Last year, I finished my first novel draft. Finally. It had taken me months to write, and I remember thinking: Well, that’s it. I did it.

And then I reread it.

It was… bad. Worse than I expected. Which was awkward, because I’d already rewritten the first chapter ten times. It felt like someone else had written it: someone with great intentions and no clue what he was doing.

So I did what any reasonable person would do: I closed the file and started writing something else.

One story turned into seven

Instead of fixing the novel, I gave myself permission to explore. I wrote a serialized fantasy procedural. Then a prequel. Then a bunch of short stories that started weaving themselves into a shared world. Then a cozy winter story. By the end of the year, I’d written the equivalent of seven books.

None of them are published. But that wasn’t the goal.

Looking back, that year of writing without publishing taught me more than any course or book ever could. I didn’t just discover my stories. I discovered my process.

Discovery writing changed everything

Until last year, I thought “discovery writing” meant writing without a plan. But for me, it became something deeper: a way to figure out how I write, not just what I write.

I noticed when ideas came easily (usually while walking in the woods). I found out I write better when I talk the story aloud first. I started to recognize patterns in how my brain works: the energy spikes, the drop-offs, the moments where I need to pivot to stay engaged.

I stopped trying to write like the authors I admired. I started writing like myself.

Writing in seasons, not sprints

I also stopped pretending I could do everything at once. I love the thrill of drafting something new. But I also know stories need editing. Real, deep rewriting, not just surface-level polish. But I can’t do both at the same time.

So for 2026, I’m trying something different: a rhythm of writing in seasons. Two months focused on editing and revision. One month of fresh creative work. Then repeat.

It’s not about speed or pressure. It’s about giving each phase its own space, instead of trying to multitask my way through burnout.

Will it work? I honestly don’t know yet. But it fits what I’ve learned about myself: that I thrive on clear goals, creative momentum, and a bit of variety.

Feedback matters more than I thought

Here’s something I learned the hard way: I need feedback. Not constant critique, but a sense that someone’s listening. That the story matters beyond the page.

That’s why I’ve been thinking more about serialized writing: posting chapters, sharing drafts, inviting people into the process. Not for validation, but because it helps me finish. It keeps me from vanishing into endless rewrites or overthinking every word.

Some people thrive in isolation. I don’t. And that’s okay.

Your process is personal — and it will change

That terrible first draft? I read it again recently. And to my surprise, the core idea still worked. The writing didn’t. The structure didn’t. But the spark? Still there.

And more importantly, I could see how far I’d come.

That’s the beauty of discovery writing: it’s not just about the story on the page. It’s about the writer you’re becoming in the process.

There is no one right way to do this. Only the way that gets you writing. The way that gives energy instead of draining it, that helps your stories come alive, and makes you feel more like yourself in the process.

So if you’re feeling stuck or unsure where to begin, maybe don’t start with a perfect plan. Start with curiosity. Follow the story. See where it leads.

You’ll learn more than you think.

A year ago, I had never written fiction.
Now, I’m planning to publish eight books in 2026.

That still sounds surreal when I say it out loud. But last year, I discovered something I didn’t know I had: a writing voice, a rhythm, and a system that actually works for me.

I wrote seven books’ worth of words in 2025. Some were short stories, some full-length novels — but together they added up to a complete creative transformation. And this year, I want to build on that momentum.

This post is part of my Storyteller’s Companion series — a place where I reflect on the creative process and share what’s working (and what I’m still figuring out) with other writers.

Writing While Walking, Plotting Midway

My writing process is unusual, but it’s become a daily ritual I love: I walk and dictate.

Every afternoon, I head into the woods and tell myself the story out loud. No keyboard, no sitting at a desk — just a steady rhythm of footsteps and imagination. I usually begin without a full outline. I discover the world and characters as I go. But when I reach the midpoint — usually the second act — I stop and start plotting in earnest. By then, I know what the story needs.

I wrote Advent of Dragons (a cozy fantasy novella) that way. I drafted one chapter per day for nearly a month. It was intense, but also deeply joyful. And it showed me something important: I don’t need a perfect plan to begin — I just need the space to explore, then shape.

This Year’s Experiment: Serialized Publishing

Here’s what I haven’t tried yet — but I believe it could change everything.

In 2026, I want to publish my books as I write them, chapter by chapter, week by week, through Substack.

Instead of disappearing for months and emerging with a finished manuscript, I’ll be sharing the stories in real time. I plan to release four chapters per week — around 10,000 words — with light editing before publication. Think of it as a polished first draft, written with care and momentum.

Why?
Because I’ve seen what happens when I share my work with readers as it’s unfolding. It makes the process real. It creates accountability. And it builds a community around the stories while they’re still warm from the fire.

This model isn’t new — many authors use serialization to stay consistent. But it’s new for me. And I’m excited (and nervous) to see how it shapes my work.

The 2026 Writing & Publishing Plan

Here’s the current outline — subject to change, of course, but it gives me a creative roadmap:

• Jan–Feb: Revise and publish Story Mages Book 1

• Mar: Write the Spring sequel to Advent of Dragons

• Apr–May: Edit and serialize Dragon Patrol Book 1

• Jun: Write Summer cozy fantasy novella

• Jul–Aug: Publish Story Mages Book 2 (or the prequel)

• Sep: Write Fall cozy fantasy

• Oct–Nov: Edit and serialize Dragon Patrol Book 2

• Dec: Leave space for a new project (possibly a children’s series!)

Some of these books are new, some already exist in draft form. But all of them will go through the fire of revision, real-time publishing, and eventually be released as full novels.

For Fellow Storytellers

If you’re trying to find your rhythm this year, here’s what I’m learning:

• You can build a writing life one habit at a time.

• You don’t need to finish something before sharing it — sometimes sharing helps you finish.

• Dictation changed everything for me. Try talking instead of typing.

• Stories don’t have to be perfect to be worth reading. They just have to be honest.

• You’ll never feel fully ready. Start anyway.

This year, I’m not just writing. I’m releasing.
And if you want to follow the stories, or write alongside me: I’d love to have you here.

📬 First chapters of Story Mages coming soon to my Substack; make sure you are subscribed:

Father Roderick

I'm Father Roderick: a priest, an author and a lifelong geek. Every week, I share new stories, reflections, and creative updates.

👉 Let me know in the comments:
What’s your one writing goal for this year?
Let’s make it real.

Fr. Roderick

When I set out to write Advent of Dragons, I didn’t realize I was about to retrain my storytelling instincts.

I’m used to writing epic stakes. Corrupt abbots, magical conspiracies, ancient towers collapsing under the weight of forbidden power. I love that kind of story. But writing my first cozy fantasy forced me to unlearn some habits and to reconnect with others I had neglected.

Because in cozy fantasy, the drama doesn’t come from scale. It comes from depth.

And that makes it an incredible creative exercise for any writer, no matter your genre.

What Happens When You Take Stakes Down Instead of Up?

So much writing advice centers around raising stakes, quickening pace, escalating danger. In cozy fantasy, you do the opposite. You lower the stakes. And in doing so, you raise the intimacy.

The protagonist isn’t saving the world. She’s trying to fit back into it.
The villain isn’t evil. He’s misinformed, hurt, or lonely.
The plot doesn’t race. It meanders, like a walk with no particular destination.

As a storyteller, this required me to shift my entire focus:

• From urgency to trust: trusting that readers will stay with you for the emotional journey, even if no battles are won.

• From plot points to character presence: letting scenes breathe without always pushing forward.

• From dramatic arcs to emotional texture: cozy stories are rarely “about” one thing. They’re mosaics.

This isn’t easy if you’re used to tight, high-stakes plotting. But the creative payoff is enormous.

Cozy Fantasy Strengthens Your Inner Storytelling Compass

Writing this genre taught me to ask questions I hadn’t prioritized before:

• What do characters long for in the quiet moments?

• Who supports them when they’re not strong?

• What do healing and friendship look like on the page?

I also learned to slow down and notice the world.
Describe a steaming mug. Let the snow fall without turning it into a metaphor. Write the silence between two people who don’t know what to say.

This practice of slowing down has sharpened my prose in other genres, too. It’s made me more attentive to sensory grounding, emotional resonance, and especially reader safety. When your goal is to create sanctuary instead of suspense, you develop a stronger sense of emotional pacing and reader trust.

That’s a skill worth carrying into every story.

The Genre That Reframes What “Success” Looks Like

There’s another layer to this.

Writing Advent of Dragons helped me re-evaluate how I define success. Not just for my characters, but for myself. The protagonist, Katie, is a former dragon patrol officer who returns to her rural village after illness. She’s not out to reclaim her past. She’s trying to build a new present.

