Why I Write Magic (And Why You Might Too If You’ve Ever Argued With Your Toaster)

Have you ever shouted at the universe, shaken your fist at the sky, or quietly (or not-so-quietly) begged your coffee machine to please just do this one thing right for once? Have you ever wished—deep down—that you had a wand to wave, a spell to chant, or a dragon to sic on your internet provider?

Same.

That’s why I write magic.

Now, let me back up a bit.

I’ve been in situations where life handed me lemons, but also forgot the sugar, the water, the pitcher, and the instructions. You know the kind: where things feel wildly unfair, like the villain is clearly winning, and you're stuck with the sidekick role—but without the witty one-liners or costume budget.

So, what do you do when real life is missing sparkle, fairness, and the satisfaction of a dramatic entrance? You invent a world where things can change with a spell. Where you can say the thing you wish you said. Where justice doesn’t take years and three lawyers. Where kindness is a superpower, animals talk back (sometimes sassily), and yes—your toaster does apologize for burning your bagel.

I started writing magical stories because I wanted to create worlds where the powerless aren’t. Where a single mom with a talking dog and a gift for herbal tea can stop a criminal. Where ghosts can gossip, witches run bookstores, and sometimes the town librarian moonlights as a spell-slinger. (Honestly, doesn’t your librarian already have that vibe?)

I write magic because it gives voice to the silenced. It lets us explore what it feels like to be heard, to be seen, to take up space in a world that often wants us small and quiet. And because deep down, every grown-up I know still believes—just a little—that maybe, maybe, that weird book they found at the flea market really does hum at night.

When I write magical stories, I’m not escaping the world—I’m transforming it. I’m giving it sparkle and bite. I’m asking big questions and disguising them in quirky characters and enchanted teapots.

And sometimes? I’m just having a ridiculous amount of fun. Writing scenes where a cranky ghost refuses to leave until her matchmaking plan succeeds, or where a mischievous Papillon dog with telepathic snark steals the show—it’s therapy. It’s joy. It’s justice in glittery shoes.

So yes, I write magic.

Because we all deserve a little wonder.
Because life is hard and weird and funny and unfair—and in my stories, we deal with that… with humor, heart, and probably a hex or two.

And let’s be honest—deep down, I’m still holding out hope my kitchen appliances will organize and stage a musical number. A girl can dream.

Comments

Writers, Don’t Be a Slave to Word Count: Let the Story Speak for Itself

As writers, we’ve all asked ourselves that nagging question: “Is my book long enough? Too short? How long should it be?” It’s easy to get caught up in the numbers, obsessing over whether our work fits neatly into arbitrary word count guidelines. But here’s the truth: Word count should never dictate the quality of your story. The heart of storytelling lies in the narrative itself, not in how many pages it spans. The Pressure of Word Count From NaNoWriMo goals to publishing industry standards, writers face constant reminders about “acceptable” word counts. A novel must be 80,000-100,000 words. A novella shouldn’t exceed 40,000. Short stories have their own limits. These guidelines are helpful, but they can also be stifling. We begin to pad scenes unnecessarily or trim meaningful moments just to conform to these benchmarks. I’ve been there. I’ve wrestled with my manuscript, forcing it to stretch or condense to meet expectations. And you know what happened? The authenticity of the...

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 ...

Winter Blues and the Creative Spirit

This winter really kicked my rear end . I don’t know if it was actually colder, longer, and snowier than usual or if it just felt that way, but either way, I felt drained. A kind of low-grade listlessness settled over me, the kind that makes it hard to muster enthusiasm for much of anything. My creativity? It all but hibernated. I’ve always been a summer person. I thrive when the sun is shining, when I can get outside and move, when nature feels alive and bursting with possibility. There’s something about stepping into warm air that sparks energy in me, making ideas flow as easily as the breeze through the trees. But winter? Winter is different. The days are short, the nights are long, and the cold seeps into everything. Even with the glow of holiday lights or the beauty of fresh snow, I find myself counting down to spring. I try to embrace the season—hot tea, cozy blankets, the occasional twinkling snowfall—but the truth is, I have to actively fight my way through these three months...

Thinkingdog Publishing

Search This Blog