Fantasy readers often say they want “simpler” worlds, but is that really what they’re asking for? Maybe the problem isn’t complexity at all—it’s the steep learning curve many modern fantasy novels demand before the story can truly begin. A look at why great fantasy invites readers into its world instead of handing them an owner’s manual on page one.
Most stories don’t arrive fully formed. They begin as a name, a setting, or the faintest glimmer of an idea, then grow one decision at a time. But every so often, a story appears almost complete. Rainmaker was one of those rare exceptions. Here’s how it came to life—and why, years later, I finally gave it the cover I’d always imagined.
Some of the most fantastical settings aren’t found in fantasy novels—they’re right here on Earth. A single photograph of Seljalandsfoss in Iceland is a reminder that nature often creates landscapes so extraordinary we’d hesitate to put them in fiction for fear readers wouldn’t believe them. It’s a lesson that Peter Jackson understood when bringing Middle-earth to life on film.
The Veilwardens have spent generations maintaining the portals between Terra and Aethryn, certain that the balance between the worlds must be preserved at all costs.
But what if the balance isn’t what they think it is?
In Quieting, old assumptions begin to crack, strange events grow harder to explain, and Riva Thorn finds herself questioning truths she has always accepted.
Why do fantasy characters keep trusting the fae when centuries of stories warn them not to? The answer isn’t stupidity—it’s hope. The fae offer solutions when no one else can, promise the impossible, and often appear as beautiful, fascinating beings who seem to understand exactly what a person needs. In this post, we’ll explore the surprisingly human reasons characters continue to trust the fae, despite all the risks.
Fantasy author Danielle L. Jensen recently pushed back against the “romantasy” label, arguing that it reduces complex fantasy novels to “there was kissing, therefore clearly dragons are optional.” She is not alone. Fantasy romance has always demanded that writers master two genres at once: not just the emotional arc of a romance, but also worldbuilding, magic, politics, danger and impossible choices. So why has a catchy nickname managed to make the genre sound smaller, sillier and less serious than it really is?
Does fantasy really need to be grimdark to feel “serious”? I’m not convinced. There is a difference between a story that is painful and one that is hopeless—and somewhere along the way, fantasy seems to have forgotten it.
“Romantasy.”
Even typing the word makes me twitch.
It sounds like something invented during a marketing meeting that ran out of coffee and started smashing syllables together for sport. And yet here we are — romantasy dominating sales charts, fracturing into micro-niches, and now apparently flirting with pirates.
Is it about to die?
Or is it simply growing up?
Dark fantasy might be having a moment, but it’s not one I’m celebrating. I don’t write sweetness and light — but I do believe in redemption, earned endings, and characters who grow. Here’s why stories full of “losers losing” just don’t do it for me.
Two original stories from Taylen Carver—Roots of the Storm and Sylvalight—are eligible for the 2026 Hugo, Nebula, Aurora, and Dragon Awards. If you’re nominating this year, here are the details.