And as I wrote her story, I realized I needed that lesson too.

As writers, it’s easy to fall into productivity traps. Word counts. Book launches. Growth metrics. But cozy fantasy reminds us that purpose doesn’t always look like output. Sometimes it looks like care. Connection. Slow rebuilding. Writing this book gave me permission to breathe and to write for joy, not just for momentum.

If you’re feeling burnt out, creatively blocked, or just stuck in high-stakes mode, try this:

Write one cozy scene.
No plot twists. No revelations. Just a character doing something comforting or ordinary.

You might be surprised how alive it feels.

More on this in my recent video about cozy fantasy, what defines the genre, and how it reshaped my approach to storytelling. You can watch it by clicking on it at the top of this article.

And if you’re curious to read the book that came out of this experiment, Advent of Dragons is available for free on my Substack:

👉 Read the full novel here

Until next time,
keep telling your story!

– Fr. Roderick

Writers often ask: how do I market my fiction without feeling like I’m marketing?

I might’ve just stumbled onto one answer.

While walking in the woods—the best story lab I know—I started brainstorming how to publish my growing library of Substack short stories. Two anthologies were taking shape: one for the cozy, “on-the-road-to-Heaven” kind of tales, and another for the darker, eerie, sometimes ironic ones—“on the road to Hell,” you could say.

Then it hit me: what if there was one story that connected them both?

That’s when the idea of a novella arrived. A pilgrim journeys through the world I’ve created—meeting characters and stopping at places from both collections. A story that pulls everything together. Not just a bonus tale, but a key to the world.

And here’s the marketing twist: what if I gave it away for free? A lead magnet. Readers download the novella, get drawn into the setting, and find QR codes that link to the two anthologies. They start in the middle, and from there, they can journey wherever they want.

No hard sell. Just a story that acts as a portal.

Sometimes the best marketing isn’t about shouting louder—it’s about telling a deeper story that makes people want to keep walking with you.

Have you ever written a “bridge” story to connect your worlds—or your readers? I’d love to hear how it worked for you.

"When I started the journey with my horse, same as my character, we knew nothing about each other. I didn’t know myself; my character doesn’t know himself either."

Mathias Maho, a fantasy author from Belgium, writes stories where animals are more than companions—they’re soulmates. His books, which form part of an ongoing series now four volumes deep, are deeply personal tales cloaked in the trappings of epic fantasy. At the heart of his world lies a bond between humans and their “soul animals,” brought together to fend off the dark twilight threatening their world. But for Maho, this isn’t just imaginative fiction—it’s autobiography in disguise.

From Cowboy to Creator

"It all started with my own horse," Maho explains. “I’m a cowboy, and we had an emotional journey, my horse and I. To work through that trauma, I started writing this story.”

That horse now appears on every cover of the Riders of the Night series—a symbol of the bond that inspired an entire world. What began as an act of personal reflection evolved into a rich saga filled with folkloric demons and cryptid-inspired threats. Yet even the most fantastical elements are rooted in real experience. “It’s fiction,” Maho says, “but it has a cloak of non-fiction around it.”

A Story of Self-Discovery

The parallels between Maho and his protagonist are no accident. “By working together, the horse helps him discover who he is, just like my horse helped me discover who I am.”

His fourth book in the series, Riders of the Night: The Dead Man’s Forest, has just been released. Maho sees this installment as a kind of closure. His real-life horse, now aging, mirrors the arc of the horse in the story. “The bond is strong; it’s time to rest. I hope my horse lives a long time, but the wild stuff, for both of us, is coming to an end.”

Giving Voice to the Voiceless

One of the most moving responses Maho received was about a puppy he once had, who passed away at just four months old. He immortalized her in his book, and a reader told him she was their favorite character. “I admit, a tear ran down my cheek,” Maho confesses. “It’s important to me that my dog and my horse are remembered the way I remember them.”

For Maho, animals are more than plot devices—they’re emotional conduits. “There are a lot of bad stories about horses or dogs, but it depends on how they’re treated and how you handle situations. My book tells a story about animals that want to be understood, and people who take the time to understand them.”

He sees this as a mirror for human relationships too. “What’s true for animals is also true for our human relationships. I use a lot of metaphors. I write about hard situations, things that aren’t easy to speak about, and I let the animals take over where the humans can’t.”

A Healing Journey, in Every Language

Although the books are currently written in Dutch, Maho is already working on an English translation—slowly, deliberately, and with care. “There’s a lot of emotion and depth that I want to carry over into English. It might take longer, but I’m working on it.”

That emotional authenticity is central to his mission. “What’s personal to me is that people learn from my stories, learn about animals, and stay curious about animal welfare. And to tell yourself that it’s okay not to be okay—that’s a very important lesson.”

The Power of Writing

Writing, Maho says, didn’t just make him a better author. “It made me a better me, for myself, for the people around me, and for the animals I care for. It’s a journey. If I had known from the start it would take me here, I would, without a doubt, even with all the hardships, do it all over again.”

It’s rare to meet a fantasy writer whose stories are so intimately tied to lived experience, and rarer still to see animals portrayed not only with personality, but with profound emotional weight. In Maho’s books, horses and hounds aren’t just sidekicks—they’re healers, guides, and teachers. And that makes his fantasy feel more real than most reality.

—Fr. Roderick Vonhögen

Mathias Maho’s website: mathiasmaho.com
Mathias Maho on Facebook and on Instagram

A childhood story, thirty pages long, about elves. That’s where it all began. On a family trip to Vancouver Island, a ten-year-old Annemiek Steur grew bored of audiobooks and began scribbling in a notebook.

When she read her fantastical tale aloud to her parents and siblings, she discovered two things:

“One, other people liked my story—weirdly enough. And two, I actually liked writing.”

Fast forward a few years, and thirteen-year-old Annemiek was already drafting the first book in what would become the Jonas Dubelaar series: an ambitious eleven-part saga that blends magic schools, dragon bonds, and parallel worlds. By fifteen she had published the prologue; at seventeen, her first full book. Now in her twenties, she’s still writing, still publishing—and still aiming for that eleven-book finish line.

Magic Watches, Dragon Bonds, and Growing Up

At the heart of the series is Jonas, a boy who discovers a mysterious pocket watch in his attic. The moment he fumbles with it, he’s transported into a magical world—where a dragon rider finds him and brings him to the capital. There, Jonas begins his studies at a magic school, bonds with dragons, and undertakes perilous missions for the empire.

“It’s a coming-of-age story,” Annemiek explains. “A bit like Harry Potter. In the first books he’s insecure, a teenager. But he matures—especially through the challenges of traveling between two worlds. Each book covers two years of his life. Because I started so young, it was easier to immerse myself in the teenage mindset. And now that I’m older, I can bring more reflection and depth to the later stories.”

“I Don’t Know How I Find the Time. I Just Do.”

Writing an eleven-book fantasy series sounds overwhelming. But Annemiek’s approach is simple: start small.

“Starting is always the hardest part. So I lower the threshold. I tell myself: just write one word today. It sounds ridiculous, but once you’ve written the first word, the rest flows.”

As a teenager, she wrote chapters in the spare hours after school. Now she works in smaller chunks—sometimes 250 words, sometimes much more if inspiration strikes. “It’s not about speed. I don’t like writing fast and publishing whatever I wrote without looking at it again. It’s about stamina and consistency.”

From Word Doc to Hardcover

Many indie authors dread the logistics of publishing, but Annemiek thrives on it.

“I love that this is an industry you can learn by doing. I wanted to understand every step—writing, editing, publishing, even printing. I wanted to know how it all worked.”

That curiosity has made her not only a writer but also a producer. Her latest release is a sturdy hardcover with a striking cover designed by Dominik Broniek, known for his work with Patty van Delft and Brandon Sanderson. The cover features a watch—the story’s catalyst—floating in mystery. “Less is more,” Annemiek says. “I want readers to sense the genre and the mood, but not know the plot. The discovery should be theirs.”

Her editorial process is equally disciplined: first beta readers (ideally people who already know the series), then professional editing. “Sometimes the editing takes as long as the first draft. But it’s worth it. I want my books to compete with traditionally published titles. And I think I’ve figured out how.”

Charging Up and Finding Readers

So where does she find the energy to keep going?

“By rereading my own work!” she laughs. “Every author knows that feeling—you read something back and think, wow, this is actually good. Other days you’re convinced it’s the worst thing ever. But those highs help.”

