

Beth Brower has said it herself in interviews: her characters have strong redemption arcs. She’s a Christian, and as the series has a Christian worldview as well, we can safely assume that this is meant to echo the journey that each Christian takes: born in dust, sinful, and unrepentant; then risen through grace and faith into glorious salvation.

Just to make things easier, I’m going to focus mainly on the Alchemy for this section.

The characters in the Alchemy all have their backstories. They all have dirt that they’re trying to hide. But they rise, or at least we think they’re going to rise sometime soon.

Pierce’s past gets revealed in vol. 8, even after he previously told Emma that he may never wish to talk about it. Emma understands this, knowing that people change and that her own past haunts her just as much (though perhaps she changes her mind after meeting Pierce’s stepfather). But his past is dark and he is dangerous at times. It’s obvious that he’s going to require the most redemption out of the four, but I have high hopes for a happy ending.

Islington has always been a brotherly figure to Emma, and she likes to pry at his personal information (like her, we understand the temptation to read others’ journals). Vol. 8 is heavy with big reveals, and it doesn’t leave Islington out: his twin sister, Hannah, passed away almost ten years ago, and he still cannot bear to speak of her. Mariana, his sister, tries to tell him that Emma can’t be a replacement. But we know that she isn’t, and he doesn’t intend for her to be (even if he isn’t so good at explaining that). In befriending Emma, he is rising above his past and recovering from the heartbreak of losing his best friend.

Hawkes is a mysterious character to begin with. We know very little of him, but what we do know enchants us. Readers have asked if he is magic. I want to know if he is magic. Because there is something so beautifully haunting about him that we can’t help but want to know more. The books he gives Emma, his connection with Declan Lion and Ireland, his careers at Eton and Cambridge, his position as both a reprobate and a vicar. He is two sides of the same coin. We know his kind and reclusive side, but we are unsure about the other side: what does his backstory hold? Does his arc require less work than the others… or does it require more?

Emma is easier for us to read because she is the narrator. We know her past with Maxwell, we know her financial difficulties, we know how she was orphaned taken advantage of. We know she’s on track to a solid redemption, if she isn’t already there. For Emma, we have strong hope, and that’s what redemption is built on. We keep reading because we want to see her in a better place than she is in now.

Symbolism

Every time you read EML, it gets better and better. The pages are thick with meaning. You can read these books once and simply see the past and present… but if you take a closer look, you can see the future.

Symbolism can be found in colors, animals, fairy tales, other books, and many, many other cues (usually from the Medieval tradition for literature).

The have a wonderful publication committed to unlocking the symbolism of these books; make sure to check it out.

It’s evident to me that each character has a color and a Shakespeare character. Some of them may even have an animal, but this idea is still foggy. There are multiple instances where these claims are affirmed.

I don’t want to steal the RHSS’s thunder, so go check out their series on color.

Shakespeare

However, I did want to talk about Shakespeare. (Warning: this section got a lot longer than I thought it would.)

Emma was steeped in it as a child. She’s read all the plays at least three times and her father read them more than that and probably quoted them and talked about them with Emma all the time. Additionally, St. Crispian’s hosts Julius Caesar every year. We know from the beginning that Shakespeare holds special importance.

I haven’t figured out very many characters so far, but that’s what makes rereading so enjoyable.

First, let’s start with Emma and Hawkes.

In Volume 2, Emma says that exchanging notes with Pierce through the wall feels “very Pyramus and Thisbe” (May 2nd). Those characters are from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We continue to see references to this play as we move on in the series. In Volume 3, Emma says she “felt almost like Titania in the enchanted woods” (July 15th). This gives me reason to believe that she in fact is meant to represent Titania. (I share many opinions with the RHSS and believe that Pierce is not Emma’s endgame, thus her transition from Thisbe to Titania). In Volume 6, January 5th, during the Twelfth Night Ball with Oberon and Titania, we know that though Lady Eloise Silver is the Titania of the night, she is not the right one. According to The Boy, “Titania is going to have to be strong enough to break the curse. This one doesn’t have it. I think even Oberon must see this… when Titania comes, maybe our Oberon will take his fighting chance” (January 5th). Remember our dear Hawkes and the Mayday fight? Added to the fact that Hawkes is only spotted once at the ball and Striker none, I am of the opinion that Hawkes was Oberon and Stiker was pretending to be Hawkes in order to help conceal his identity. (Thanks again RHSS for guiding me along the way.)

This leads me to the conclusion that Emma=Titania and Hawkes=Oberon.

In the play, Oberon wishes for Titania the entire time, whilst Titania first “falls in love” with Nick Bottom the weaver (who even plays Pyramus in the play within the play). I believe that the same will occur in the series.

Thus Pierce=Pyramus.

Now, there are multiple plays that I have discovered in this series, which leads me to the second character I want to look at: Arabella.

Arabella is smart. Cunning. She always gets what she wants (or so we think). The first time we meet her, she quotes Shakespeare: “Emma, screw your courage to the sticking place” (Vol. 1, March 9th). This from Macbeth, and it is Lady Macbeth’s line.

So, Arabella=Lady Macbeth.

Though there isn’t much evidence as to this claim, I think that it opens a lot of doors and shows us thousands of possibilities. I’m concerned for Arabella and want her to fall in love with someone worthy of her (because, on second or third consideration, she isn’t so snobbish as she appeared to me at first). I’m worried that she’s going to marry a dunce, though, and take some very Lady-Macbeth-esque actions.

Now we come to Islington.

There are two cases of twins in Shakespeare: A Comedy of Errors and Twelfth Night. The first is about two sets of twins, all males. The second is about a set of twins, Viola and Sebastian, who were separated in a shipwreck.

I’m going to take a hint from the book’s circumstances and confidently say that Twelfth Night is going to be Islington’s inspiration.

Islington=Sebastian and Hannah=Viola.

Only, Brower has turned the play a bit so that we know that Hannah/Viola is not going to return, and Islington/Sebastian is going to have to go on without her. That leads me to ask, who is going to be his Lady Olivia? Does Emma also serve as a second Viola?

I’m also excited to see if Emma is more than one or two characters, especially if she is going to be Portia or Calpurnia in Volume 9. Will that hold symbolic meaning? We’ll have to see!

Colors

Since the RHSS has so kindly provided a color guide in their posts, I will link it here.

