How I Write

Behind the Process

I don’t sit down to write with a neat little outline and a color-coded plan. I sit down with a chaotic mix of caffeine, curiosity, and a playlist that could summon demons or dreams—depending on the mood.

For me, writing is part ritual, part rebellion. It's not something I do so much as something I answer. Stories show up like hitchhikers on the side of the road—grimy, mysterious, full of opinions—and I never quite know where we’re headed, but I let them in anyway. I trust the process, even when the GPS is clearly lying.

Sometimes the words pour in fast—like a song that already knows its melody and just needs someone to write it down. Other times, they crawl in on hands and knees, dragging plot holes, self-doubt, and a bad attitude with them. I’ve learned to meet them all with the same patience (and the occasional bribe of snacks or late-night playlists).

I write like I travel: with the map half-folded, the destination uncertain, and full faith that the journey is the best part anyway. I chase emotional truth over technical perfection. I listen when characters go off-script. I rewrite. I rage. I pace. I blast music. I try again.

There’s magic in it—but not the tidy kind. It's the wild, gritty kind of magic that only shows up when you’ve wrestled your story through the fog and into the light.

I’ve been writing in one form or another since my bones could remember. And I still believe that stories—just like songs, just like people—are meant to be felt, not just read. So I write with everything I’ve got, every time. For the readers. For the characters. For me.

My Tools

My Most Important Tools

Laptop

The Forge of the Final Draft

This is where the chaos becomes clean lines and legible chapters. My laptop is my storytelling engine—fast, flexible, and always one keystroke away from a whole new world. It’s where rough ideas get sculpted into full narratives, where edits stack like layers of armor, and where I pretend to be organized. It’s also where I battle distractions with more intensity than any villain I’ve ever written.

Books

The Well I Drink From

Reading isn’t just inspiration—it’s fuel. Books are both my teachers and my fellow travelers. They remind me what’s possible, push my boundaries, and occasionally whisper, “You can do better.” Whether I’m rereading a beloved favorite or discovering a voice that shakes my foundation, books are my constant creative companions—always challenging, always grounding, always igniting new sparks.

Pen and Paper

Where the Soul Speaks First

There’s something raw and personal about scratching ideas onto a page. Pen and paper are my sacred chaos—the place for scribbled dialogue, plot detours, emotional outbursts, and messy, glorious brainstorming. It’s unfiltered, unpolished, and utterly honest. When the digital world feels too loud or too structured, ink grounds me. It’s where the heart of the story usually shows up first.

Voice Memos

The Catch Net for Lightning

Ideas don’t care if I’m driving, half-asleep, or wrist-deep in dinner—they arrive when they want. Voice memos are how I catch them before they vanish. Sometimes it’s a full scene. Sometimes it’s a single line that feels like thunder. Sometimes it's just me mumbling through a vague emotional vibe with dramatic music in the background. But they matter. They’re raw soundbites from my subconscious—unpolished, unfiltered, and wildly valuable.

You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.

Maya Angelou

Main Working Principles

The Most Important Steps To Follow

Write A Lot

Imagine you're a mad scientist of imagination. Your lab isn't full of beakers and lightning rods — it's cluttered with half-finished poems, explosive plot twists, and characters in test tubes yelling, “Let me live!” Writing is your experiment. Every sentence is a spark. Every idea? An unstable compound. Here's the secret: The first few mixtures will blow up in your face. You'll set your eyebrows on fire with metaphors that make no sense, or summon characters who wander off mid-paragraph. But every “failed” experiment teaches you something. Write a lot, and you discover what works. Write a lot, and you accidentally stumble on brilliant mutations. Write a lot, and your creative muscles grow like a lab monster fueled by caffeine and plot. You can't invent lightning in a bottle by writing once in a while. You have to write like you're growing ideas in radioactive soil — knowing some will sprout three heads and others will wilt. That’s how you evolve from an idea-dabbler into a storytelling alchemist. Because here’s the truth: Great writing doesn’t come from thinking harder — it comes from writing more often. And maybe a little madness.

Read A Lot

Picture this: You're not just a reader. You're a story pirate. A swaggering, ink-smudged adventurer sailing the high seas of fiction and fantasy, hunting for buried treasure — not gold, but ideas, styles, worlds, and that one line of dialogue that punches your brain in the face with brilliance. Every book you read is a treasure map drawn by another adventurer. Some lead you to troves of gorgeous prose. Others guide you through jungles of clever plot twists, buried themes, or forbidden tropes that make your heart yell “AYE, THAT’S GOOD!” But here's the twist: The more maps you collect, the better you get at drawing your own. Reading a lot doesn’t just fill your head with stories — it sharpens your compass. You learn where clichés lurk, where X marks the spot for emotion, and how to avoid the quicksand of boring dialogue. Want to write something fresh? Then you’ve got to plunder the minds of the greats, the weirdos, the poets, the rebels, and the ones who set fire to genre rules just to roast marshmallows. Because every time you read, you’re not escaping reality. You’re stocking your ship with cannonballs made of words.

Get Feedback

So you’ve written something. You’ve bled glorious ideas onto the page. You step back, admire your creation… and now you’re ready to toss it into the world like a gladiator into the arena. But wait — you don’t send your story to battle untrained. That’s where feedback comes in. Feedback is your grizzled, battle-scarred mentor yelling from the sidelines: “Nice metaphor! Now fix that clunky dialogue before it takes an arrow to the knee!” It’s not an attack. It’s a training montage. Feedback shows you where your story’s armor is weak. It toughens your characters, sharpens your pacing, and knocks ego off its high horse. It hurts, yeah — but it’s the kind of hurt that makes you stronger. You can’t level up in creative combat if you’re fighting in the dark. You need readers — sparring partners — who help you see your blind spots before the critics do. Because here’s the truth: Iron doesn’t sharpen itself. Great stories are forged in fire and tested in battle. So take your feedback like a champ, patch up your story, and head back into the arena — tougher, sharper, and ready to win hearts and minds with every swing of your pen.