The Rock in my Calendar

Thanks to blankcalanderpages.com for the (free) image!

My promise to myself at the beginning of the year—to post monthly—didn't happen in May.

And now here we are, well past mid-June.

Somehow.

The days have a way of slipping past when your calendar is full of obligations and your brain is being pulled in multiple directions. Yet even with that, something big happened last month. So consider this a retroactive nod to a May milestone. And I'm not beating myself up for the miss. I'm too excited for that!

On May 27th, I finished my novel. And for those who have been following along on this particular journey, it's a new take on an older work, and well, I think it's my best writing so far.

I won’t share the story just yet (spoilers are sacred), but I will say this: it’s dark fantasy and there's more. I hadn’t planned on writing in that genre. It quite simply found me. There’s magic at the edges, misremembered prophecies almost lost to time, tangled bloodlines, and power—terrible, intoxicating, devastating power—shifting hands like a curse disguised as a gift.

The process of writing it was, in a word, relentless. Not in a punishing way, but in the way that something meaningful demands to be done. I’ve been caring for two extraordinary elders whose lives have shaped my own, and in the midst of that care and other responsibilities, I carved out space each day to write. No matter what else needed my attention, the writing became a rock in my calendar. A non-negotiable. A gift to myself that I defended with quiet ferocity.

And there were moments when I got lost in the story. Missed meetings. Forgot to eat. Time slipped in the way it does when you’re doing something that makes you come alive. Whether you call it flow state, the zone, the groove, or—borrowing from T.S. Eliot—a stillpoint in a moving world, it's its own kind of magic.

Of course, now that the book is done, insecurity has crept in, whispering the usual questions: Is it good enough? Will anyone want to read it? But the truth is, I am more in love with these characters than ever before. Their world. Their flaws. Their fight. And I feel responsible for seeing their story through—wherever that leads.

I’m also playing with the idea of a companion novella. There’s a character whose past deserves more time. And I’m curious where she may lead me.

I’ve learned something through this process: that when things feel uncertain, story can be a constant. A place to root. A reason to return. It has certainly been a gift for me. A momentary escape from grief. The opportunity to play at the edges of my imagination and push beyond them. And, ultimately, being vulnerable enough to try.

Let's see what happens next, shall we?