Colors mean so much and can tell many secrets about a person before the text reveals them. It takes the story to the next level. Learn how to understand color cues, and the world of well-written books will be your oyster.

Fairy Tales

I’ve been able to find a few fairy tales in the series as well. The first and most obvious is Cinderella… with a twist. Emma returns to her home only to find that her parents have been replaced by someone who isn’t even related to her by blood and two “stepsiblings” who she has never met. Of course, the twisting that is done is wonderful— we all love Agnes and most of us probably like Parian at least a little (I personally find him wonderful). And, to our delight, she goes to many, many balls. But which will be the special one (or three? the original tale held that many).

The second fairy tale is quite different and asks more questions than it gives answers. I was perusing my volume of Grimm’s fairy tales and found a tale called “Darling Roland.”

We all know and love Roland, and this tale doesn’t quite make sense of anything, so take from this summary what you will.

There were once two girls, and they were cousins. They lived with a witch, who was their mother and aunt. The witch hated her niece terribly and planned one night to cut off her head. However, the niece played a trick on her aunt and switched places with her cousin in the night, so that the witch killed her own daughter instead. The niece stole the witch’s hundred-league boots and magic wand and ran away with her sweetheart, Roland. Using the boots and the magic wand, they managed to kill the witch when she ran after them in the morning. The niece turned herself into a flower, and Roland into a fiddler. When they killed the witch, Roland forgot all about his flower and ran away to marry another girl, until the niece presented herself as a bridesmaid at his wedding and he remembered her. They married and lived happily ever after.

Quite a strange tale, h’m? I don’t know what to make of it. I only have this quote to follow it up:

“Going against Aunt Eugenia always feels like toying with a witching hour” (Volume 1, March 9th).

The final tale (and this one doesn’t count so much) is Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. St. Crispian’s, with its upside-down signs, young vicar, strange laws, and abiding, unquestioning denizens makes it feel awfully magical, just like Wonderland.

Animals

There are very few times we see animal symbolism in these books, but the few instances are certainly worth pointing out.

Firstly, this note from Volume 1: “walk the streets… before full dark to see the lamps in their glory. My favorite is a fox with a bird in his mouth, the bird being a light, only fitted with wings” (March 7th).

Hopefully we’re all thinking the same thing: Hawkes the Fox.

It’s strange that the lamps aren’t mentioned again in the series (please enlighten me if they are).

However, this makes me wonder: who is the bird that the fox is catching, if Hawkes is indeed the fox? Is it Emma? The pear-scented lady?

Or is it himself?

We know that he is a two-sided coin. He is a reprobate and a vicar. But is a two-sided creature as well? Is he a fox to the reprobates (as they call him such) and a bird to the parish? And one day will the fox catch up with the bird and carry him away?

All this from a lamp. Which possibly could not mean anything. Still, this is the power of symbolism.

There are two other animals mentioned: a rabbit and a hound. The portraits of these animals can be located in Islington’s Rabbit Room, and I have not been able to discern which people, if any, the rabbit and the hound represent. Or is Islington both, like what we could say about Hawkes? Is he a hound on the outside (he does love dogs) and a rabbit on the inside? Is there part of him fleeing and another part chasing?

Another possible note of interest is The Hound, Chambers’ glove shop. Does The Pirate have any connection to Islington? Is that why he’s becoming kinder? Or is it simply because Pierce has asked him to be nice?

It might be blasphemous for me to say this, but even so come, Volume 9, come.

In short: the pages are thicker than the paper.

Everyone loves EML so much because the more you read it, the more you understand the depth of the true story beneath all of the madness and mishaps. Emma may be hilarious, Hawkes mysterious, Pierce thunderous, Islington aloof, but there is more to that than we could ever imagine.

That is why we love EML— and other such wonderful works— so much.

Do you have an idea, but you don’t know how to express it? Do you have characters, but nothing to do with them? Are you looking for a quick and easy guide to putting a novel together fast… so that you can actually enjoy brainstorming?

It sounds like you would love my Novel Outlining Bootcamp, now only $5.99.

It includes:

• An explanation of the 8-point plot structure model

• The best way to keep your plot moving: scenes that direct your readers and characters from point A to point B

• How to give your characters meaning through arcs

• And a few tips on how to avoid burnout!

BUY NOW

I enter this place
Feeling overdue, neglected
                                                                 and yet
When I tell you I'm leaving
Having never felt protected
                                                                 you pull me close
Tell me I'm worth more than
Anything you've ever held,
                                                                 you say you love me
You had ten years to say so.
It was that long ago I fell.
                                                                 but now
I gather myself up
And understand that I am nothing.
                                                                 I tell you
There's nothing you can do.
I'm ready to be something.
                                                                 forget about it.
I've accustomed myself
To not caring about you.
                                                                 even knights use armor.
I've promised myself
That I will never be your fool.
                                                                  I am not yours now.

This was originally written as a song at about 9pm last night.

There's a kid somewhere, probably ten years old
Thinks that growing up is all there is to live for
Doesn't know it hurts and makes your heart a little cold
All they see is a long hallway, and at the end a door

There's no window, only a shiny knob
Begging to be twisted:
It says, "open me
When you reach me"

When we were ten years old
We didn't think about buying cars or getting jobs
Only graduating high school
Being done "forever"
When we were ten years old
We didn't waste our time on phones
We just climbed a tree and played on swings
And now we're done forever

There's a kid somewhere, probably around fifteen
Thinks the seniors are the coolest, and "why am I so shy?"
Doesn't know nobody cares who they are or what they be
All they know is a long highway with no exit in sight

There's no end, only horizon
Begging to be driven on:
It says, "come to me
When you reach me"

When we were fifteen
We didn't think about choosing colleges or careers
Only graduating high school
Being done "forever"
When we were fifteen
We didn't slave over our grades
We just played basketball in the park
And now we're done forever

If I could be twelve again
I would
If I could get that time back
I would

'Cause now I'm done forever

Hey y’all! Today’s post is by the amazing !! She is a super smart and amazing Mom of Substack™ and has a blog that you should check out immediately. Make sure to subscribe to her, too :)

When I read an allegory, I automatically log it into one of two categories in my mind — full allegory or partial. (Please note that these are categories of my own invention; I’m sure there are better ones out there, but mine work well for what I do.) Now I am a deep lover of allegories; I’ve been reading them for a good long time, and during the last couple of years, I’ve begun writing them. It can seem a little daunting at first, of course, and like an overwhelming task to write a story full of symbolism and deep meaning that’s going to speak to the reader. But hopefully I can break it down a little for you.

