The Dreaded Question Every Author Knows Too Well

There are many questions authors get asked when someone discovers what we do for a living. Some are wonderful. Some are curious. Some are slightly alarming.

And then there is the one question that makes every author pause, smile politely, and begin frantically rearranging the truth in their head.

“What’s your writing process like?”

Now, on the surface, this seems like a very reasonable question. Logical even. Professional. It suggests notebooks filled with careful outlines, color-coded cue cards, neat timelines pinned to corkboards, and perhaps a thoughtful cup of tea steaming beside a laptop while the author nods wisely at their own genius.

If you ask me this question in public, that is exactly the answer you will get.

Oh yes. There will be plotting. There will be structure. I will describe character arcs and narrative beats. There will be references to linear timelines and carefully planned story progression. I may even mention cue cards, because cue cards sound impressive and vaguely academic.

All of this will sound extremely professional.

Because the real answer is… slightly harder to explain.

The real answer is that writing often involves sitting quietly in a chair while having long, emotionally complex conversations with people who do not exist.

People I invented.

People whose entire lives I control.

People to whom I have given backstories, secrets, relationships, and, occasionally, deeply inconvenient emotional trauma.

And there I am, staring into space, mentally arguing with them.

“Why would you say that?”
“Because that’s what my character would say.”
“You gave them that personality!”
“Yes, but now they won’t cooperate!”

This is the strange and wonderful secret behind writing fiction. The characters begin as tiny ideas, and then suddenly they are walking around inside your head, interrupting your day, changing your plans, and occasionally refusing to behave.

Sometimes they wake you up at three in the morning because they’ve decided a scene should go differently.

Sometimes they inform you that the person you thought was the villain is actually misunderstood.

Sometimes they refuse to follow the outline you so carefully created.

And sometimes, they simply start talking.

If you’re a writer, you know exactly what I mean.

You can be washing dishes, walking the dog, or staring at the ceiling at night when suddenly two fictional people start having a conversation in your head about something dramatic, mysterious, or emotionally complicated.

And you are merely the poor soul tasked with writing it all down.

The funniest part is that readers imagine authors as powerful puppet masters controlling every element of the story.

But the truth?

Half the time we are chasing our own characters around the plot yelling, “Please come back here and follow the timeline!”

It is both ridiculous and magical.

And yes, when someone asks about “the process,” we absolutely try to make it sound respectable.

We talk about structure.

We talk about narrative flow.

We talk about pacing.

We definitely do not say, “Well, yesterday two imaginary people argued in my head for forty minutes about whether they should open a mysterious attic door.”

Because that sounds… slightly unhinged.

And yet, that is often where the best scenes come from.

The truth is that writing is part craft, part imagination, and part wonderful chaos. It’s equal measures planning and surprise. Some days you follow your outline perfectly, and other days your characters hijack the entire story and run off in a completely different direction.

Those are usually the best days.

So the next time someone asks an author about their “process,” listen carefully. You may hear a beautifully structured explanation about plotting methods and storytelling frameworks.

But somewhere behind that polished answer is a writer quietly thinking:

“Yes, yes, very professional… but honestly I just sit there and talk to imaginary people.”

And if you ever catch an author smiling mysteriously while staring into space, don’t worry.

They’re probably just having a conversation.

With someone who doesn’t technically exist.

Yet.

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. ...

A Labour-Free Labour Day? Yes, Please!

Hello and Happy Labour Day to all my lovely North American readers! Now, isn’t it just a little bit ironic that a holiday with the word labour baked right into the name is universally observed by doing absolutely none of it? Zero. Zilch. Unless, of course, you count the rigorous work of flipping burgers, casting fishing lines, and chasing wasps away from the potato salad. Then yes—we are a nation of highly skilled, recreational labourers. Olympic-level loungers, really. This year, I’m wholeheartedly leaning into the contradiction. After an exceptionally busy summer filled with writing deadlines, creative misadventures, and one unfortunate incident involving a Papillon, a pie, and a squirrel (don’t ask—Pixie is still refusing to discuss it), I’m embracing the art of not doing much at all. My Labour Day weekend plans include: Reclining in my favourite chair like a dramatic Victorian heroine recovering from a fainting spell. Watching the endless activity in the harbour just outs...

The Art of a Well-Timed Swear

There comes a moment in life when frustration bubbles over, and the only logical response is… well, a good, solid, soul-cleansing swear word. I’m not talking about casual, everyday muttering under your breath. No, I mean that moment when nothing else will do. The kind of moment where dropping your toast butter-side down feels like an act of war, where technology conspires against you, or when you stub your toe so hard you briefly see your ancestors. Now, I was raised in a house where we had a rule: Use your words, not you hands. This was my dad’s way of preventing sibling-induced concussions, and frankly, it worked. We weren’t an inherently violent bunch, but three kids in one tiny household meant tempers flared, and so did elbows. The logic was simple—if you had time to yell, maybe you’d have time to think twice before swinging. Or at least give your victim a solid head start. This philosophy stayed with me, though in adulthood, I’ve adapted it to use a well-placed expletive now a...

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