In March of this year, I began working on a section of the book where a lot of character work occurs in a relatively short period of time. In the sense that many things that have been building for the protagonists of our adventure begin falling into place over the course of just a few chapters. Now, as exciting as that is, I found myself feeling stuck and not able to push through those few chapters. With how fragile chapters like those could be, the last thing I wanted to do was mess anything up.

All of that said, the months since then have produced around a chapter a month. No, I am not giving up on the project and no, I will not keep at such a slow pace forever. I am in fact working on the last of what should be those precarious little bugger chapters right now and am hoping to have finished it by the end of next week or so.

So, what on earth does that have to do with “parallel chapters?” Thank you for asking. One of the reasons these chapters have proven so sensitive is that I am implementing what is called parallel narrative in this section. This is the first time I have done this, and I think the final result is going to be very interesting.

Our two heroes find themselves separated at the end of a chapter. The entire next chapter follows on of their perspectives as the next day or so passes by and a lot — and I mean A LOT — of things happen. Lots of pain, lots of learning, a few key decisions that defines who they are becoming, some vomit, some blood, and a broken light. Toward the end of the chapter something begins to happen (what I can best describe as a storm beginning to brew without giving away one of the biggest plot points in the entire book) and the chapter ends with a very big, honestly quite confusing, and maybe a bit terrifying of a cliffhanger reveal.

The following chapter goes back to when the two main characters were separated and picks up from the other character’s perspective. The chapter that unfolds covers the same period of time, does some more character work with our other protagonist, explains some of the lore that’s been lurking in the shadows throughout the book so far, explains the “something that begins to happen,” and lands on the same end beat as the other chapter with the big reveal.

Needless to say, these two chapters move the story along in some pretty big ways. They also require a lot of each other. Here are some guiding principles that I have found myself standing by as I carefully put these two chapters together:

1. Pay close attention to details.

Obviously, there are going to be some things that come up like one person dropping something on the ground, and making sure the other character finds it in the same spot it was described as having been dropped. That kind of a thing is more of an “in your face” detail. But what about things like how long certain events in both chapters take?

If I write the first of my two chapters and it begins at sunset one day, and ends at noon two days later, does the parallel chapter show a reasonable series of events that add up to the same passing of time? I have to make sure the time that passed doesn’t add up to a few hours shorter in one chapter. Here’s another example: is there ample reason that the characters would choose the paths they do so that their stories come back together how they do? Speaking of which…

2. Flee from coincidences.

Having one narrative that splits in two and later reconvenes produces a pretty significant danger. “Oh, well, I didn’t think about how character x would overcome such and such to end up back with character y in this way. Well… maybe it just so happens that they do for this reason and that.” NO!!! Using coincidence as a plot device is one of the best ways to ruin the intrigue of any story, let alone a section of parallel narrative.

So, ask yourself, what gives each character agency and the need to make decisions in order to bring the two parallel narratives back into one? It can be easy to focus so much on one side of the story that the other has to be dragged along like extra baggage until the story can continue.

Now, this may mean going back and changing something about one side of the parallel narrative in order to make it work well. In fact, that is one of the reasons it has taken me so long to finish this section of the book. Maybe four or five times already I have hopped back and forth between the two parallel chapters and rewritten entire sections in order to adjust decisions made, obstacles they encounter, even whether a certain supporting character dies or not in order to avoid relying on coincidence.

3. Keep both characters moving.

It may be possible to have a situation where this is not the case, but I think that by the time the two sides of the parallel narrative converge again, both parties involved should have experienced noticeable and quantifiable character progression. In other words, what happens to each individual during their time apart that drives them forward as a character? Is there something that one or both experiences that is going to change the way that they interact with or relate to the other?

4. Try to find points of overlap.

It is no secret that J.R.R. Tolkien is one of my favorite authors in history and is one of my biggest inspirations in my writing. He does parallel narrative beautifully, and one way he does so is by giving little nuggets of what may be happening with the other narrative when the story is focused elsewhere. One example that comes to mind is in Fellowship of the Ring when the fellowship sees bright flashes of light at the peak of a mountain, and it is explained later in the book that that was Gandalf fighting the Balrog.