I imagine Pilgrim’s Progress or Chronicles of Narnia came to mind when you read the word “allegory”? And for good reason: these are two of the most famous, if not THE most famous allegories in the world; not only that, but they also work perfectly as examples for my two categories. (For anyone who has never read either, please remedy this immediately.)

Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan is placed solidly in my “full allegory” category. Every character, every name, every location, and every interaction is a symbol and has a deeper Biblical meaning. And I do mean every single one. I mean, the main character’s name is Christian, for heaven’s sake! You will not find a bit of dialogue that’s not pointed directly at a Biblical teaching; there are no “fun and games” scenes. It’s all intricately planned and written, and dare I say, no one does it better than John Bunyan.

Full allegories, I have to imagine, are difficult, time consuming, and stressful to write. I have never attempted it myself, and honestly, I don’t know of any modern full allegories. The box that the write is put in does not allow for extra fun scenes, lovable gray characters, or cute dialogue. Most people wanting to write allegories nowadays are more looking to write something like Chronicles of Narnia, or what I call a “partial allegory.”

C.S. Lewis’s seven book series has been beloved by readers for decades. Characters like Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace are held close by young and old alike, and (at least in my family) the argument of who is the best reigns on. The answer, of course, is Reepicheep.

Have you ever heard someone mention, when talking about Christian books, Jesus lions? That’s from Narnia. Aslan, one of the greatest characters ever written, is commonly known to be a representation of Jesus. People can say what they like about it, but I strongly believe that his (spoilers) sacrifice and resurrection at the Stone Table can only be a representation of Christ on the cross. By the way, I recommend The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe as an Easter read. Fits the vibe perfectly!

Anyways, what is it that separates Pilgrim’s Progress from Chronicles of Narnia? The big difference is that not everything represents something in Narnia. Oftentimes, it’s more the big plot points that symbolize Biblical stories or teachings, such as Aslan’s death and resurrection, or Eustace changing from a dragon back into a boy. The characters do not represent Biblical characters, or at least, not all of the time. And there is so much more room for extra worldbuilding, complex dialogue, fun scenes, etc. without having to worry about everything having to black and white. I presume that you writers who are interested in writing an allegory want to write something along these lines, and are trying to learn how to do it.

Allow me to use my own allegory as an example, as that is what I’ve spent the last two years on and know the best. (I apologize if this feels like self-promotion; it’s not intended to be! I thought showing you my own personal processes may be a help or inspiration for your own process!)

Now every writer is different, and every allegory is going to be different. There will be varying levels of the symbolism and how deep you want it to be. But to start out, the best rule of thumb is to keep it simple. When you’re first beginning to plot your world and story, don’t focus on all the intricate details yet. Just get a few basic points down, the important ones.

Here’s what I knew when I started writing The Mercy Tree: it was going to be medieval allegory, which meant that God and Jesus would be presented as King and Prince. Simple enough. That’s pretty common actually, and pretty much all Christian allegories use king and prince for God and Jesus. Mine has progressed now to where God the Father is the Most High, God the Son is the Christprince, and God the Holy Spirit is the Royal Advisor. (I beg you not to forget the Holy Spirit in your allegory; too many people squeamishly leave Him out as they’re not sure what to do with Him, or they lamely put Him in as a dove or something.) I knew I wanted themes of mercy and hope (represented by a tree and a man), and that dragons were going to play a big part (but of course).

See, there is SO much potential with a partial allegory. The Armor of God? Epic. Demons and angels? Even more epic. Then you can really get into themes. One of my themes, as I said, is mercy, which I represent through a healing tree that puts dragons (which represent cruelty and false justice) to sleep. I encourage you to really let your creativity loose. Pick different things, virtues and vices like compassion and pride, Biblical elements like the Armor of God or the martyrdom of the saints, or societal problems like crooked politicians and addiction, and add them in as symbols. Let me give you few examples of what you could do for these.

Virtues and vices. Very common in allegories, and often used to teach moral lessons. I like to use parallelism with them, like I do with mercy and cruelty. Have the elements that represent them play off from each other. They are opposites, like light and darkness. Love and hate. Bravery and cowardice. Really take a look at the theme of your story and see how you can work them in.

Biblical elements. Demons and angels are just the coolest to write, aren’t they? Evil servants of the abyss fighting against great warriors of Heaven. But what else? The Armor of God is pretty popular, but I’ve done my best to take it to the next level. We don’t think about it enough, I think, and that’s the point of an allegory! To get your readers to think about the symbols and what they represent. Of course, there’s the sacrifice of Christ and His resurrection (can’t have one without the other!). The martyrdom of 11 of the 12 disciples. The birth of Christ. All of these can be written into allegory if done properly. It’s hard to tell you HOW to do it, but all I’ll say is that it takes practice and lots of Bible study and prayer.

What about modern day societal problems? I especially like using these for allegory. In my own work, I have representations of addiction, church splits, the healthcare system, greedy politicians, and more. It’s not hard when you live in a world where such things are rampant. But I would encourage you, if you think you want to explore these, to choose a problem that speaks to you, show it in your world, and then fix it. Maybe you can’t end world hunger in this world, but in yours, what would it take? Who is willing to do it? What needs to be sacrificed? And maybe, in your world, it can’t be fixed or at least, not completely. Show us the consequences of this. Really dig into it.

And of course, there are levels to everything. How much of an allegory you want your story to be is up to you. How much symbolism you want or how deep you want it to be is up to you. But I would strongly advise you to start small and work your way through it. Allegory is a beautiful, beautiful thing, but it takes lots of practice (years!) to make it accurate, smooth, and easily understandable. Always remember to pray and good luck!

As I type I’m sitting in the library with books all around me. Most of them are on shelves, but I’ve gathered a few favorites. Among them are The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion Vol. 6 and Vol. 8, The Collected Works of William Wordsworth, and Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Plus I have my journal, my brainstorming notebook, and I’m wearing my denim jacket (because that always makes me feel like a writer for some reason).

I know that these things will prolong my energy and keep me moving as I finish this post and go on to work on my WIP. That’s why I drove 20 minutes to get here even though I didn’t want to drive anywhere. That’s why I spent the morning editing and doing things that didn’t need much creative fuel, so now I can feel more like a writer by coming to the library, sitting by a window, and gathering my favorite books around me.

