Am I Perfect? Are You Kidding Me?!

Well, folks, let’s talk about something we all love to pretend we’re not – imperfection.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this wild ride of being an author, it’s that I am definitely not perfect. And you know what? That’s perfectly fine! (And if anyone tells you they’re perfect, just remind them that we’re all human—unless they’re a robot, in which case, we need to talk about your AI skills.)

You see, every time I look back at my earlier works, I cringe just a little. Okay, maybe a lot. Plotholes that I patched over with the kind of flimsy excuses I’d never accept from my kids on homework. There are commas that should be in the witness protection program, hiding far away from the sentence they’re supposed to be part of. And some of the phrases? Oh boy. If I could go back in time, I’d sit myself down and say, “Honey, that line? It’s not even funny, it’s just… confusing.”

But here’s the thing – I wrote this. It’s my work, my journey, my creation. And that’s something to be proud of. It’s like my first attempt at baking a cake – sure, it might have looked like a science experiment gone wrong, but it was mine. And slowly, over time, my writing has gotten better. Like that cake – I’ve learned to not use baking soda instead of baking powder, and to avoid using every pan I own in the process.

I used to be a “pantser” – for those who don’t know, that’s a writer who goes by the seat of their pants and just… well, writes. No plot, no plan, just a cup of coffee and a vague idea of what the character might do next. It’s all fun and games until you hit chapter three and realize you’ve written yourself into a corner, with a plot twist that makes absolutely no sense. But guess what? That was me. And I survived.

Now? Well, now I’m a “plotter.” Yes, I know. I made the leap. I’ve learned to make notes. A lot of notes. Big notes. Little notes. Post-its everywhere, like a weird office supply explosion. But those notes? They keep me from writing myself into that corner again. And I’ll be honest, the plotter lifestyle is way more stable, even if I do have to admit that the magic of spontaneous storytelling is sometimes hard to let go of.

And here’s the kicker – I’ve come to realize that writing is a business. A serious one. It’s not just about writing whatever crazy idea pops into my head and calling it a day (though, to be fair, that’s a huge part of the fun). It’s about understanding that every book I put out there is a product, and the best way to treat it is to treat it seriously. That means setting goals, making deadlines, and yes, even scheduling in time for all those notes and edits. It means figuring out what works, what doesn’t, and not being afraid to scrap something that’s just not right. Trust me, I’ve had to scrap a lot of things. A lot.

But here's the thing: It’s okay to not be perfect. I know that every time I hit "publish" on a new book, someone might think, "Hmm, this could’ve been better." And you know what? They’re probably right. But I’m learning. I’m growing. And I’m getting better with every book I write.

So, to anyone out there who’s ever been too afraid to start something because they weren’t sure if it would be perfect – take it from me. Don’t wait for perfection. Just do it. Write it. Create it. Because in the end, it’s all about learning from the mistakes and finding your own unique voice.

After all, being human in the age of AI? Well, that’s a pretty big deal.

The Encyclopedia Was Our Google — And Dad Was Our Search Engine

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias . Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between. I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not. M...

The Glamorous Life of a Writer (Or, Mostly Just Staring at a Screen)

There’s a persistent rumor floating around that writers live thrilling, adventure-filled lives. Perhaps it’s all the dramatic author portraits on book jackets—moody, windswept, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the fate of the world. Perhaps it’s the movies, where writers are always dashing off to Paris to write the next great novel in a charming café (suspiciously never interrupted by spotty Wi-Fi or overpriced croissants). I hate to break it to you, but real writing? Not quite so cinematic. In reality, my writing days mostly involve staring intensely at my screen, willing the words to appear through sheer force of will. Occasionally, I engage in deep philosophical debates with myself—such as whether my protagonist should turn left or right down a hallway (the fate of the fictional world depends on it). And let’s not forget the highly intellectual process of naming characters, which can take hours because somehow every single name I think of is either the name of ...

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...

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