Events like Castlefest also fuel her. “When someone tells me, ‘I came just for your book,’ or recognizes Jonas among sixty other authors—that’s incredibly energizing. Writing is solitary, but moments like that remind me who I’m writing for.”

Beyond Jonas: A Chinese Twist

Annemiek isn’t limiting herself to one series. A graduate in Chinese language and culture, she’s now writing a standalone novel inspired by Chinese history.

“They have a history over four thousand years old. I want to give people a glimpse of that—outside politics, just the culture. To make them curious.”

It’s another ambitious project, one she hopes will draw readers into a new world of ancient traditions and timeless imagination.

Looking Fifteen Years Ahead

Fifteen years from now? Annemiek dreams of seeing her books in ten or more languages—and perhaps even on screen. “Every writer dreams of a film,” she admits. “But I’d also love to see the series translated more widely. My debut was published in Chinese, the prologue is already in English—so why not keep going?”

A Final Word for Aspiring Writers

If there’s one lesson Annemiek’s story makes clear, it’s that you don’t have to wait for permission.

“You can start writing now. You can publish now. You can learn as you go.”

And maybe—all it takes is a single word.

• Annemiek Steur’s English Patreon Page with writing updates and articles.

• Annemiek Steur’s website

• Follow Annemiek on Facebook and Instagram

Watch the video of the interview:

I finally meet John van Hal at Castlefest—long overdue. Founder of the Netherlands’ largest fantasy and science fiction Facebook group, he’s become a steady force behind the genre’s grassroots revival.

And yet, when you speak to him, John doesn't see himself as an influencer.

“In my personality, I don't see myself as important or an influencer,” he says with a smile. “But sometimes people recognize me. ‘Hey, you're that guy from…’ And I just laugh.”

Born from Burnout

Like many meaningful journeys, John’s began with a collapse. In 2016, he was heavily involved in politics and union work when he hit a wall.

“I got a burnout,” he shares. “And after a burnout, you have to learn who you are. What gives you energy? What makes you happy?”

The answer came swiftly: reading.

That rediscovered love of books led him to Castlefest, where he met writers, readers, and publishers for the first time. The experience sparked something in him. With his background in organizing, he thought: why not create a Facebook group?

What started as a small initiative has grown into one of the largest fantasy and sci-fi communities in the Dutch-speaking world. “Every day when I wake up, I must think about it. Wow. I'm now growing that big.”

A Platform for Dutch Storytellers

Although many Dutch readers prefer English-language titles, John is passionate about promoting homegrown authors.

“One of the strange things about the Dutch market is that publishers don’t always label books as sci-fi, even if they are. They say it won’t sell,” he explains. “But there’s a big audience. My group proves that.”

Inside the group, readers share what they’re reading, post reviews, and most importantly, authors get to introduce their work to a passionate and growing audience.

Two of John's favorite Dutch authors are Garvin Pouw, known for his expansive world-building, and Kim Ten Tusscher, whose work challenges readers to reflect on moral choices and personal responsibility.

“Her stories make me think about myself and the world around me,” John says. “I must make choices.”

The Comfort of Dark Stories

Fantasy and science fiction have done more than entertain John—they’ve helped him heal.

“After my burnout, I learned to see life differently. In our society, we’re often told to look only at the positive. But life includes bad parts too. Fantasy taught me that. The heroes in books go through dark times. That helped me accept my own.”

He even describes his burnout, in retrospect, as a gift.

“It sounds strange, but burnout was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It made me who I am today.”

Poetry as Peace

While John doesn’t write fiction himself, he occasionally writes poetry to process his thoughts.

“When I was in therapy, I wrote a poem. My therapist read it and said, ‘Wow, that’s beautiful. Let’s talk about it.’”

For John, poetry offers a quieter way to express what can’t always be said directly. “Sometimes you can say things without spelling them out.”

Offline Adventures

With over 6,000 members and counting, John’s group is no longer just a digital haven.

“We’re doing more and more offline activities now,” he says. “Every few weeks, a group of us meets up in a city. We visit bookshops, have drinks, and talk about books.”

For John, the goal has always been to create something warm and welcoming.

“I want my group to feel like a living room. People come in, they talk, and then they go on their travels. But while they’re there—they’re home.”

The Future of a Movement

From politics to poetry, from burnout to belonging, John van Hal’s story is one of resilience and reimagination. He’s not just building a fan base—he’s nurturing a family.

What’s next?

“I’m very curious to see where it goes. I do my best—and we’ll see.”

And if the last few years are any indication, that living room is going to need more chairs.

• John’s Science Fiction & Fantasy Facebook Group

• Check out my interviews with Dutch fantasy & sci-fi authors

Watch the video of the interview:

Bianca Mastenbroek (born October 29, 1975, in De Moer) is a Dutch author whose career spans more than forty books across genres—children’s literature, young adult, fantasy, and historical fiction. She made her debut in 2008 with Vuurproef (Trial by Fire), a gripping historical novel about witch persecution, and her latest works, including Duivelse Meiden, continue to resonate with themes of fear, gossip, and exclusion.

Writing from the Start

“I always wanted to be a writer,” Bianca recalls. As a girl, she filled notebooks and hammered out entire books on an old typewriter. Later, school and university interrupted her creative flow, but as she puts it with a Dutch saying: “the blood goes where it can’t go.”

When the urge to write returned, she made a radical choice: she quit her job, took writing courses, and decided to build a life as an author. By 2008, her debut novel Vuurproef was in readers’ hands.

Her path hasn’t been without obstacles. A muscle disease means she now uses a wheelchair and can’t type her stories in the traditional way. Instead, she writes them all through dictation software. “I don’t even have a keyboard by my computer anymore,” she explains elsewhere. Speaking her books into existence has become second nature—and with more than forty titles published, her voice has proven unstoppable.

History Repeated in Fiction

Her first novel, Vuurproef, is rooted in real events: in 1559, in the Brabant region of the Netherlands, more than 30 women were accused of witchcraft. The hysteria began in Cranendonck and spread like wildfire until it finally stopped in Asten, when Belgian authorities began to question whether the trials were even legal.

“One day your neighbor is just your neighbor, and the next day people believe she’s a witch,” Bianca says. Through multiple perspectives—the accused, the accusers, and ordinary villagers—she explores how entire communities could come to believe the unbelievable.

Her recent novel Duivelse Meiden (Devilish Girls) carries the same echo into the present: a contemporary school drama intertwined with the historical story of a girl accused of witchcraft. The book shows how easily gossip, loneliness, and social cruelty can still become a modern form of persecution.

Scapegoats Then and Now

When asked what she hopes readers take away, Bianca is clear: history isn’t over. “There are still women being accused of witchcraft in 33 countries. It’s not over.”

Her books ask us to look at how we treat one another now. Do we demonize others, create scapegoats, or let gossip become truth?

“Every time I finish a historical book, I think: we really haven’t learned a thing.”

A Pirate’s Life

And despite the heavy themes of much of her work, she is currently writing something lighter: a pirate story full of humor. “A really bad pirate,” she laughs. You can hear the joy in her voice when she speaks about it. “Writing is my passion. It’s my everything.”

Closing Thought

Bianca Mastenbroek’s career reminds us that creativity adapts, even in the face of obstacles. Her stories of witch trials and scapegoats don’t just illuminate the past—they warn us about the present. And her own perseverance proves something equally important: that when passion is strong enough, the voice will always find a way.

Read more about Bianca Mastenbroek on her English website

Follow Bianca on Facebook, Instagram and YouTube.

Watch the video of the interview:

Dutch author Wendy Torenvliet makes her debut with a fast-paced, ethically layered sci-fi thriller. From Black Mirror inspiration to BookTok strategy, she shares the real story behind her first novel.

“I started writing on my bike.”

Few things are more quintessentially Dutch than beginning a novel on a bicycle. For Wendy Torenvliet, the idea for her debut novel struck in 2018 while cycling home, fresh off a binge of Black Mirror episodes. What began as the seed of a short story—about futuristic technology gone wrong—quickly grew into a full-length sci-fi thriller that would take years, illness, feedback, and fierce perseverance to bring to life.

Now, six years later, her book is finally out in the world. And not just anywhere—Wendy launched her debut at Castlefest, the Netherlands’ beloved fantasy festival, where she spoke with me about crafting complex characters, surviving the editing process, and building a community instead of just chasing five-star reviews.

A Tech Thriller with a Moral Twist

At first glance, Wendy’s story sounds like the perfect high-concept pitch: a neuroscience researcher secretly integrates her invention into music, only to discover her DJ brother has stolen the track—and turned it into a summer hit. But when millions hear her voice layered in the beat, something goes horribly wrong.