How do you recharge?

There are so many different ways to recharge, just like there are so many different people on this planet. God made you you, and it’s your job as a creative person to know yourself and how to recharge.

However, that’s like deciding to take Tylenol when you haven’t even outlined your symptoms. What if you need Benedril instead? (Not me using pharmaceutical drug references over here… my inner crunchy mom is cringing.)

So rather than deciding to try something when it might actually be making you worse, let’s figure out why you’re feeling spent in the first place.

I’ve outlined five ways that I feel burnt out, and what I do to recharge based on my specific burnout symptoms.

Does your head feel crowded?

Don’t listen to music.

Instead, go for a silent walk.

If there’s too much chatter in your brain, you’ve been consuming too much. What you need is to empty it all out by inviting some silence into your space.

• Put on noise-cancelling headphones.

• Turn off your phone all the way.

• Take a nap.

• Go for a walk in a natural area with no headphones in.

• Touch grass.

• Close your eyes and pray for a few minutes.

Enjoy the silence and the stillness so that you can dump all the clutter out of your head.

Do you feel empty?

Don’t force words out of yourself.

Instead, fill in the holes with someone else’s writing.

This is the opposite of the previous symptom. If you feel like there’s nothing inside your head, that you can’t get the words to come out, then don’t try to push them. You need to fill your tank back up.

• Read your favorite book or watch your favorite movie.

• Catch up on your Substack reads.

• Listen to music.

• Recite poetry.

• Listen to a podcast.

There’s a word bank in all of our heads, and sometimes we just need to stop and put a few words in so we don’t have to pay any overdraft fees.

Are you getting imposter syndrome?

Don’t keep yourself in the dark.

Instead, open the door and invite others in.

For those who don’t know what this is (or just don’t know the name for it), imposter syndrome is where you feel like you will never be good enough. You feel like everyone is a better writer than you, that you’ll never make enough money or be well-known, that you just suck at life. Period.

This is the worst feeling ever and I get it on the regular. This is the most difficult burnout symptom to treat, and it takes a little longer to heal than most, but hopefully it will only knock a day out of your schedule.

The best way to deal with imposter syndrome is community.

• Hang out with your best friend.

• Open Substack and send out a note asking for encouragement.

• Read a book you know is beneath your level but like anyway. (Unashamedly, this is my favorite.)

• Google positive affirmations.

• Do lots of self-care. (A coffee run, going to your favorite restaurant, staying up late watching movies, etc.)

• Listen to Forrest Frank, because his songs just hit the spot like nothing else can. (Also a favorite of mine. My go-to song is ALWAYS.)

Whatever you do, make sure you’re opening the doors of your heart to yourself. No matter what you write, how you write it, or how skilled you are, you are loved and your writing is valued by those who love you. (And if it feels like nobody loves you, God always does. <3)

Remember that you have a story to tell, and nobody can tell it the way you can.

Do you feel motionless?

Don’t try to go faster.

Instead, allow yourself to slow down.

Do you have that feeling like you’re a turtle racing against a hare? Like you’re unwillingly slow and fatigued, and have no desire to go any faster?

That’s your body telling you to stop. You need a stationary recharge, one that is physically resting as well as mentally. This doesn’t mean that you’re physically burnt out, necessarily, but that your brain needs time to catch up to where you want to be.

• Sit on the couch and read.

• Eat a meal, no matter the time of day. (We all want to be hobbits, right?)

• Listen to an audiobook, a podcast, or some gentle music while you rest your eyes.

• Watch a comfort movie.

• Play a card game with some family or friends.

Allow yourself to catch up, taking time to intentionally rest while your brain prepares to pick up where you left off.

Are you going to fast?

Don’t hit the brakes

Instead, allow yourself to be stimulated.

Sometimes it feels like your fingers can’t move fast enough for your mind. There are so many things going on, so many ideas, so much to do. This isn’t bad. But your response needs to allow creativity, not squander it. Otherwise, you’ll come out of this feeling burnt out and your ideas might be gone.

When you feel a speed round coming, try one of these things so that you don’t lose your steam while you channel all your energy towards being creative.

• Go for a walk or a run while you brainstorm.

• Record yourself talking about the idea.

• Take a break to listen to some slow music in order to calm yourself down.

• Write out all your ideas as a list and attack each point individually, allowing your brain to be scattered between each if necessary.

• Clean something. (This helps more than you’d realize. Doing the dishes helps a lot when you’re overwhelmed with ideas.)

This is the hardest to identify because it doesn’t feel like burnout… but it is. It’s coming, at least. If you run at speed 10 for long enough, your body’s going to want to slow down to 0 for a while— your creativity is the same. Creative overwhelm is close by, and you need to make sure that there isn’t too much buildup. Otherwise, you’ll crash.

How will you treat your burnout?

My favorite ways to go about this is to walk, read, and clean. My mom can attest to the fact that I don’t always do these things (especially the cleaning one), but like I said earlier— our job is to know ourselves. Sometimes it takes time to learn what works and what doesn’t, and it takes even longer to remember to do those things every time.

Maybe you opened this post thinking about how you were going to stay at 100% while you wrote your entire draft. I’m here to tell you… no. You’re not. It’s going to be smooth sailing one minute and abandon ship the next.

It’s not about staying charged— it’s about recharging when you need it.

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It sounds like you would love my Novel Outlining Bootcamp, now only $5.99.

It includes:

• An explanation of the 8-point plot structure model

• The best way to keep your plot moving: scenes that direct your readers and characters from point A to point B

• How to give your characters meaning through arcs

• And a few tips on how to avoid burnout!

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Warning: this post contains spoilers for Jane Eyre!

Have you ever thought about how this amazing novel is built out of several different fairy tales? Charlotte Brontë does an absolutely wonderful job of mixing, matching, and disguising certain fairy tales throughout her book.

The tales that really matter

As we all know well, the classics are the ones that will never die. Fairy tales, Mother Goose Rhymes, mythology. Poetry, paintings, music. Art is all about a different take on reality. Some are more enchanting than others; but those who are best at making new art are also best at reviving the old art.

In Jane Eyre, Brontë uses tales like Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Beauty and the Beast to build her plot. She also uses a little-known tale called Bluebeard, and the famous myth of Cupid and Psyche that inspired Beauty and the Beast.