This technique gives a great sense that there is more to the story going on just beyond what the reader can immediately see, and makes the world feel immersive. So, what may the other characters in the parallel narrative be doing or have done since the split has happened that you can show the readers hints of? How can you draw the reader into mystery in one half of the parallel narrative that will pay off later?

5. Readers are crazy smart.

This is both a good thing and a very scary thing for writers! Why? Well, it’s good because that means we can lean into our creative liberties and do some pretty intriguing things within our writing while being confident that the readers will pick up on it. Why is that a scary thing? Because that means if we aren’t careful and miss something, our readers will catch it.

In writing parallel narrative like this, we need to remember that if there is any discrepancy between the two narratives, any missed details or coincidences, our audience will likely pick up on it without any hesitation. What does that do? It makes the writing sloppy, it takes the reader out of the story, and it breaks the trust between reader and writer.

In contrast, if we employ things like overlap between the two to hook the readers or introduce moments of mystery that the other half of the narrative will explain, we have created a real tangible depth to our story that the readers will be all over.

All of this said, I think that having some level of parallel narrative in your story, especially if you have more than one main protagonist, can be one of the choices that adds the most texture and intrigue to your story. For example, at the end of the first of my two parallel chapters, the one character the reader has not yet followed reappears quite different from how they were last seen. The natural question follows: what in the world happened that I missed? Answer: parallel chapter number two explains it. If done correctly, this automatically hooks the reader into the next chapter to have all of their questions answered.

If done well, this technique of parallel narrative can really elevate your story to another level. But again, it can be precarious, so proceed with caution!

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We answered with our pride.

But they’ve torn our lands asunder.

Their presence, our demise.

They fill our eyes with wonder,

And our hearts bleed mournful cries

In the mountains we hide under

As they consume the skies.

They send forth peals of thunder.

With whispers we reply.

We now await our slumber

With nowhere left to fly.

This day will be our blunder

And will be their delight.

For all of them to plunder,

And all of us to die.

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Aelendarin communities are among the oldest continuously inhabited settlements on Eryndor. Many villages trace their origins back countless generations, to shortly after the Great Turning, and it is not uncommon for a family to live on the same land occupied by their ancestors centuries before. This deep connection to place has fostered a culture that values stability, memory, and continuity above ambitious vision or significant change.

Though often perceived by outsiders as simple or reserved, the Aelendarin possess a rich heritage of storytelling, craftsmanship, agriculture, hunting, and religious observance. Their lives are shaped not by isolation from the world, but by a conviction that the oldest paths are often the truest.

The Forest of Aelendar

Aelendar itself is not merely a forest but an immense region of woodlands stretching across much of northern Eryndor, kept south only by the mountainous Orthen Stonelands. To travelers approaching from the nearby plains or highlands, it appears as a rolling green sea extending beyond the horizon.

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Pacing and diversity aren’t just technical terms for me anymore. They’re the difference between a reader turning the page because they’re hooked and a reader putting the book down because the rhythm feels flat. After living with this story for so long, I’ve learned that managing pace isn’t only about speeding up or slowing down. It’s about creating contrast and variety so the story feels alive and musical rather than monotonous.

Here are some helpful principles I have learned or come across regarding this dilemma:

1. Every chapter should have its own emotional weather.

Just like days in real life, each chapter carries a distinct mood and tempo. One chapter might be tense and claustrophobic, full of suspicion and short, clipped sentences. The next might open up into something quieter and more reflective, where characters process what just happened. I try never to follow a heavy, high-stakes chapter with another heavy, high-stakes chapter. That kind of repetition dulls the impact. If I have to because of where the story is going, here’s something else I keep in mind to break things up:

2. Vary the scale of what’s happening.

Some chapters are intimate—two characters talking in a small space, just like chapter 1, which paid subscribers get immediate access to. Others widen the perspective: a journey through unfamiliar terrain, the introduction of a new culture, or a sudden burst of action. The key is making sure these shifts feel earned. A big, sweeping chapter hits harder when it follows several smaller, grounded ones. A quiet conversation carries more weight after chaos.

