You may have noticed more Kickstarter campaigns coming from Stories Rule Press lately—and that’s intentional. For us, Kickstarter isn’t about hype or pressure; it’s about collaboration. It lets us create special editions, fund higher-quality production, and work directly with readers who want to be part of a book’s journey from idea to finished story—without replacing traditional releases or forcing anyone down a single path.
Readers don’t actually hate cliffhangers.
They hate being cheated.
What they’re reacting to isn’t tension or anticipation—it’s a broken promise. An ending that withholds resolution, slices a single story into artificial chunks, or stops mid-thought without delivering what the book itself set up isn’t a cliffhanger at all. It’s a contract breach.
A real cliffhanger resolves the story you promised to tell—and then opens the door to the next problem. It creates momentum, not confusion. When done right, the reader doesn’t feel tricked. They feel hooked.
There are two kinds of readers in the world.
The kind who says, “Just one more chapter,” and resurfaces hours later dehydrated and emotionally compromised.
And the kind who prefers the slow burn—one episode a week, time to speculate, time to argue, time to savor.
The internet insists one of these is correct.
They’re wrong.
This isn’t a format war. It’s a control issue—and Credible Threat is about to give both camps exactly what they want.
If someone is handing you absolute, black-and-white “rules” about writing, they’re full of crap.
Most of those commandments started life as reasonable cautions… before nuance died somewhere between a conference panel and a poorly edited podcast rant.
Real editors don’t enforce rules.
Real editors ask one question: Is this working for this story, this audience, this moment?
Follow every so-called rule perfectly and you won’t write a great book — you’ll just write a technically correct, emotionally flat one.
Rules can stop you from making mistakes.
They cannot help you make choices.
And writing is nothing but choices.
Thomas Billings is back.
Well… almost.
Mark filed a no-spoiler update on Fall From Grace, the second Thomas Billings thriller, and it contains precisely zero useful intel — which is exactly the point. What we do know: the book exists, words are happening, and coffee is disappearing at an alarming rate. Thomas is stubborn, Grace is complicated, and someone (possibly several someones) is making catastrophically poor choices.
In other words: the thriller is doing what thrillers do best.
And Mark will start spilling details only when the finish line is in sight.
Until then… someone, somewhere, is about to regret something deeply.
Writing resolutions fail for remarkably predictable reasons.
Not because writers are lazy or unserious—but because they aim too high, too vaguely, and too emotionally.
The writers who finish books aren’t the ones who promise themselves a perfect year.
They’re the ones who build systems that survive imperfect weeks.
It’s January, which means the internet is once again filled with people vowing to become Better Versions of Themselves.
More exercise.
Fewer carbs.
A spiritual awakening achieved through color-coded planners.
As an author, I feel it is my civic duty to offer an alternative set of New Year’s resolutions—specifically for readers. These are resolutions you can feel good about and abandon guilt-free by February.
Editing a thirteen-book Arthurian saga isn’t for the faint of heart. Mark pulls back the curtain on his years in the trenches with Once and Future Hearts—from navigating character continuity and protecting authorial voice to the diplomatic art of asking, “Are you sure, Tracy?” as the finale, Camlann, heads into its early-release Kickstarter celebration.
Mark takes a moment to brag — loudly and unapologetically — about Tracy’s incredible achievement: completing the thirteen-book Once and Future Hearts series and preparing its exclusive hardcover Kickstarter. From behind-the-scenes glimpses to outright spousal pride, this post celebrates the epic scope of the project and why the upcoming campaign is such a milestone.
Setting isn’t wallpaper. It’s the emotional engine under every scene you write. A confession uttered beneath stained-glass saints is a completely different moment than one whispered in the soft half-light of a bedroom — same words, wildly different meaning. If a scene feels limp, nine times out of ten the setting is the culprit. Make the room work just as hard as the characters, and suddenly the whole story sharpens.