Cinderella

Mrs. Reed and her two children obviously represent the evil stepmother and stepsisters, and the way they treat her like a servant reflects Cinderella’s tale well.

However, as we move into her time at Lowood School, we see more of the classic tale and less of the Disney adaptation.

In the original Cinderella, the stepmother asks Cinderella to sort lentils from peas three times, during each day of the festival. These are the chores she has to complete, or else she can’t attend the festivities. Cinderella gains help from her friends the pigeons and doves, who after doing her work give her a beautiful gown and slippers to go to the festival in.

Jane Eyre constantly has to go through silly tasks such as these in order to actually enjoy herself. Number and exactness don’t matter so much— it’s more of the meaninglessness of the tasks that (ironically) means something. Just as separating peas and lentils is just as silly as it is herculean, so is Jane’s education.

Beauty and the Beast/Bluebeard

Names that hold symbolism are also a great way to incorporate a tale into your work.

Thornfield hall is an obvious one… a field of thorns. Just as the Beast’s castle was covered in thorns, so is Mr. Rochester’s. Only now we hit a fork in the road: is Mr. Rochester a Beast, one who will be redeemed at the end, or is he a Bluebeard, who will consume Jane and throw her away?

If you aren’t familiar with the tale of Bluebeard, here’s a quick synopsis. Bluebeard is very alike to Beauty and the Beast except for the fact that Bluebeard has had many wives— and the tragedy of the tale is that they have mysteriously disappeared, one after another. In truth, Bluebeard murders when he is done with them. The newest wife is gifted the keys to every room in the house but is forbidden to enter one single closet. She is curious about the mysterious chamber and decides to go in. Within, she finds the bodies of all who came before her. Bluebeard intends to kill her for this action, but she is ultimately saved by her brothers and is able to inherit her husband’s wealth when they kill him.

Just like Bluebeard, Mr. Rochester has a secret wife who is hiding in his attic.

This tale is pretty similar to Beauty and the Beast, right? Except for the fact that Bluebeard isn’t redeemed as the Beast is. This leaves us with the question of whether or not Mr. Rochester will be a Beast or a Bluebeard. (Those who have read the book know!)

Cupid and Psyche

This tale begins the same way that Beauty and the Beast does— a beautiful young girl is given to a “monster” and lives with him in his castle. She is forbidden to do one thing: look at her husband while they are sleeping. It is at all other times that he remains invisible or not even present. When Psyche gets to visit home, however, her sisters encourage her to look at her husband and give her candles to do so. When she sees that she is married to Cupid, the god of love, and that he is not a monster after all, she is left to do immortal tasks until she can rejoin Cupid in the heavens.

During this time, Psyche must cross the River Styx, which is the border of the underworld. Beside this river grow many reeds, which the god Pan makes his pipes out of. These magical reeds show her where golden wool hangs on the briars; these she collects and brings to Aphrodite as one of her tasks.

Jane begins the story with the Reed family and ends it with the Rivers’. Moreover, they are both her relatives; one of her cousins is John Reed, and another is St. John Rivers. The parallels here are immaculate!

In the end, of course, Cupid and Psyche get back together. But we know that there’s a little bit left in Jane and Rochester’s tale.

Rapunzel

This is a common theme throughout the story. The very first scene of the book shows Jane looking out a window as if she is trapped in a tower; and while at Lowood School she is definitely a prisoner to Mr. Brocklehurst. However, it doesn’t become truly blatant until the end.

When Jane leaves Thornfield Hall because of Mr. Rochester’s toxic and Byronic tendencies, she is taking the same action as Rapunzel by getting lost in a figurative desert. As we all know, Jane returns, but Mr. Rochester is blinded. By the time his firstborn son is born, however, he has regained some of his sight— just like the prince in the fairy tale.

The fairy tales I’m using

My novel also begins as a school story, and I’ve decided that Rapunzel fits the storyline the best. I wasn’t purposefully writing it that way, but now that I’m about 1/4 way through the whole story (I plant to write a series), I have now met my characters and can make intentional decisions going forward, especially since I’m pantsing the story.

Instead of my MC being the only one trapped in a tower, I have two Rapunzels. Madeleine, my main MC, is trapped by a literal Mother Gothel, who is her housemother. Madeleine has been “trapped” for eight years. Priscilla, my secondary MC, is trapped by love instead. She only attends the school because she knows her family could benefit from the scholarship she was able to receive. She arrives on the day that the story starts. Madeleine and Priscilla live across the street from each other and become best friends as well as parallels of each other.

Another character, Edmund, saves them both— but at different times. He helps Madeleine with some history notes right off the bat, which is the first time he comes to her tower; but he hasn’t met Priscilla yet. The second time he comes to Madeleine’s tower is the first time he comes to Priscilla’s. He’s walking them home from theater practice late at night.

Madeleine’s housemother catches this in action, breaking Edmund’s camera (his favorite hobby/occupation and how he sees the world— this is his figurative blindness). However, Priscilla’s housemother doesn’t “catch” Priscilla because it’s Edmund’s first time to her tower— and because she is far less strict than most. Additionally, Priscilla doesn’t welcome Edmund’s rescuing and, in her heart, wishes him not to come back. This is because her true “Mother Gothel” is love— and Edmund reminds her of the beloved older brothers that she left behind at home. This causes her to be bitter towards him, and I’m enjoying the process of turning the tale this way.

I’m also using Cinderella. Madeleine has relatives in another city and meets them for the first time at Thanksgiving, which is about halfway through the book. Her uncle is engaged to a good woman, and they are in love and plan to get married “soon”. However, her uncle’s crimes are soon revealed, and his fiancée breaks off the engagement. When Madeleine returns to visit at Christmas, he has become engaged to another woman with two younger siblings in tow who are terrible to Madeleine. I have some plans for a ball scene, but I’ve already incorporated one that I’ve realized comes too early. In the original tale, there are three days of the ball/festival, and on the third day the prince decides that he wants to marry Cinderella and begins searching for her. I’ve already arrived at a second ball (really a school dance), and I’m not even at the end of book 1 yet. Plus, certain characters are informing me that they actually didn’t come into the story quite yet (which I thought was true, but I got so excited about them that I tried to bring them in sooner).

