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.

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