In Seven’s Beacon, I’m constantly asking myself: What does the reader need right now, closeness or wonder? Stillness or momentum? Revelation or mystery?

3. Change the sensory and stylistic palette.

This is something I’ve become more deliberate about. One chapter might be dominated by sound and touch (the creak of old wood, the chill of rain, distant voices). Another might be visual and expansive (vast skies, sweeping waves of grass, the smell of morning dew). I also vary sentence length and rhythm to support this. Short, sharp sentences during danger. Longer, flowing ones during moments of awe or tenderness.

4. Let chapters end on different kinds of notes.

Not every chapter needs a cliffhanger. Believe me, I know it’s hard. My tendency is always to leave the reader waiting for the big reveal right at the end. But, some chapters should resolve a small emotional thread even if the larger plot is still wide open. Others can end on a quiet image that lingers. Maybe a chapter needs to end in some sort of resolution that dictates where the characters end up next. And a few should absolutely leave the reader desperate for what comes next. The variety in how chapters close prevents the story from feeling predictable or formulaic.

5. Pay attention to the rhythm across several chapters at once.

I’ve started looking at groups of chapters together. A fast, intense sequence should usually be followed by something that lets the reader (and the characters) catch their breath. After several chapters of new locations and new characters, I’ll often slow down and go deeper with someone we already know. This push-and-pull keeps the long-term pace sustainable.

The heart of this approach is remembering that the reader is on a journey too. If the story moves at the same speed and intensity for too long, it stops feeling like an adventure and starts feeling like a march. By varying pace and texture from chapter to chapter, I’m trying to give the reader something closer to what we experience in real life: moments of intensity and moments of beauty, times when everything is uncertain and times when understanding finally clicks into place.

If you would like a tool to help visualize this, check out the story arc or character arc sections of my new tool: Lifelong Storytellers. This tool is a one stop shop for writers to plan, organize, and visualize different aspects of their projects. The arc sections give you a clear and concise visual of where in your story different types of beats land, and how you may be able to move some things around if need be.

Worldbuilding, character growth, and plot progression all matter—but they land better when the story has a natural, living rhythm. You don’t want every chapter to feel like the same song played at the same volume. You want a symphony.

I’m still learning how to conduct this particular orchestra, but the more I write, the more I feel the difference it makes. The story doesn’t just move forward. It breathes.

If you’d like to see how this philosophy plays out in the actual chapters (including the contrast between the intimate opening chapter and what comes after), the paid tier gives you access to the full draft of Chapter 1: Hi, I’m Vera plus lore posts that give insight into the world of Eryndor.

I’d love to hear how you think about pacing in the stories you love. What kind of rhythm keeps you turning pages?

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She moved to the stall where several small tools lay arranged on rough cloth, their edges dulled by a long history of fixing things. The woman behind the stand watched her for a moment, head tilted slightly as her silver-threaded hair swayed in the evening breeze.

“You hear things in them,” the woman said, nodding toward the tools. “Where they’ve been, what they’ve seen.”

Vera blinked, then gave a short, amused breath. “They don’t say anything I’m afraid,” she replied. “They just wear out in predictable places.”

The woman smiled at that, not offended. “Still. Some people never learn to look that closely.”

Vera shrugged lightly. “Most problems leave marks if you know where to check.”

The woman’s gaze drifted then, caught by something else that did not fit the stall. Her attention settled on Seven—first on his hands, then up to his eyes. Her eyes grew wide in an instant.

“Oh my—and him?” she asked with a warmth in her voice.

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Gathered there were a great number of men. After meeting in the Wind-Chief’s tent, Kieran had sent word for riders from his encampment, which arrived later that evening in numbers nearing thirty. Shortly after sunrise the following day, Tildan and Renn returned with nearly fifty riders from the southern plains. Most scouts from the Wind-Chief’s camp were sent word to return, and those from his camp prepared for the hunt numbered almost seventy. Elders from two other encampments to the west, at word sent from one of Kieran’s scouts, delivered together nearly sixty riders just before mid-day.