“She studies how to manipulate people with media,” Wendy explains. “It can be visual, but also audio. And because her voice is now exposed to so many people, she realizes she can manipulate some of them. Then she finds out her invention has been sold to a company with very bad intentions. She has to run for her life—and try to save her brother and her boyfriend.”

It’s a fast-paced action-thriller, but with deep ethical dilemmas at its core.

“What do you do if you have a superpower? Do you stay on the right side of the law? The wrong side? That’s the dilemma.”

For Wendy, these questions are the beating heart of science fiction. “It’s a genre where you can explore things that are really happening in the world, but in a different way—so people start thinking. It’s not just a flat story. Your characters need depth.”

From Short Story to Full Novel

Wendy didn’t always see herself writing a novel. “This is my first manuscript,” she says. “I’d written short stories before, entered contests. But a full-length book? That was new.”

She started with sticky-note plotting sessions and a rough outline. But as John Lennon once quipped, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”

“I got really, really ill,” she says. “It took me two and a half years to pick it up again.”

Recovery brought a fresh draft, rounds of peer feedback, and eventually a submission to publisher Zilverspoor. The real transformation came during the editing process with editor Anaïd Haen.

“You think you’ve got a good manuscript—until it comes back covered in red ink and comments. You think, ‘I suck!’ But you don’t. It’s part of the learning process. And it made the book so much better.”

The Long Middle and Other Writing Lessons

So what does a first-time novelist learn?

“That you don’t have to tell the reader everything right away,” Wendy says. “Coming from short stories, I had to learn to sprinkle things in slowly. And the structure—writing a long story that keeps people’s attention—that’s hard.”

Asked how she keeps the middle of her story engaging, Wendy shrugs. “I don’t really have a method. I just try to build to a climax, give the reader a moment to breathe, then raise the stakes again.”

Still, one thing she’s certain of: the next book will be easier. “It’ll be cleaner when I hand it in. I’ve learned so much.”

The Courage to Build Community

For many debut authors, releasing a book feels like handing over your child to strangers. “It’s not mine anymore,” Wendy says. “It’s the readers’. That’s scary—but also exciting. I just hope people are genuine. I don’t want five stars because someone knows me. I want honest feedback.”

She’s not waiting for reviews to find her audience. Wendy is already active on TikTok, where she first started as a book reviewer in the Dutch BookTok scene.

“Now I’ve shifted to also sharing my own book, showing my followers what is happening here at Castlefest, and what my fellow authors are doing. It’s about community, not just marketing.”

Her advice to authors who dread social media?

“Just do it. You don’t have to show your face. Some BookTokers just film books and use voiceovers. But if you want to be successful, you have to promote. Books don’t sell themselves.”

On Stephen King and the Road Ahead

Wendy’s biggest literary inspiration? “Stephen King. He’s my GOAT—not for the stories, especially not the endings,” she laughs, “but for his characters. He can give you a whole person in three pages. You love them or hate them, but you know them. That’s something I aspire to.”

If she ever got the chance to have dinner with King, she knows exactly what she’d ask: “How did you keep writing for fifty years and still have energy? It’s hard work. Where do the ideas come from?”

As for her own future, Wendy envisions more standalone books—urban sci-fi, maybe fantasy, definitely horror. Her next release will be a novella for horror publisher Quasis. But no long series.

“I prefer quick projects. I love to experiment. That’s why I started with short stories.”

“I Want to Be Here for the Community”

Wendy Torenvliet may be a debut author, but she speaks like a veteran when it comes to the soul of storytelling. Beneath the excitement of launch day is a quiet conviction: writing isn’t just about ideas, or even the book—it’s about people.

“If you’re not genuine, readers won’t trust you,” she says. “I want to be here for the community, for other authors, for the readers.”

Her baby may be out in the world, but Wendy is just getting started. And whether it’s through her next book, her TikTok videos, or conversations at Castlefest, one thing is clear—this writer is here to stay.

Links
🔗 Wendy’s Website and Prologue Preview (coming soon)
📖 Order the Book
📱 Follow Wendy on TikTok / BookTok NL

Watch the video of the interview:

Every week, I take you on a deep dive into a story I love—exploring its hidden layers, symbolism, and the life lessons tucked inside. Sometimes it’s a film, sometimes an anime, sometimes a book or a TV series.

This week, it’s Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End—an anime based on the award-winning manga by Kanehito Yamada and Tsukasa Abe. At first glance it looks like a classic fantasy quest. But beneath the magic and battles lies a meditation on time, vocation, and what it really means to live.

A Journey Beyond Fantasy

At first glance, Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End looks like a typical fantasy tale—mages, demons, legendary battles.
But the creators have hidden something much richer beneath the surface.
Almost everything in this story is symbolic, an invitation to look beyond the fantasy.

Season one unfolds like a pilgrimage, each arc inviting us not just to watch, but to reflect on life itself: how we measure time, how we face evil, how we discern our path, and how we walk alongside others. Here’s how.

The very geography is a pilgrimage: towns with German names mark the stages of life, from Morgenrot (dawn) in the South to a place called Aureole (halo), in the northern region called Ende (the end).
And the ultimate antagonist, the Demon King, is already gone before the series begins.

Sound familiar? It mirrors our own journey through life.
Christ has already defeated death.
But we still live in a world scarred by evil, learning how to walk forward in hope. From the dawn to the end of our days.

Time and Eternity

The series begins where most other stories would end: the great battle is over, but the real journey has just begun. Frieren is an elf who hardly ages. Years later, she returns to her old companions. But time has not stood still for them.

Himmel, the human hero, has grown old.
When he dies, Frieren finally realizes how little she truly understood him.

That’s the quiet tragedy of Frieren’s life: she can live for centuries, but she misses the small moments that make life meaningful.
The smiles. The goodbyes. The fleeting things.
Only when it’s too late does she see what she’s lost.

And here’s the deeper truth: we all wrestle with time.
We live like we have endless tomorrows.
But in truth—we only have today.
Frieren’s journey reminds us that the value of life is not measured in years, but by the moments of friendship right in front of you.

Justice and Mercy

Later, Frieren meets Aura the Guillotine, a demon who rules through fear and cold logic.
Aura is ruthless, convinced that domination is the only true strength.

Frieren defeats her not through rage or brute force, but with clarity and calm. There’s no triumphal pose, no gloating—just the restoration of what is right.

It’s a lesson about power and restraint. True justice doesn’t need spectacle. Mercy doesn’t mean weakness. In a world where strength is often measured by who can shout the loudest, Frieren shows us a different kind of strength: quiet, steady, righteous.

Vocation and Pilgrimage

On the road north, Frieren travels with Fern, her apprentice, and Stark, a warrior learning courage.
For a time they are joined by Sein, a priest.

One day, he simply leaves.
No drama. No fanfare.
Just a quiet decision to follow his calling and search for a lost friend.

And that’s vocation in a nutshell.
It asks us to step away from what feels safe.
To walk into the unknown.

Each traveler mirrors our own life’s journey.
Fern grows in maturity.
Stark learns courage.
Frieren slowly discovers empathy.

And together they show us that journeys are not only about reaching destinations—they are about who we become along the way.

Discernment and Testing

To cross into the Northern Lands, Frieren must pass the First-Class Mage Exam.
At first it looks like a classic shōnen tournament arc—flashy duels, rivalries, contests of strength.
But quickly it becomes something deeper.

The exam isn’t about raw power.
It’s about wisdom.
Humility.
Truth.

One candidate deceives with illusions.
Others reveal arrogance, fear, or loyalty under pressure.

The theme here is discernment: learning to separate what only shines on the surface from what is truly good.
And isn’t that life?
Trying to see clearly, even in the fog.

Why Storytellers Should Pay Attention

For anyone who loves stories, Frieren is a masterclass in narrative craft.
It takes familiar tropes—the hero’s journey, the tournament arc, the pilgrimage—
and reshapes them into something contemplative and fresh.

The series slows down where others speed up.
It lingers on grief instead of rushing to glory.
And it finds drama not only in battles, but in silence, in choices, and in farewells.

It’s proof that the most powerful stories don’t always roar. Sometimes they whisper.

The Gift of Silence

That’s what makes Frieren extraordinary.
It doesn’t explain everything to you.
It gives you space to think. To feel. To reflect.

Yes, it’s a fantasy about mages and demons.
But more than that, it’s about us.
About mortality and memory.
About vocation, justice, and grace.

Frieren invites us to pause.
To believe that even in silence, even in loss, there is meaning.

