Power without a price feels like cheating—and in fantasy, magic that costs nothing tends to mean nothing. Whether it’s burning memories, painful transformations, or the slow hollowing of a hero, the best magic systems leave a mark. Let’s talk about why magic should hurt—and what that says about the stories we can’t stop reading.
If Part I was the brutal, unsentimental comparison of trad vs indie — advantages, disadvantages, and the cold math of each — then Part II shifts gears completely. Part II dives into what modern indie publishing actually looks like in 2026, because most writers still imagine the 2013 version: KU gold rushes, cheap ads, write-to-market hamster wheels, and algorithmic rituals. That world is gone. Today’s indie career is a full business model built on direct sales, diversified income, long-tail backlist revenue, platform resilience, and storytelling that can’t be replicated by AI. If you don’t understand this version of indie, you can’t choose your publishing path intelligently — and Part II lays it out without sentimentality, delusion, or nostalgia.
Barnes & Noble has begun quietly removing books from its digital shelves — not because readers don’t want them, but because the retailer wants a “cleaner,” more curated catalog. Overnight, titles vanish. Algorithms shift. Indie books get harder to find.
It’s the same old pattern: as big platforms age, they tighten the gates. The long tail shrinks. Choice narrows. And readers lose access to entire backlists, series, and genres without even realizing it’s happening.
The good news? You’re not trapped in anyone’s walled garden. Buying direct from authors keeps your books permanent, DRM-free, and untouched by corporate inventory purges — no disappearing titles, no algorithmic roulette.
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.
History didn’t know what to do with Julie d’Aubigny—opera singer, duelist, seductress, and unapologetic force of nature. She burned through 17th-century France with a sword in one hand and a scandal in the other, refusing to be anyone but herself. This is the story of a woman who lived louder than history was ready for.
The Rings of Power has always been a show that rewards patience — and, frankly, rewatching. The source material Amazon is allowed to adapt is more historical chronicle than narrative, yet the series has managed to turn Tolkien’s footnotes and timelines into emotionally grounded drama that gets better each time you revisit it. With a freshly overhauled writers’ room and Season 3 diving into the forging of the One Ring, now feels like the moment the show might step fully into its potential.
Hollywood franchises might be able to reset their storylines and expect fans to go along with it—but indie authors don’t get that luxury. Readers trust books to remember what came before. When we break that trust, we lose more than just continuity—we lose our audience. Here’s why honoring your story’s past isn’t a limitation—it’s your greatest creative tool.
The new Avengers trailers are polished, nostalgic, and carefully designed to tug at old loyalties—but this longtime fan isn’t feeling the spark. After years of overwriting storylines and ignoring emotional arcs, the magic just doesn’t land anymore. It’s not about nitpicking plot holes—it’s about wanting stories that respect their own history. Hollywood keeps hitting reset. Meanwhile, books? They remember.
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.