Many Caelun men stayed in or around the encampments that moved from field to field making or maintaining equipment or harvesting food from the wilderness nearby. Those that did not spend their days within the communities served as scouts. Riders of the Vaelûr. Caelun men that showed proficiency for understanding the highlands from a young age assigned the role. It was a privilege to travel across the plains to record the migration patterns of the Thûrakh and watch for any abnormalities or foreign travelers across. Caelun scouts were strong and valiant. They had keen eyes and alert ears, being on guard every moment of their journeys.

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If you enjoy this story, please share it with any who may find it interesting as well, and let me know what you think!

Thank you for coming on this writing journey with me, and I look forward to sharing much more with you in the time to come. For now, enjoy this peak behind the curtain into the world of Eryndor.

A Chronicle of Eryndor: The Ghost in the Cave of Whispering Stones

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Be on the lookout for something exciting. I am thrilled to announce that the release of the first short story from the world of Eryndor is just around the corner. A Chronicle of Eryndor: The Ghost in the Cave of Whispering Stones follows a young character that Seven and Vera meet on their journey in Seven’s Beacon: The Waking of Eryndor as he embarks on an intense mission of his own before their meeting.

The story will release tomorrow afternoon, and may even have a fun little bonus along with it… Stay tuned!

- Eckel

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A large part of that is personal. I love meeting these characters at their beginnings where they have so much room to grow. More than that, this chapter captures a technique I return to often throughout the book that I think many great stories use: expanding perspective. It allows for a slow, immersive reveal of the world of Eryndor, drawing the reader outward step by step rather than overwhelming them all at once.

Below I lay out the method behind my madness, but if you would like to see exactly how I navigate this method in my first chapter long before it is released or why it takes so long for these changes in perspective to occur, consider joining the paid tier of the Seven’s Beacon community to read it for yourself today.

Okay, here’s how I lay out this idea of expanding perspective in my first chapter.

1. The chapter begins with sound.

The very first line is a voice and nothing else. No visuals, no setting, no context. For the first few lines, the reader exists in darkness alongside the character, able only to hear what they hear. It’s disorienting, but intentionally so. You are not observing the world yet. You are inside it, finding yourself limited to the same narrow perception as one of the characters.

2. A few lines in, sight arrives.

The character is able to see now, and what they see first is the person whose voice they heard. The world doesn’t open all at once—it reveals itself in the smallest, most immediate way: another person’s presence. This keeps the focus intimate, grounded in relationship before the environment shows itself.

3. From there, the immediate setting begins to take shape.

Details emerge gradually. You see the floor beneath them, the scattered mechanical pieces, the walls, the ceiling. The reader starts to build a mental picture of the room, piece by piece, in the same way the character processes it. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is handed over fully formed.

At this point, the world feels lived in but contained. From the reader’s point of view, the story only exists still within this small, enclosed space. And that’s important.

By limiting the scope early on, the reader is anchored deeply in the characters’ perspective. Even in third person, the experience remains close and personal. You’re not watching the story from above but discovering it from within.

4. Only once that foundation is set does the perspective begin to widen to the world outside this little room.

Toward the end of the chapter, one of the characters starts to notice something beyond the room as they look toward the door opposite from where he is standing. The reader, now comfortable in the smallness of the room, begins to feel that same pull outward.

5. And then, finally, the door opens.

The characters step out from the shack and into something vast—something beautiful, unfamiliar, and far larger than anything the reader has been allowed to see up to this point. The contrast is what gives the moment its weight. The world doesn’t just appear, but it expands.

That same pattern continues throughout the book.

What begins as a single room grows into a surrounding area, then a village, then an entire region, then into a network of cultures, landscapes, and histories that takes months to travel. The world of Eryndor is not presented all at once, but uncovered layer by layer, as the characters themselves come to understand it.

And that’s really the heart of this approach.

