One of the unexpected joys of running Stories Rule Press has nothing to do with computers, algorithms, or online stores. It’s the live markets. Standing behind a table of books and talking with readers face-to-face changes everything. Conversations happen, stories get discovered, and suddenly the solitary work of writing becomes something wonderfully human.
Ideas don’t arrive fully formed. They start as small, sideways questions — the kind that won’t leave you alone once they land. That’s where stories actually come from.
Some weeks, the stories don’t stall — they simply make room for other word-work. Editing, shaping, refining someone else’s manuscript is still time spent inside the craft. And when you finally return to your own blank page, you bring sharper instincts with you.
Right now the to-do list is loud. Fulfill a 660%-funded Kickstarter. Edit other writers’ books. Run a publishing company. Market existing titles. Keep upcoming releases on track. And somewhere in there is a quiet little line that says: Write the next book.
That line is always the easiest to slide.
Because it doesn’t yell. It doesn’t send invoices. It doesn’t have shipping deadlines. It just waits — patiently — while everything else feels urgent.
People have a general sense of what authors do, but that sense is… impressionistic. Which leads to some wonderfully confident assumptions about money, inspiration, and what happens after a book is published. In the spirit of public service, here are five of the most persistent misconceptions about authors—and what the job actually looks like from the inside.
Brandon Sanderson is stepping into science fiction with Tailored Realities, and at the same time, I’ve been watching Daredevil: Reborn — a superhero story that feels a lot more like fantasy than you’d expect. It got me thinking: where do superhero stories fall in the speculative spectrum? Is sci-fi and fantasy really a spectrum at all? This week, I’m diving into how genre boundaries are shifting, and what that means for readers, writers, and masked vigilantes alike.
Thanksgiving comes twice a year when you straddle both sides of the border — one quieter, one a full-blown production. But whether it’s turkey, pasta, or chili dogs, the heart of it never changes. Gratitude isn’t about the meal or the decor. It’s about the people at your table — literal and metaphorical — and remembering how lucky we are to have them.
Mark reflects on the strange physics of author life—writing about the Hazeldean Artisan Market before it happens, even though you’re reading about it after the fact. Between the smell of coffee, glitter-covered tables, and fellow creatives, he celebrates the timeless joy of connecting with readers and fellow artisans (and maybe bending the space-time continuum just a little).
If you’re serious about writing — I mean serious-serious — then at some point you’re going to have to give things up. And not just a Netflix show or two. I mean real, soul-wrenching, this-or-that decisions.
I’ve made them. I gave up socializing. I gave up making clothes and jewelry. I took lower-paid jobs so I’d have the energy to write.
Writing takes time. And if your life is already full, then something else has to go. That’s the reality. You can’t wedge a writing career into the margins of a life that’s already packed.
Most people think writers live glamorous lives — champagne book launches, exotic research trips, and endless hours of leisure to dream up stories. The truth is a lot less Parisian café and a lot more 4:30 a.m. alarm clocks, fourteen-hour workdays, and muttering at characters who won’t behave while the laundry piles up.
In this post, I pull back the curtain on what writers’ lives really look like, why the myths persist, and how those rosy assumptions can sometimes hurt more than help.