And maybe that’s why this quiet little anime has touched so many hearts.
Because in watching Frieren learn what it really means to live—
we glimpse how we might live more deeply too.

Where can you watch it?

Frieren is available on Netflix in many countries, or on Crunchyrol.

The first season is also available on Blu-ray on Amazon, as is the original Manga on which the anime series is based.

Watch the video of this analysis on my Anime YouTube channel:

If you're waiting for the perfect idea before you start writing… you're doing it backwards.

This week, I microwaved an omelette with mayonnaise —a weird experiment I saw on TikTok that I never expected to work. But it did, and the result was amazing!

It reminded me of something I wish I'd learned years ago as a writer:

Your best story ideas often come after you start writing, not before.

I’ll show you how one strange little experiment, just a fun scene about a dragon rider chasing a criminal, snowballed into a full novel idea with structure, tropes, and surprising momentum.

And how that same principle might unlock your next great story, too.

It started with an omelette.

One of those internet recipes that shouldn’t work:
One egg. One spoon of mayo. Whisk. Microwave. Done.

What came out looked like it had no right to taste that good: fluffy, velvety, slightly absurd. It felt like I’d unlocked a cooking cheat code.

And as I sat there, unusually proud of myself for microwaving breakfast, I realized something that applies to writing too:

Sometimes the weird little experiments lead to your best creative breakthroughs.

That omelette is exactly how my latest story idea emerged: about a dragon-riding girl in a fantasy world where police patrol the skies on dragons instead of the streets in cars.

So what happened?

There was no plot. No plan. Just a spark.

I was tired. I needed a story for the day. I opened an old document of story prompts I’d once written for others (because I had nothing myself). One line sparked a chase scene with dragons. I wrote a few paragraphs with no clue where it was going.

And then… the pieces started falling into place.

There was a tavern. A mysterious grotto. A criminal exchange.
A twist involving someone who wasn’t the villain I thought they were.
The protagonist could even be the same dragon-riding girl from a previous story I’d written.

By the end of the draft, I realized: this wasn’t just a one-off story.
It had the bones of an entire book. So I kept going.

Within half an hour, I had the outline of a complete novel: a fun, tightly structured YA fantasy that I hadn’t even planned to write. With a young female protagonist. Political intrigue. Found family. Hidden truths.

And here’s the kicker: it didn’t take months of plotting.
It came because I showed up tired, empty… and willing to try something new.

Just like the omelette.

What does this mean for you, if you're a writer?

You don’t need the whole book idea to start. You just need:

• a prompt

• a hunch

• a genre you’ve never tried

• and the permission to just write something

You start writing not because you have a plan, but because there might be a plan hiding in the process.

This story idea wasn’t born from pressure.
It came from play.
From experimentation.
From a mindset I now call The Dragon Omelette Principle:

Let yourself write something small and strange.
Combine a few ingredients, whisk, and write.
Trust that the magic might follow the effort, not precede it.

Here’s how I’ve started building stories lately:

1. Start with a constraint or trope.
“What if it’s like a police procedural… but with dragons?”

2. Write a scene, not a story.
Don’t outline. Just draft a moment and see what wants to happen.

3. Let your brain fill in the blanks.
If it feels good, let the story snowball. Don’t fix it mid-flight.
Your subconscious knows more than you think.

4. Later, zoom out and structure.
Once the excitement’s there, then layer in the arcs and worldbuilding.

Break some eggs.

I’m now working on turning this dragon rider concept into a proper YA fantasy novel.
But even if it had stayed just a short story, it would’ve still been worth it: for the practice, the surprise, and what it taught me about trusting small starts.

Too often, aspiring writers believe they need a Big Idea™ before they can begin.
But more often, the idea you're looking for is hiding behind the scene you're too hesitant to write.

If you’re struggling to find the "right" story to write next, try writing the "wrong" one.
The weird one.
The one that doesn't make sense yet.

I didn’t plan to write a YA novel this week.
But I made a microwave omelette…
And let myself chase a dragon.

And look where it led.

P.S. What’s your dragon omelette?
The weird experiment that led to something much bigger than expected?
Leave a comment or hit reply. I’d love to hear your story!

A lot of writers fall into the same trap:

They spend most of their time promoting their book… to other writers.

And I get it. Writers are generous, responsive, and quick to cheer you on. But deep down, many of us aren’t really marketing—we’re looking for validation. And it’s safer to seek that from people who get it.

The problem? Fellow writers aren’t your target readers.

They’re busy writing their own books.

If you want to grow a readership—not just a peer circle—here are 3 gentle remedies:

1. Talk to readers, not colleagues.
   Share stories, questions, or reviews that spark curiosity in book lovers, not just writers. Use your newsletter to invite readers into your world.

2. Build bridges outside the writing bubble.
   Where do your ideal readers hang out online? Fantasy groups? Cozy mystery forums? Parenting newsletters? Go there, listen, and offer value before pitching.

3. Validate yourself differently.
   Track connections, not likes. Did someone tell you your story moved them? That’s the real reward. Save those words somewhere visible. They’re proof you’re reaching the right people.

You don’t need to become a marketing machine. Just shift your gaze—from peers to readers.

It’s a small move, but it changes everything.

💬 Curious: Who is your ideal reader? Have you spoken to them lately?

There’s a note I read recently on Substack that stayed with me. It was written by , a fellow storyteller:

“I love creating, but I hate marketing myself.”

She described being asked, poolside, what she does for a living. Her answer came out in fragments: “I write... design… some children’s books… maybe a novella…” And then came the inward cringe. Why does saying it out loud feel so hard?

“It feels like: look at me, buy me—when what I really want to know is whether what I make could bring someone joy.”

That line stopped me in my tracks. Because I know that feeling. I’ve lived that feeling. I still do.

Why self-promotion feels so... shameful

I don’t think most writers hate marketing because they’re lazy or unmotivated. I think it’s about self-worth.

Marketing asks us to believe that our story is worth someone else’s time. That we are worth someone’s attention. But many of us grew up learning that pride is dangerous, that wanting to be seen is selfish, that humility means silence.

So when it comes time to talk about our creative work, we hesitate. We qualify. We shrink.

“I find it so hard to just be proud of what I make.”

And yet—Nienke has written children’s books. Illustrated stories. Translated them with friends. She is working on a dystopian, cyberpunk novella. And she’s still unsure whether it’s okay to tell people her stories exist.

If that resonates with you: you’re not alone.

The reframe that changed things for me

As a priest, I’ve had years of practice staying in the background. For a long time, I worried that talking about my creative projects—my writing, videos, podcasts—might seem self-indulgent.

But then I realized something: the stories I tell aren’t for me.

They’re for connection. For comfort. For delight. For hope.

So I started asking a different question, one that continues to change the way I think about self-promotion:

How can I make it easier for the right person to find the thing I made for them?

That question doesn’t feel arrogant. It feels generous. Helpful. Grounded.

It’s no longer “buy my book.”
It’s: “If this could brighten your day, I want you to know it’s here.”

What this looks like in practice

Here are a few ways I’ve learned to share my work without cringing. These might help you too:

1. Tell a story, not a pitch

Instead of saying: “Here’s my new novella, please check it out.”
Try: “This story came out of a moment when I felt completely invisible. I wonder if anyone else knows that feeling?”

Lead with the emotion that sparked the work. Let people connect to the why before you offer the what.

2. Share the joy, not the outcome

Post a sketch from your illustration process. A photo of your writing corner. A moment when a line finally came together.

Let people see that the process brings you joy. Joy is magnetic.

3. Ask for stories, not sales

Instead of pushing your book, ask something like:
“What’s a story you wish more people knew about?” or
“Do you remember the first book that made you feel seen?”

People want to talk about the things they love. Let your work be part of that conversation.

4. Use gentle visibility

Sometimes the kindest way to share your work is simply to mention it in context:
“While working on my children’s book, I stumbled into this fascinating rabbit hole about…”
No pitch. No pressure. Just presence.

5. Let others speak for you

Share a kind review. A reader message. A moment when someone said, “This meant something to me.”

It’s not bragging. It’s bearing witness.

You are not a product

You are not a brand. You are a person making beautiful, fragile, hopeful things.

Marketing doesn’t have to mean shouting. It doesn’t have to feel fake. It can be quiet. Honest. Even sacred.

It can be as simple as saying:
“Here. I made this. Maybe it’s for you.”

If this resonated, I’d love to hear your thoughts:
Have you found a way to share your work that feels authentic?
Or are you still working through the discomfort?