Now, not every story has to do this. This is just one method that I have found brings life to my narrative in an intimate and interesting way. In my case, worldbuilding isn’t just about throwing a handful of details in the reader’s face. It’s about aligning the reader’s perspective with that of the characters so that the reader learns at the same pace as the characters. They feel the same uncertainty, the same curiosity, and the same sense of discovery. Instead of being told how vast the world is (which, yes, there is still a little bit of that), they experience that vastness firsthand. I start small and expand outward from there.

You don’t start with the map laying out ever canyon they will venture into or ever tree they will walk past.

You start in the dark, with a voice, then you slowly venture outside into this beautiful and open world.

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The canyon splintered out before them in a long, winding descent, its path splitting and narrowing in uneven directions. Shadows clung deeper the further they descended, untouched by the sun that still burned overhead. The stone was cold and bleak, with all signs of plant growth fading the deeper they went, with the exception of rogue blades of grass peering over the cliff’s edge from the plains above.

Once they reached a point too narrow for the Vaelûr, Ehlethar slipped down from his saddle, his eyes moving across each creeping sliver of darkness.

“We split here,” he said.

Vera looked nervously at Seven and Liraen.

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Today I am working on the middle of the tenth chapter of Seven’s Beacon: The Waking of Eryndor, which currently puts me at around 40,000 words. I plan for the first book to land at 24 chapters and roughly 100,000-115,000 words. That means that book one is currently around 40% done with the first draft!

Currently I am working through a part of the book that comes after some big changes in the trajectory of the characters, and comes before a few chapters of a central plot point unfolding. What I have to be careful of right now is not getting lost in the details of the next 6-8 chapters as this central part of the story carries on.

Our main characters, Seven and Vera, have a lot on their plates in the middle section of the book, and I am excited to see how the obstacles they are running into right now are worked around.

In other news, I will be working on a short story this week centered around a character named Liraen, who you meet in the first half of book one. This short story will be available to all subscribers of the newsletter and will serve as a way to peer into the world of Eryndor and into the way that I write without revealing anything about the plot of The Waking of Eryndor.

I am excited for all that is coming as I continue writing, and I hope to have completed my first draft by the early summer. Stay tuned for more updates!

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Within the ancient forest of Aelendar there are creatures spoken of rarely, and almost always in lowered voices—not from fear, but from reverence. The lunehart is one of these.

Those who claim to have seen one describe a creature of slender form and quiet majesty. Its coat is pale silver-cream, marked with light stripes and often luminous even beneath the dim canopy of the ancient woods. In shadow it seems to gather what little light exists and hold it gently upon its hide, so that it appears faintly radiant even where no light shines.

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It absolutely is exciting, but if I am being completely honest, I was more excited to have three new paragraphs during a quick ten-minute writing session before having to close my laptop for the day. What’s so exciting about three new paragraphs? Those were the first new words I had put on the page in almost two weeks. For what felt like an eternity leading up to yesterday, I had officially fell ill with my first case of writer’s block since beginning this project.

I have had creative blocks before, but this felt different. This is the most ambitious project I have ever taken on. Every other case of creative block has caused me to halt my 3D digital art for a week or two, but that has only ever come at the expense of a few single artworks that take me a day or so before moving on to the next.

When I felt like I hit a wall in my story and didn’t know what to say next, the thoughts began flooding in quickly: What if I can’t get past this? What if I am stuck because my story isn’t that good? What if I never actually finish?

For the first few days it felt like these questions were crippling. Over the past couple of days, I have come across a few different resources that I feel have helped give me some perspective on this. So, here are some principles that I have been trying to apply:

1. How does the details in this chapter serve the big picture?

One obstacle I was running into was feeling like I didn’t know what details to write about. Do I write about the terrain? The sounds of the wind? Why would any of that matter? What I came to realize was that these details on their own don’t necessarily serve much purpose. However, once I viewed them through the lens of furthering the story rather than just being descriptors, I was able to move past them.

For example, Vera and Seven are entering the Caelun Highlands, a rocky, grassy, land with notably high wind speeds. By entering this region, they are leaving the peaceful and tranquil forest of Aelendar, known for being still. So, why talk about the terrain and the wind? Because the adventure they are embarking on mirrors the unpredictable nature of this new region. Life is no longer comfortable but constantly changing like the wind.