That’s as far as I’ve made it in writing, and in fact a lot of this I still have to edit in because of recent brainstorming conversations with my characters. I also plan to have fun with the Twelve Dancing Princesses as Madeleine graduates and moves into an apartment on her own. I’m thinking about having her sneak off with eleven other girls for a secret midnight book club. We’ll see where the story leads, though!

Which tales inspire your writing, or inspire you to write? Comment and let me know!!

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It sounds like you would love my Novel Outlining Bootcamp, now only $5.99.

It includes:

• An explanation of the 8-point plot structure model

• The best way to keep your plot moving: scenes that direct your readers and characters from point A to point B

• How to give your characters meaning through arcs

• And a few tips on how to avoid burnout!

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Warning: there are lots of spoilers in this post!

I can’t help but notice the amount of people that I chat with on here that love Spider-Man, and it’s gotten me down this giant rabbit hole of possibilities for the newest movie in the franchise, coming out this July.

The three previous Spider-Man movies have excellent examples of archetypal arcs in Peter Parker’s character. Now, I’m a huge fan of taking the road less traveled by, but it’s also undeniable that some of these arcs are the most universal and understandable out there.

So what are the three arcs in the first three Spider-Man movies?

Spider-Man: Homecoming

Spider-Man: Homecoming has an obvious maiden arc. This means that the main character, Peter Parker of course, is just bursting to prove himself and get out there in the real world of adventure.

This is shown in the way that Peter Parker, after tasting the adventure world in Captain America: Civil War, has become the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and is always texting Happy Hogan and Tony Stark in an effort to get them to notice him.

In the end, the character with this arc is supposed to learn true responsibility and understand the depth of their place in the world. Peter Parker learns how dark the real world actually is, and since his friend’s dad ends up being the Vulture, he is able to comprehend the reality of evil. And, unfortunately, not everyone you help is going to give you a churro.

Spider-Man: Far From Home

Spider-Man: Far From Home uses a hero arc. This is the next arc in the hierarchy, and it fits well. The main character has been set up by the maiden arc to avoid the real world, because they’ve just learned how dangerous it can be. In this movie, Peter Parker simply wants to be Peter Parker, go on his class trip, and maybe even get a girlfriend.

Unfortunately, the main character can’t help but feel followed by the adventure, which is the opposite of earlier when he couldn’t help but pursue it himself. Just as Peter once begged Tony Stark to pay attention to him, he now ghosts Nick Fury and doesn’t even pack his suit, although Aunt May ends up putting it in his suitcase for him.

The lesson that the hero arc teaches is that the main character doesn’t get to choose whether or not to use his responsibility: he just has to. He is a hero, and he needs to act like one.

Peter Parker learns the same thing. He gets betrayed by Mysterio and realizes that there is nobody else but him who can protect earth.

Of course, by the end of the movie, he is unable to do this because everyone learns his secret identity. That sets us up perfectly for the next movie.

Spider-Man: No Way Home

[Disclaimer: I have not seen this movie in full. I’ve only watched what scattered scenes are available on YouTube, as my friend with Disney+ is very busy and we haven’t had time to watch this one in full yet. However, I did read a few summaries for clarity.]

The next arc that comes on the hierarchy is the queen arc. This arc is all about protection: the main character has gotten over his selfishness and now cannot rest until his loved ones are protected.

Peter Parker is wrapped up in being charged for the destruction actually caused by Mysterio. Above all else, he is concerned with making sure that Aunt May, MJ, and Ned are safe from potential threats.

The queen arc allows the main character to learn that sometimes things don’t go our way. The main character with this arc often is stubborn about how they save their friends, wanting to do it using their own methods. However, by the end, they learn that the hard way is in fact the better way. Though it might be at their own expense, they must choose it for the sake of others.

In an effort to safe his reputation and the reputation of his loved ones, Peter Parker goes to Doctor Strange and requests a spell that will make everyone forget who he is. Except for Aunt May, MJ, and Ned, of course. However, the spell glitches because of the “corrections” that Peter wants to make, and he ends up breaking the multiverse. He learns from the other Peters that he should protect his friends at all costs, and after Aunt May dies and he nearly loses MJ too, he decides that everyone should forget who he is so that they can be safe.

It’s heartbreaking, but it does the job.

What we can predict about Peter Parker’s next arc

So far, the MCU has done pretty darn good with utilizing these arcs for Peter Parker. That means that we can safely say the only option for Peter’s next arc is a king arc.

The king arc is all about personal sacrifice. The main character begins the story dissatisfied, wanting to make a difference in the world. This arc reflects the maiden arc somewhat, but it is a great deal darker because this character has already seen how evil the world can be. The loved ones that he protected as a queen are becoming their own people and gaining their own lives, and he understands that he can’t do anything about it.

When disaster strikes, the people look to him as their leader and expect him to defeat the enemy. The king is confident in himself as well, but he doesn’t take the threat very seriously, so he doesn’t respond to the threat like he should. He uses his normal tactics against him, unintentionally revealing the fact that this enemy is far worse than anything he has ever faced. His old methods of defeat aren’t working.

The main character now understands that he is no match for this evil, but there might still be a way to stop it. However, the people who once looked to him as a leader no longer believe in him. They begin to rebel against him and try to raise their own new methods in order to defeat the villain.

During this time of rebellion, the main character’s followers show their true colors. Some are trustworthy, and some are not. However, it becomes undeniable that the main character will have to sacrifice himself in order to fully defeat the villain. Soon he does just this, passing on the torch to someone else.

What this means for Spider-Man: Brand New Day

There are a lot of rumors and fan theories about what might happen, but here’s what we can safely guess.

We know that Sadie Sink is joining the cast, and some speculation has said that she will be playing Jean Grey, who is part of the X-men. Others say she’ll be involved with the Punisher, who is confirmed to be the villain (or antihero?) for the movie. I am of the opinion that she’s going to be Gwen Stacy, a sort of Spider-Woman, especially when you think about how, if the arc is correct, some of Peter Parker/Spider-Man’s friends are going to rebel against him and take action against the villain for themselves.

Spider-Man has long had a love-hate relationship with the NYPD, and if Gwen Stacy is on the roster, we know this means her dad is a policeman and will probably have plenty of misgivings when it comes to Spider-Man. Under his or Spider-Woman’s influence we may be getting a small coup against Spider-Man in this form.