Let’s talk about it. Because the world needs more storytellers like Nienke. And like you.

Even if we have to learn—gently, over time—how to be seen.

—Fr. Roderick

I recently came across a post by that echoed something I’ve seen fiction writers ask themselves again and again:

“Fiction is the entire reason I signed up on Substack but it apparently doesn’t do well here (according to many posts I’ve read and what’s happening with my story), so I’m debating whether to post chapters-sporadically instead of sticking to my original once-a-week schedule, or maybe I’ll pull it down and finish it privately. Decisions, decisions!”

The question struck a chord—not just with me, but with many others. The thread lit up with encouragement, doubts, stories, strategies, and a beautiful mix of frustration and quiet determination.

It’s easy to feel invisible here when your stories get only a few reads. Easy to think you’re doing something wrong. Or that fiction “just doesn’t work” on Substack.

But after six weeks of posting a new short fantasy story every day—over 40 stories and nearly 50,000 words later—I’ve discovered that there’s more going on beneath the surface.

Here’s what I’ve learned from my own journey and from listening to dozens of other writers walking the same path:

1. Short Fiction Works Better Than You Think

Most readers are on their phones. That means:

• 📱 Shorter stories get read more.

• 🧩 Serializing longer works into small, daily episodes builds momentum.

• 🧠 A good title is often your only shot at being seen.

Think snackable, not skimpy. A tightly told 300-word scene can leave a stronger impression than a rambling 1,200-word chapter.

2. Format Like a Reader, Not a Writer

Use subtitles. Add space. Break up big paragraphs. Drop in an image.

Make it easy to scroll and impossible to get lost. Even the best story suffers when it feels like a wall of text.

3. Notes Are Where the Magic Happens

Not promos. Not links. Conversations.

I post about three Notes a day. Some ask questions. Some reflect on writing. Some just share the joy or doubt of being a storyteller. That’s where most of my new readers come from—not the inbox, but the ripple effect of a good thought shared at the right moment.

4. You’re Not Writing for Now. You’re Writing for the Long Tail.

Some of my new subscribers binge their way through older stories like they’ve found a secret archive. That’s the thing: every story you post becomes part of a growing body of work. You’re building something durable.

And one day, when you least expect it, someone might stumble in and stay.

5. A Few Loyal Readers Are Enough

Many fiction writers on Substack say they have three, four, maybe six people who read every post.

And it’s enough.

It keeps them writing. It holds them accountable. It reminds them that even small stories can land in someone’s heart.

6. This Isn’t Just About Substack

After 40 stories, I’ve realized something unexpected: I now have the foundation of an anthology. A full book I never planned to write. And I wrote it by showing up each day to post something small.

If nothing else, Substack helped me build a habit I’d been chasing for years.

So... Should You Keep Posting Fiction?

Yes—if it brings you joy.
Yes—if it helps you grow.
Yes—if it builds your body of work.
And yes—especially if it reminds you why you write in the first place.

Even if your stats are low.
Even if you feel unseen.
Even if your readers are other writers.

Because you’re not just chasing attention. You’re building something far more lasting: practice, voice, rhythm, trust. And that’s the real reward.

Fiction lives here, quietly but persistently—because we’re writing it.

What has posting stories here taught you so far? What keeps you going?

– Father Roderick

It was cold, wet, and miserable.

I’d been wandering around a fantasy festival in April, the kind that usually feels like stepping into another world—castles, costumes, laughter, magic. But this year the rain hadn’t stopped all day, and now there was even a trace of sleet in the air. My feet were soaked. My hands were frozen.

That’s when I noticed the tents.

Brown canvas, flapping in the wind. A few little flags. One of them caught my eye: the symbol of Rohan. Curious, I stepped closer. Under the canopy sat a group of people in medieval garb, huddled around a wooden table, laughing and sharing food. One of them looked up and smiled.

“Want a seat? Let us get you a cup of soup.”

That soup was hot, homemade, ladled from a pot hanging above a campfire. My fingers wrapped around the bowl, and I was hit with more than just warmth. I felt welcome. Seen. Part of something.

They didn’t hand me a flyer. They didn’t ask me to sign up for anything. They just invited me to join them. That cup of soup led to conversations, friendships, and eventually—I joined the Dutch Tolkien Society.

And that’s where today’s lesson begins.

The Missing Piece in So Many Messages

That gesture taught me something most homilies, newsletters, and YouTube videos get wrong.

We forget the invitation.

We tell stories. We explain things. We even inspire. But too often, there’s no clear bridge between the story and the next step. There’s no bowl of soup. No “Come, sit with us.”

In the Church, I see this all the time. A homily might be thoughtful, maybe even moving. Then comes the final blessing, a flurry of announcements, and everyone goes home.

But why do people come to Mass in the first place? They want guidance. They want to act on their faith. They want to do something with what they heard.

And too often, we leave them hanging.

The Call to Action Is a Gift, Not a Gimmick

This isn’t just a spiritual problem—it’s a storytelling one. And for those of us who are creators, it’s especially important.

For a long time, I resisted the language of marketing. As a priest, I felt like I shouldn’t have to “sell” anything. But then I remembered something Jesus said: “The worker is worth his wages.” And when he sent out the apostles, he told them to knock on doors and accept hospitality.

What is that, if not a call to action?

Marketing, at its best, is simply clear communication with a purpose. It’s helping people know how to take the next step. If we don’t offer that step, someone else will. And their message might be louder, shallower, and more manipulative.

Your work deserves better.

Why Most CTAs Don’t Work

Here’s the trap: most creators overdo it.

You’ve seen it. Maybe you’ve done it. I certainly have.

“Like and subscribe!”
“Follow me!”
“Get my free eBook!”
“Listen to my podcast!”
“Oh, and I’m starting a coaching group!”

The result? People do none of it.

In communication, less really is more. The most effective call to action is one, simple, and specific. Not five things. One.

It could be a question. A sign-up link. A single invitation. But it has to come after you’ve earned it—with story, trust, and value.

What I Learned from a Dutch Marketing Genius

I learned this lesson not in seminary, but in a monastery in Rome.

The Wi-Fi was terrible. The TV didn’t work. So at night, I downloaded audiobooks to stay sane. One of them was by a Dutch author who had cracked the code on email marketing.

His method? Tell a story. Make people laugh. Surprise them. Then—only then—invite them to do one small thing. He wrote daily emails that weren’t spam. They were delightful. And yes, they always sold something.

But because I trusted him, I clicked. I read his stories. I even followed his links to products I couldn’t afford, just to study how well he built connection. I learned more about storytelling from those emails than from some entire courses.

The secret? Every email had one story, one emotion, one offer. Not five. One.

What This Means for You

If you’re a writer, artist, or content creator, your work already touches people. But are you helping them respond?

Here are a few ways to put this into practice:

• One action per post: Instead of piling on, pick one next step. Just one.

• Make it feel generous: Give before you ask. Like a free chapter. A heartfelt story. A surprise.

• Connect emotion to action: If your story stirred something, offer a way to carry that feeling forward.

• Use soft questions: Ask gentle, emotionally resonant questions—like 'Has someone ever visited you when you were sick?'—instead of blunt commands like 'Click here.' These kinds of prompts invite reflection and connection, making people more likely to engage.

• Simplify the tech: Don’t ask for three names, two passwords, and a blood sample. Just an email. Maybe not even a real name.

And if you’re preparing for something big six months from now—a launch, a campaign, a new book—start building that connection now. With stories. With warmth. With soup.

And Now, a Call to Action (Just One)

If you found this article helpful, I’d love to help you go deeper. Sign up for this newsletter if you haven’t done so already:

Subscribe now

That’s it. Just one invitation. The soup is hot. Come and sit.

Fr. Roderick Vonhögen

“The people I write about aren’t heroes. They’re just trying to survive.”

That’s how Dutch speculative fiction author Kelly van der Laan describes her protagonists, and it’s the perfect entry point into her Paraiso trilogy, which concluded this summer with the release of De Waarde van Bloed (The Value of Blood).

Set in a futuristic, magic-infused metropolis, her books follow the lives of ordinary people—call center staff, receptionists, IT support—who find themselves trapped in a high-rise when terrorists unleash something far worse than explosives: a portal to hell.

“I pitched it as Die Hard with monsters,” she says with a grin. “But instead of cops and criminals, you’ve got office workers trying not to die.”

It’s modern fantasy at its grittiest and most grounded: no elves, no ancient swords. Just sorcery and tablets. And somehow, it works.