2. Write messy!

Another roadblock that was keeping me from putting words on the page was an expectation I had placed on myself for my first draft to be perfect. I got this idea from Abbie Emmons — that my first draft will never be bookshelf-ready. So, write messy. Instead of stopping after every page to go back and make sure each detail lines up with the previous page or the previous chapter, just keep moving.

This is a particularly helpful mindset in my story, as a lot of the details and worldbuilding that the reader is exposed to early on all connect later as the story moves and grows. If my first concern is making sure everything in the moment is perfect, I will never past the end of this chapter.

3. Keep in mind where the characters are in their arc.

I am definitely a planner when it comes to writing (see my post on outlining). I know where each character is going to end up. In fact, in my chapter outlines, I often make a note of how each chapter is going to serve to propel the characters towards their end point.

I came to realize that another reason I felt like I was floundering was because I wasn’t seeing the characters beyond this chapter. A benefit of planning out the whole scope of a three-book story is that I can see how seemingly small events in chapter 8 of the first book serve a greater purpose later on, but I have to let myself. This enables me to be very intentional about why they do certain things, why they say things the way they do, why they see the world the way they do now and how that will change with time.

Writer’s block is no joke. However, it is not necessarily the end of a project. Having the right mindset and allowing for unknowns while focusing on a few core principles can end up saving the day if you let it.

Thanks for reading! If you find my content interesting, please consider sharing it with someone else who would find it interesting as well!

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Atop the grassy plateaus, the winds speed and swirl in all directions, unlike the soft breezes that work their way through the canyons between. Despite the seemingly harsh weather, the Caelun spend most of their time living in harmony with it among the grass. Like most across Eryndor, they worship He Who Is, the Creator of all things. Yet to the Caelun, the wind itself is seen as His living activity in the world. They call it The Breath. Even their garments are made to flow in the currents around them — light tunics in pale tones, threaded with bright blues and yellows, and jewelry that whistles and sings as the air catches it.

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• “I don’t want to know the ending. I want to be surprised.” - Lee Child

• “If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word.” - Margaret Atwood

• “I distrust plot for two reasons: first, because our lives are largely plotless… and second, because I believe plotting and the spontaneity of real creation aren’t compatible.” - Stephen King

When I came across some of these greats and their opinions on outlining, honestly it frightened me quite a bit. Why? Because the thought of not knowing where my story goes horrifies me. To hear someone like Stephen King, arguably the greatest author alive today, say that plotting and the spontaneity of real creation aren’t compatible sends a shiver down my spine.

When it comes to story, I have always thought through at length where characters end up, how they get there, how they change along the way, who lives, who dies, etc. I mean, every time I create a new character in Skyrim it takes me almost an hour. Why do they have that scar? Why do they have that design of face paint with that color? Okay, they’re relatively young, so what do they have still to learn and how will that impact this playthrough? Not even to mention the extensive research I do into the meaning of their name to make sure it fits their arc.

You might see why hearing so many great authors be so averse to outlining or planning ahead would stop me dead in my tracks. Luckily for me, not all hope was lost. I did some more digging and found other great authors that share a different perspective:

• “The more complex the book, the more I outline.” - Brandon Sanderson

• “I have a very structured plan. I know where I’m going.” - J.K. Rowling

• “I write very detailed outlines — sometimes as much as 60 or 70 pages.” - James Patterson

So, there are great authors that see outlining differently? What a relief. What a conflict as well. Which is it then? Outlining is incompatible with creativity or outlining is essential for cohesion? I believe that George R. R. Martin offers a perspective on this that is very wise:

“I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house… The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it… and I’m much more a gardener than an architect.”

Here we have one of the greatest storytellers alive. From what I have seen and heard from him, he writes on the fly and plans as he goes. I think his perspective nails the very important reality that should be acknowledged regardless of how you write: all writers are different. For some of us, the architects like myself, not knowing where the story goes causes us to shut down. For others, the gardeners, knowing where it ends ruins the fun.

