Born from the mind’s restless edge,
they carry a spark that doesn’t fit the ordinary world.
Maybe it’s a glitch. Maybe it’s a gift.
They don’t know yet.
Their minds quiver,
aware at last of the Hand that shaped them.
Brilliant brains outpace fragile bodies,
caught in a quiet battle between their own humanity
and the silent codes reshaping them.
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Today feels a little unreal.I’ve just finished the beta version of The Mindborn. It’s strange to think how many versions came before, and very hard to know if I missed anything good along the way, if this version is really the strongest. If the first chapter is strong, or if it would have been better to use another piece of the story instead. But at one point you need to jump, and this is my time.
I'm so excited today! I just got back from my daughter the revised version of the book cover, and I'm totally fond of it. What do you think?
Sometimes you describe a character’s outfit to give a hint of who they are, to let the reader get a sense of their presence before they even speak. The way I pictured him in that dancing panda hoodie was my perfect image, rich in silliness and great for the character entrance. I had no idea that as the story unfolded, I would end up spreading tears and pain over the same image that had first made me giggle.
When a chapter finally clicks, I save the document and breathe.Sometimes I need the space after a storm of sentences. Sometimes I feel the peace in knowing that I finally hit what I was longing to achieve. My daily idea is that closing a chapter can be a moment to pause and enjoy, but many times my mind, instead of switching off, keeps whispering the next line of the story. If I don’t write it right away, I might miss the spark, and so I forget the pause, the lunch, the kids to pick up at school.
Before I open my manuscript, I line up the essentials: a tea mug and the notebook where I keep writing pieces when I'm not in front of the screen, pieces that come to me at the most unexpected times, when I don't think I'm thinking about my book, and yet I guess I am. So, tea mug and notebook, and I can begin.
There are moments when I question how much of myself is left in the things I create.Fingerprints are carried by sentences, characters’ feelings and the habits I associated with them. Tiny ghosts of the person I was when I wrote them. I find them lurking in early drafts and in broad light on final versions.
I've been around teenagers a lot over the last few weeks. They all served as a reminder of how vibrant that age is, whether they were mine or friends'. Loud, considerate, impetuous, humorous, and unexpectedly tender.
Yesterday, something small and official changed everything.
Sometimes you just need to get away from the screen.
I’m in Italy this week. There’s espresso I forgot to finish, heat radiating off the tiles, and somewhere in the middle of all that, I’ve been deep inside my book again. Not reading it for fun. Reading it like it might fall apart if I don’t hold it together.
Yes, I did cry in Starbucks. You don't have to give anyone a call.
The Day a Character Walked In and Changed Everything