A Trilogy Years in the Making

The Paraiso trilogy didn’t arrive all at once. The first book, De Prijs van Water (The Price of Water), introduced a futuristic city where water has become a luxury, and the price keeps rising. A group of terrorists seals off a skyscraper and opens a portal to hell in the basement. It’s the kind of setup that sounds like it would demand a Hollywood budget—yet Kelly tells it through the eyes of the building’s everyday staff. Not heroes. Not soldiers. Just people.

The second book, Bloed in het Water (Blood in the Water), was published in 2024. The final volume, De Waarde van Bloed, landed in 2025 after a long creative detour.

“I’d written this huge first draft and then split it in two,” Kelly explains. “But I kept getting stuck trying to finish the second half. The tension didn’t work anymore. The momentum was gone.”

She tried everything: rewriting scenes, adding a prologue, expanding character arcs. Still, the spark wouldn’t come—until a solo writing retreat changed everything.

“One day it just clicked,” she says. “My writer’s block melted like snow in the sun. The story opened up again. I could finally see the thread I’d lost.”

From Stick Figures to Sci-Fi

Kelly’s storytelling started young—before she could even write. “I used to draw stick figures and tell stories to them,” she says. “I guess it was always in me.”

Her first completed story? “A serial killer murdering teenagers,” she says with a laugh. “I was twelve. Reading way too much Stephen King and Dean Koontz. What did you expect?”

That early love of horror eventually evolved into a broader love of speculative fiction. Today, Kelly writes what she calls “modern fantasy”: not swords and elves, but sorcery alongside smartphones. Magic embedded in the fabric of everyday life.

“I like stories where magic shows up in familiar places,” she explains. “Sorcery and tablets. Sorcery and traffic jams. That’s more fun to me than ancient kingdoms.”

Writing in Spurts, Living in Between

By day, Kelly works in IT—a job that seeps into her fiction in subtle ways. But her writing happens in the margins: evenings, weekends, stolen moments of inspiration.

“I write in bursts,” she says. “Huge frenzies where I get a ton done—and then I don’t touch a word for months.”

When she’s stuck, she shifts gears. Short stories. Anthologies. Reading. Gaming. “Sometimes you just need a palate cleanser,” she shrugs. “Eventually, the appetite comes back.”

Over the years, she’s learned to stop romanticizing the grind. Writing, especially when it stretches over years and spans multiple books, is a war of attrition. “You need endurance,” she says. “A series isn’t a sprint. It’s a marathon.”

Readers in the Wild

Despite the solitary nature of writing, Kelly has built a vibrant connection with readers—especially at festivals like Castlefest and Elfia, where she’s become a familiar face.

“There are people I see every year,” she says. “Some of them have kids I’ve watched grow up. They stop by to grab the new book, or just to chat and talk nonsense. That’s part of the magic too.”

Even when she was just a fan, long before she published her first book in 2014, she walked those same festival paths as a reader. “If I weren’t writing, I’d still be there. But now I’m working—which is kind of the dream.”

And readers haven’t forgotten that early work. “My first book came out over a decade ago,” she says, “and people still bring it up. They still want to talk about it. I’ve moved on—I like to think I’ve gotten better—but that connection never goes away.”

“You write it alone,” she says, “but you're actually writing for people you haven’t met yet.”

More Than Entertainment

Kelly doesn’t pretend her books are grand manifestos. “They’re entertainment first,” she says. “Popcorn stories. Fast-paced and fun.”

But there’s more under the surface, if you’re paying attention.

“If I can make someone laugh or give them a thrill, great. But if I can also get them to be a little kinder, a little more curious about someone else’s story—that’s even better.”

She gestures to the tattoo on her arm: Create. Affect. Repeat.

“That’s the goal,” she says. “This is how I leave something behind.”

Where to Find Her

You can find Kelly online at kellyvanderlaan.nl or follow her on Instagram at @rainbowsforkelly. No TikTok. “I’m too old for that,” she laughs.

But if you catch her at a festival, stop by her table. Ask about the monsters in the tower. Or just say hi. She’ll probably remember you.

Watch the video of the interview:

Have you ever posted something online that felt meaningful to you, only to watch it disappear into the void with barely a ripple? Maybe a vacation photo you loved, or a video you spent hours editing. A few likes, no comments. Silence.

Well, here’s the hard truth: you might be using a hamburger to catch a fish.

Fishing With Hamburgers

Years ago, I was invited to speak at a media conference in Italy. I’d prepared a 30-minute talk in English on podcasting—then, last minute, I was told I’d be speaking right before lunch, when everyone was tired and hungry. And in Italian.

Cue panic.

I knew I had to grab people’s attention quickly, especially with my rusty Italian. So instead of diving into abstract theories about social media, I ditched the slides and told a story:

“Imagine you love hamburgers. Now imagine you’re trying to catch fish. You throw a few Big Macs into the water. Nothing happens. Why? Because fish don’t like hamburgers. They want worms.”

The audience laughed. They pictured it. And most importantly, they listened.

That was the day I learned one of the most important lessons for storytellers working in media: if you want people to care, you have to start with what matters to them. And right before lunch, food was on everybody’s mind.

The Hook Isn’t a Gimmick. It’s a Gift.

The “hook” is what draws people in. It’s not manipulation. It’s an act of hospitality.

When Jesus told his disciples to be fishers of men, he didn’t hand them a theology textbook. He told stories about farmers, oil lamps, lost sheep, and seeds. Topics that his followers could relate to. He spoke in hooks.

Too often, we share something that’s important to us and assume that it will automatically matter to others. An artist shares a deeply personal painting. An author posts a passage from their manuscript. All good things—but without a hook, they often fall flat.

Why? Because the audience isn’t ready yet. They don’t know why it matters to them.

Start With What They Care About

Let me show you how this plays out practically.

I once posted a short video of myself watching the first trailer for Star Wars: The Force Awakensr. No introduction. No explanation. Just a priest with a big grin getting excited about spaceships and lightsabers.

It went viral.

Why? Because there was huge interest in the new Star Wars movie at the time. And because the contrast was unexpected. A priest geeking out over Star Wars? That dissonance was the hook. It broke the pattern. People stopped scrolling and got curious. Some stayed. Some followed. A few thousands stuck around.

The hook didn’t just grab their attention. It gave them a reason to care. “If this priest likes Star Wars, then I might like this priest,” someone wrote.

You can do the same thing—whether you’re writing fiction, preaching a homily, sharing your art, or inviting someone into your creative world.

A Simple Way to Practice

Try this experiment tonight: take a selfie of yourself looking at the dinner plate before you. Make sure the food is visible too. Then write one of two captions:

• “The most delicious thing I’ve eaten all year.”

• “This was absolutely disgusting.”

Post it. See what happens.

Food is universal—everyone can relate. It sparks contrast, curiosity, and sometimes even controversy. (Try taking a selfie with a pineapple-topped pizza and watch how many Italians react.) In that moment, you’ve created connection.

In your next post, react to the comments you received. You’ll be surprised how much engagement you’ll get.

You can apply the same principles to any post you write, any speech you give, any story you tell.

Don’t Start With “Who I Am”

So many of us—especially those with something meaningful to say—begin by introducing ourselves. Our background. Our credentials. Our process.

But here’s the truth: nobody cares.

Not yet.

Start with the problem. The story. The surprising image. The tension. Open a loop. Let people lean in and wonder, “Where is this going?”

Once you have their attention, you’ve earned the right to introduce yourself.

Do This, Not That

An example. Say you’d like to promote your upcoming novel.

Don’t just post a picture of your book cover with the caption “Buy my book!” Why not? Because—let’s be honest—no one knows you or your story yet. And that means no one cares. Yet.

Instead, spark curiosity. Share the covers of a few well-known books in your genre and ask: “Which of these do you love most?” Then follow up with:

“If you picked [insert title], you might enjoy the book I’m writing—it shares [insert theme, tone, or twist], but with a fresh spin.”

How I’m Applying This to My Own Writing Journey

As I work on my first fantasy novel, I’m trying to live this out. I share short updates on my YouTube channel right after writing—sharing frustrations, insights, ideas, or something I’ve learned from another storyteller.

Instead of saying, “I’m writing a book, please follow me,” I invite people into the adventure. I open with the struggle or the spark. I lead with curiosity. I try to be useful, vulnerable, or entertaining.

That’s the hook.

Storytelling Is a Service

In the end, the hook is not about tricking people. It’s about serving them.

You’re not here to be impressive. You’re here to connect.

That vacation photo? Instead of “look at me,” try: “This moment made me realize how grateful I am for the friends who carried me through a tough season. Who are your people?”