The Punisher was a new concept to me, so a simple Google search informed me that he is definitely someone who would be scorned by the police and Spider-Man alike due to his unusual methods of… well, punishing. This certainly sets Spider-Man up for a different battle, one that he’s never had to fight before. Since the Punisher is more of an antihero than a villain, there will definitely be a strong moral battle going on in the midst of this story.

We also have the fact that Peter Parker is trying to live his own life, too, and wants to recover his friendship with Ned and his romance with MJ. A lot of the king arc involves humbleness, so I think we will definitely see Peter move from actively pursuing a relationship with MJ (we see in the trailer that he’s already friends with Ned again), to being himself and letting her fall in love with him again. Plus, I think MJ is going guess that he’s Spider-Man, because come on— she’s pretty smart. If she can do it once, she can do it twice.

It’s going to be a long and hard road for Peter Parker. I’m not sure if, like Tony Stark before him, he will actually die during his sacrifice, or if it will simply mean a near-death situation like most movies employ. I certainly hope it will be the latter!

After reading this post, what are your theories?

Leave a comment

Psst… I started a thread in my chat for this particular subject! Interested in joining it?

Do you have an idea, but you don’t know how to express it? Do you have characters, but nothing to do with them? Are you looking for a quick and easy guide to putting a novel together fast… so that you can actually enjoy brainstorming?

It sounds like you would love my Novel Outlining Bootcamp, now only $5.99.

It includes:

• An explanation of the 8-point plot structure model

• The best way to keep your plot moving: scenes that direct your readers and characters from point A to point B

• How to give your characters meaning through arcs

• And a few tips on how to avoid burnout!

• BUY NOW

What’s inside

This product is called the Novel Outlining Bootcamp.

It contains:

• A 10-page PDF guide

• Each of the eight plot points explained

• The blueprint to the three-part scene that leads you from point A to point B

• Ways to build character arcs that are unforgettable

• Each section defined by examples from classic books like The Chronicles of Narnia

• And inspiring tips to avoid burnout!

Use the link below to purchase now!

I am dedicated to helping you achieve your writing dreams using the best tools available— without killing the joy of storytelling. This product can help you do just that!

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However.

They are both well-loved heroines that express well-read minds, and as we know, a reader can always write.

So which of these characters—as writers—would you be?

To begin, let’s outline the writing lives of these lovely ladies.

Elizabeth Bennet would write from the first person

There would be no stopping her if she did this. Lizzie would be full of internal dialogue just aching to get out. She’s already a frequent letter-writer; now, all she’s doing differently is adding a little drama (because we know she’s very no-nonsense).

Her main characters would be down-to-earth, pulling in and changing those around them.

Elizabeth would feel deeply, pull emotions and expressions from her heart, empty her head onto a page as easily as Lydia lists off the names of the militiamen. Her heroes and heroines would give epic speeches, breathless confessions of love, rich advice, and probably suffer from a bit of aloofness before coming to their senses and living less prideful lives. (They do say to write what you know, right?)

But most of all, she would write about equal love, about balanced relationships, about changing yourself for the better when faced with adversity.

Elizabeth would write in elegant prose, always frank but always ready to display the real heart of the characters. She’d be compared to the likes of the Brontë sisters and maybe even Willa Cather.

Elizabeth would also be a complete night owl. Everything would come by candlelight with the window open. And Jane would proofread everything.

Anne Shirley would write about chivalry

Anne would be all about the knights in shining armor, the damsels in distress, the regal ladies and honorable lords. She would give every castle a majestic name, describe landscapes with flourishing beauty, and more often than not start rambling about the littlest details that mean the most to her.

I think she would also write about animals.

You know what I’m talking about: personification. Books like Brambly Hedge, Redwall, and The Green Ember. She would love to spend time building their villages with sticks and stones, imagining their conversations and daily life.

She would immerse herself in documenting her daydreams, and her pen would become the only escape from a dreadfully gray and un-poetical world.

Above all else, she would dive deep into developing relationships, the joy between two kindred spirits, the happiness when one discovers that there are people like you in the world.

Give her a tree to climb and a freshly sharpened pencil, and she’d be unstoppable.

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Which one are you?

Do you pay more attention to description, or to conversation?

To truthful themes or deep characters?

Do you want to preach to the ways of the world or the actions of the self?

There’s one thing that I’m stuck on that I feel is so truthful:

Anne would pull the old ways to the present, and Elizabeth would prepare us for the future.

Thanks for supporting this young writer!

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Do you have an idea, but you don’t know how to express it? Do you have characters, but nothing to do with them? Are you looking for a quick and easy guide to putting a novel together fast… so that you can actually enjoy brainstorming?

It sounds like you would love my Novel Outlining Bootcamp, now only $5.99.

It includes:

• An explanation of the 8-point plot structure model

• The best way to keep your plot moving: scenes that direct your readers and characters from point A to point B

• How to give your characters meaning through arcs

• And a few tips on how to avoid burnout!

Make sure to stay tuned… it becomes available to the public tomorrow!

I found that just the opposite was true for me.

More than ever before, I’m open to following my characters’ lead, pantsing entire novels, and daydreaming about my story without my plot binder in my hand. I taught myself the science of story so that I would become a better writer, but it’s really helped me become a better storyteller.

After crafting a few stories using structure, I’ve got the basics memorized in my head. I understand what drives a plot, what pushes characters forward, and what ties it all together.

Here are three things that have helped me pants a book that is raw, beautiful, and definitely my best project so far.

Characters drive plot, not the other way around

So many people think that outlining means taking a step away from your characters and putting together “what actually happens.”

Nope.

Your characters are what actually happens.

The plot thickens when you give someone a rich backstory, or a nervous habit, or a secret that they’re keeping from someone else. It develops new strings when you give someone an enemy or a best friend. It makes us want to invest in it when someone starts to catch feelings.

If Frodo had said, “nope, not going to deal with that ring business,” then we would not have his story.

If Lucy had never tried to go back in the wardrobe, we would never have known the wonders of Narnia.

So do your characters a favor and let them do what they want, you know?

Focus more on the midpoint than anything else

The midpoint is the most valuable point in the story. Everything revolves around it. In my Novel Outlining Bootcamp (coming out to the public on Monday!), I encourage you to plot your story beginning at the halfway point.

In the middle, your characters stop pushing against the current and start paving their own way down the stream. Things may still look dismal, the bad guy might have a better grip than before, but so does your main character. Your villain is going to have to look out.