For me, outlining keeps my head on straight. I revised my outline for book one (which currently sits pretty at 21 pages) yesterday, particularly the middle section from chapters 9-18. Like Jed Herne says, I would rather make mistakes and fix them in the outline rather than have to rewrite entire chapters later because of a problem with the plot.

So, here is how I have come to look at this: Does knowing the way a story ends ruin the fun and creativity of writing? No. Not for me. If anything, it pushes me to keep going so I get to enjoy the end that I know is coming. I know how the end of my trilogy plays out. I know at length where characters end up, how they get there, how they change along the way, who lives, who dies, etc. And I cannot wait to get there and put the final period on the page.

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There are some directions the characters head within the first few chapters that I know will have resolution or redirection at the end of this book as it launches into the next, but I wanted to avoid what can be so easy to fall into if I am not careful: the middle section of this book is a total drag and completely lose the readers along the way.

Forget writing an interesting ending to the book, or an interesting trilogy for that matter. If the middle of the first book drags, no one will want to finish it. How much of a letdown would it be to get emotionally invested in the characters in the first few chapters only to watch them twirl their thumbs and scratch their heads for the middle ten chapters of the book? No thanks.

So, here are some of my guiding principles as I am going about planning this out:

1. Keep the end goal the characters have for this book in mind during every beat. If each plot point in the middle section does not serve a specific purpose that propels the story in the direction the readers are hoping for, something needs reworked.

2. Even though they are moving towards an end goal, that does not mean that the end goal is at the forefront of every scene. Some new conflicts arise in Act II that trip up the main characters, however it is okay to let them address those conflicts directly while allowing the end goal of the journey to linger in the back of the reader’s mind.

3. Allow this middle section of the book to expose a fresh perspective on the world. Eryndor is a vast and diverse place in both geography, culture, and history. One way to keep the “hero’s journey” trope boring (see my last post) is to flatten worldbuilding along the way. There is always more to discover, and figuring out how that aids the story is crucial.

So, with these in mind, I have organized an outline for chapters 8-19 and am ready to start building my story around it. I am excited to share it with you, stay tuned! Thanks for reading! If you find my content interesting, please consider sharing it with someone else who would find it interesting as well!

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So, as I sit here writing this eating a maple bacon donut, here is the question I am pondering: how do I take this idea that has lived in my head for years and present it in such a way that is immersive, grand in scale, emotionally resonant, familiar to fans of the genre, while still being fresh and new?

I’ve been listening to some of the greats of our day like Sanderson and Tchaikovsky, and here is a principle I am trying to hold to: don’t allow a trope to be something that either consumes your story or completely derails it.

When it comes to Seven’s Beacon, the reality is this story is an epic adventure of two heroes. That cannot be avoided given the arcs that I have planned. However, these characters and the world of Eryndor are still flawed in ways that I believe will freshen the atmosphere of the reading experience.

Even though many of the beats I am writing or have planned bear the shadows of many of the most compelling scenes from my favorite stories, I am seeing them through the lens of different characters with different life experiences, desires, and dreams, and secrets. Add to that the setting of an ancient, nebulous world that teeters the scales of a complicated relationship with things like technology and religion. I believe what I will end up with is something that feels like home to many, yet at the same time a brand-new adventure.

What I am wrestling through today is the struggle of shifting my mindset away from the environment they have been in all this time into a completely location with new terrain, new weather, and new people.

I love nature a lot. In fact, my love for nature is one of my inspirations for writing these books. I love getting as close as I can to something in nature and looking at every small detail it has. Honestly, if I describe the world around them through my lens of looking at nature alone, I think it would make for a pretty boring few paragraphs.

So here is the question mindset I have going into this chapter: How does the environment around them cause the characters to feel? What are some of the psychological markers of this change they are undergoing? Is it peace? uncertainty?

The world is a beautiful place. The reason it is so beautiful is because it causes us to feel. Every inch of nature given to inspire awe and joy.

So, I shouldn’t get so caught up in the details to where I miss the forest for the trees. Or I guess in this case, the canyon for the pebbles.