So I decided to take a writing challenge, the National Novel Writing Month. 30 days, 50k words, it was that simple. For me, it meant long nights lying in bed next to the burping baby, writing on my phone as I chased my quota for the day. Unless you can spend all day writing, that’s the only way to win NaNoWriMo. But it was worth it every minute of sleep lost. At the end, I had extended a series of stories I had started that same summer with another 50k words, and it was looking like nothing but a novel. That was in 2017.
After that, I worked on the thing on and off, and it kept bugging me during the off periods. It was now too big not to finish. It was a real book, a novel of my own, longer than anything I had ever written. The pandemic catalyzed my energy more than ever, and I finished the first draft of Soulhazard in the first days of 2021. Until the end of the year it would have a professional cover, and in the meantime I kept writing, afraid that I would lose my hold on words if I stopped. A series of shorter fantasy novels came out, spilling from what was now a deeply ingrained habit.