It’s often the “ah-ha” moment when your readers really understand what’s going on and begin to predict what’s about to happen because they get a peek into the bigger picture.

It’s a pivot moment. Everything is suddenly upside-down. Your main character is going to have to start acting upon their own decisions, not just what others tell them to do.

Subplots are just other characters

For ages and ages, I could not get it out of anyone where subplots came from. Finally, it occurred to me: if your main character is what drives the main plot, then your side characters are what drives the side plots.

Imagine this: you have to write a filler chapter but don’t know what to do. Suddenly…

The wacky best friend who has a love affair with Chai insists that your MC goes with them into a cute tea shop, where they overhear some gossip that pertains to something your MC probably shouldn’t still care about.

The little brother forgot his headphones at home, so your MC has to turn around and go back to get them. On the way they see someone driving down the street, someone who they haven’t seen for ten years, not since the big argument.

These side characters are the ones who drive all the real drama. Take as many detours as you can. If you need help imagining this, just read The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion by Beth Brower, because she is a master at this.

Writing your story is a journey, not a job

Don’t make storytelling a chore. Open your mind to the endless possibilities. Don’t be afraid to swerve or switch lanes every once and a while.

Instead be glad that there is a world that only you get to explore.

Thanks for reading ;)

Picture yourself writing. Are you sitting at your desk typing, or laying on your bed scribbling in a notebook, or daydreaming in the shower? Are you thinking about every exact word you’re going to put down, relishing the way that description flows and dialogue flies from your head?

…I may have just lost a few of you. If that’s true, is it possible that I have caught you during a time of writer’s block?

If you’re perfectly happy with the way that you can just sit down and write right now, then you need to go read some other post of mine because this one, thankfully, is not the one you need.

However, if you’re stuck in a bit of writer’s block like me, then you’ll understand what I say when you just feel empty. Like there’s no story in you. Like you’ve run a flat in the middle of the night and there’s no reception.

The reality of writer’s block is that you have no story at the moment. You’re not in your regular flow, and it’s messed you up. You were pushing yourself too hard and now you’re burnt out.

Let me tell you something.

As long as you’re in love with your story, you’ll never get writer’s block.

Problem is, we don’t always stay in love with our story. There will always be different distractions to play around with, different activities and different events. You’ll always have a job and family and friends and problems.

Five ways to stay passionate about your story

Your passion project is going to be your best project, always. No matter what. The chapters that you wrote when you were interested are going to be way better than the ones when you were doing it because you had to.

That leads us to:

1. Write what you want to read

Characters and conflict weave a lovely web, and this web has a name: plot. As a reader, we enjoy a story based on whether or not the plot is interesting.

When you write what you want to read, you increase your story’s richness by about a thousand percent. Unfortunately for you, your likes and dislikes aren’t so special, and chances are there are at least a hundred other people who want to read the story you’re writing because you want to read it.

2. The more enchanted you are with story, the more you will enjoy writing

Good writing starts with a good story. This is true for nonfiction and fiction alike.

That’s why you have to write about something you want to read about: because you have passion for it, and your instincts can kick in and do a lot of good work for you. Oftentimes the best “experimental” stories end up being the best.

For example, I became so in love with the idea of the importance of the smallest details. Detective novels are great examples of this. However, since I wanted to read realistic fiction at the time, I decided to write a YA novel that focused on a single character finally noticing everything around her, and using the first person was able to document it using a beautiful style that I didn’t even know I possessed.

As a result, I have my current passion project.

However, I also have let my most important project burn out.

3. Read through your entire manuscript and identify what you most enjoy

Give yourself time to read through your entire manuscript, brainstorming notebook, or outline, and just become immersed in your story. Remember why you started this story in the first place.

Open your heart to each character. Remember the cringey things that you thought you were going to do at the beginning. Find the little bit of foreshadowing that you put in and giggle to yourself because you know what happens.

And when you get close to the end, set aside a chunk of time to write. Read the last chapter and then let the story carry you away. No matter if you end up writing or just daydreaming, at least you’ll be partially out of your slump.

4. Write your story like you’re telling it

This is where your storytelling skills kick in. If you were telling this story to your best friend and you wanted them to know everything that was important to the story, as well as everything that is important to you or will be important later on, what would you say?

This is especially helpful when you don’t know where to start where you left off. If the story feels like it hollowed out on accident, pick up at the last interesting part and think about what would be easier: going through a little slowness, or skipping right to the action so that you don’t lose your readers’ (or your own) attention?

The difference between saying, “Jack and Jill went up the hill” and writing “there once was a hill that two little children went up. There was a boy named Jack and a girl named Jill, and their mother sent them to the top of the hill to the well, where they could fetch a pail of water” is immense.

Not to say that one or the other is better. Whichever one you like better is the one you ought to use.

5. Do you write as easily as you breath?

Because sometimes writing is as hard as eating the thirteenth honeymuffin.

If you take a breath, open your eyes to the beautiful mundane, and remember that you like to express things in words, writing will be as easy as that.

Storytelling is the passion, writing is the reason

And together they make a heart-felt story. Open your eyes to the beautiful of detail. Pull together all your inspiring stories and music and Pinterest photos and just write. I don’t care what it is. You shouldn’t care what it is. Deadlines can wait another hour. Just write.

Make sure to hang on for a month or two more, because there are two exciting things coming up on The Open Book’s calendar:

1. I am about to release my first digital product! Be on the lookout for an announcement email sometime next week, along with a subscriber-only discount.

2. My summer serial will be coming out starting on May 26th. If you love Greek mythology, angsty characters, and family secrets, you’ll probably want to check this one out.

Once again, thanks for reading!

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien won the Classic Literature March Madness!

I think that, because of the high amount of LOTR lovers on this platform, the result was sort of inevitable. It beat The Count of Monte Cristo 78 to 22.

There’s no denying that The Count is an amazing book, and of course the other 30 books in the competition are just as unforgettable.

The real reason why I started CLMM this year, besides the fact that I thought it would be a super fun idea, was to raise awareness. I want everyone to read classic literature and fall in love with books that have withstood generations!

Go back to the first post and put all 32 books on your TBR. I promise that you’ll love them all (I certainly do).

You can expect the regularly scheduled post for this week on Thursday. Now go stock up at your local library!