That turns your post into an invitation. A moment of shared humanity. A story that matters.

I’m here to help you share what matters, in a way that others can hear. You have a mission. Let’s make sure it reaches the people who need it.

Fr. Roderick Vonhögen.

“I was on the edge of a burnout. I sat on a bench in a forest and this other part of my brain… it just opened up.”

Charlotte de Winter never dreamed of becoming a novelist. She was chasing another dream entirely—career woman of the year, as she puts it, with long hours, high risks, and a fast-paced life built on ambition. But one day, life called her bluff. Teetering on burnout, she took a sabbatical and sat alone in a forest, expecting silence.

What she found instead was a story—an image, a scene, that demanded to be written.

Within six weeks, she had the rough draft of The Keykeeper, a murder mystery with supernatural undertones set in the moody landscapes of England and Scotland. That spark became the first in a series of three novels, the first one of which was recently translated into English.

A Murder Mystery with a Psychic Twist

The Keykeeper isn’t your average whodunit. “It’s a very exciting, sexy murder mystery,” Charlotte says, laughing. “A lot of people get murdered—probably people from my past I wanted to get rid of.”

But the novel adds a layer of fantasy to the genre. The protagonist, Finlay Reed, is a young Scottish homicide detective trying to solve a murder case—except he’s been cursed with supernatural powers he doesn’t want. One of those powers? The ability to enter another person’s mind: to see memories, hear thoughts, even implant ideas.

“He doesn’t want them,” she explains. “But the criminal he’s chasing does have the same powers—and uses them.”

The blend of thriller and fantasy elements—“a fantasy thriller,” in Charlotte’s words—makes for a unique tone that balances suspense, humor, and speculative wonder.

Haunted Beginnings and a Highland Muse

Charlotte’s love affair with the UK goes back years. Though she lives in the Netherlands, she writes exclusively in English settings.

“England is the country of my heart,” she says. “As soon as I come there, my blood starts to sing.”

It was during a solo retreat in a remote English cottage that she first experienced something… eerie. One night, she woke to find a smiling Victorian girl in her room.

“She was friendly. But it scared the hell out of me.”

A local explained matter-of-factly: “Oh, that’s Maria—from 200 years ago.” Whether ghost or dream, the image lingered. That, paired with the film Highlander—in which a man is killed, stands up, and walks away—sowed the subconscious seeds of her novels.

“My Characters Ignore Me”

From the moment that first scene appeared to her on the bench in the forest, Charlotte’s writing life took on a life of its own. Her characters now talk to her—and, worse, disobey her.

“They go their own way and I just run after them,” she jokes.

The creative shift was so profound that she sold her home, left the city, and moved into a cabin in the woods with just her cat for company. There, the stories flowed: book four is in the works, and five, six, and seven are planned.

“I love my life at this moment,” she says. “I get to kill people—which is fun. I get to work with characters I love, some I hate—which is fun too.”

But writing hasn’t just brought her joy. It brought her healing, a new rhythm of life, and a community of readers who’ve wept with her over saying goodbye to beloved characters at the end of book three.

Readers Who Don't Like Fantasy—But Love This

At Castlefest—a haven for fans of epic fantasy, dragons, and distant realms—Charlotte stood out in the tent of her Dutch publisher, Zilverspoor, promoting something a little different. Her books don’t feature mythical beasts or secondary worlds. Instead, they unfold in the moody landscapes of modern-day England and Scotland, blending mystery, crime, and just a hint of the supernatural.

“If you really, really like fantasy, you’re not going to like this,” she says with a grin. “But people are so surprised—they read it and they do like it.”

Her blend of contemporary settings, crime, and subtle fantasy hits a sweet spot for readers who enjoy the thrill of the unexplained but grounded in the familiar. And Charlotte’s signature humor—whether it’s carpeted British bathrooms or the jam vs. cream scone debate—keeps the tone delightfully human.

For the record, she’s Team Cornish: jam first, cream on top.

Blogging, Boldness, and David Tennant

Charlotte’s honesty and humor come through in her regular blog, where she shares the ups and downs of writing life. Readers appreciate her openness—like when she teared up over finishing book three and saying goodbye to Finlay and the gang.

“They said, ‘We’re going to cry too. We’re coming to Castlefest just to get book three.’ That was amazing.”

She also dares to dream big. At Dutch Comic Con, she met David Tennant and handed him a copy of The Keykeeper, asking him to play Finlay Reed in a future screen adaptation. His response? A smile and a yes.

“It was only supposed to be ten seconds, but I took a minute,” she laughs.

Write Boldly, Live Bravely

Charlotte’s journey—from career burnout to bestselling fantasy-thriller author—is a reminder that sometimes the stories we most need to tell are the ones we never planned for.

“If you feel a calling, follow it,” she says. “Stop what you’re doing if it doesn’t make you happy. Turn that corner. It takes guts.”

She sold her house, risked everything, and found her voice—and herself—among the whispering woods.

“The future is for the brave and the bold,” she says. “And I love it.”

Read more on Charlotte’s website: charlottedewinter.nl

Watch the video of the interview:

When you're building a mission, a community, or a creative career, it can be tempting to rely on facts, stats, and polished pitches to convince others to join you. But here's the thing: people don't connect to information. They connect to stories.

I learned this from an elephant. Two, actually. My local zoo had two elderly elephants rescued from harsh conditions. For years, they showed little natural behavior, just pacing, rocking, and ignoring the pool in their enclosure.

Then the zoo introduced two younger elephants. Over months, they shared updates on social media: cautious introductions, tentative steps toward friendship, and then, one summer day, a miracle. The youngest elephant walked into the pool, rolled over, splashed, and bathed happily for the first time in years.

I couldn't stop following their journey. The story of those elephants stuck with me. It made me care. It made me support the zoo.

This is the power of storytelling. And it's exactly the tool you need to bring your mission or creative work to life.

Why Storytelling Works

• People give because they feel something, not because they calculate the benefits.

• Stories show change. A mission isn't just an idea; it's action and transformation.

• Good stories make your audience see themselves in the journey you share.

Think about fundraising letters. Often, they're dry, general statements about why the church, charity, or creative project is important. What would happen if you told a story instead? A story of one person helped, one life changed, one moment of hope or discovery.

This isn't just theory. I saw the difference myself in my media work. When I shifted from sharing information about pop culture to sharing the personal stories of fans, people began to care. They recognized themselves in the stories. They felt connected.

How to Start Telling Stories

1. Know your audience. Use language, examples, and experiences they relate to.

2. Show transformation. Highlight the moments of change or breakthrough that prove your mission works.

3. Share regularly. Don't wait for a fundraising push or book launch. Build connection now, so the ask feels natural later.

Storytelling isn't about hype. It's about truth, connection, and inviting others into the journey.

So remember: share stories, not just information. Build connection, not just awareness. That's how you grow your mission, one listener, one reader, one supporter at a time.

Fr. Roderick Vonhögen.

“Sometimes you just have to ride your bike, walk your dog, and wait. And then it hits.”

For Ian Laverman, a Dutch fantasy author with seven books under his belt, inspiration can be elusive—but when it strikes, it’s explosive. His intricately plotted world, De Kronieken van Magie (now published in English as A Sorcerer’s Legacy), is a testament to that creative spark and the years of structure and storytelling that underpin it.

The first English volume, Shadows Cast by Magic, has just been released—and for Laverman, it’s a dream long in the making.

From Star Wars Fanfic to a Magic-Filled Universe

Ian’s journey began with fanfiction. “I started writing just for fun,” he recalls. “It was Star Wars fanfic at first. Then I thought, no, I want to create something of my own. The Lord of the Rings movies helped a lot. I thought, ‘Yeah, that’s something I want to do.’”

That initial spark evolved into a sprawling fantasy universe where every story, novella, and trilogy is part of one larger narrative tapestry.

“I hope a few years from now that all those characters can come together in one big story that finishes the whole universe,” he says with a grin. “That’s the one I’m going to sell to Disney.”

The Structure Behind the Magic

Ian writes fast-paced, high-action fantasy with intricate magical systems and cinematic fight scenes. But behind the adrenaline is a meticulous planner.

“I’m an architect type of writer,” he explains. “Everything I write is pre-planned and pre-thought-up. I know the characters, their growth, the enemies they’ll face. I even include little tidbits now that will show up again in books I’ll write ten years from now.”

For readers, that attention to detail pays off. “You need to reread my work to catch everything. If you’re paying attention, you’ll see how it all fits together.”

Shadows Cast by Magic: A Dream Come True

Laverman’s newly released English debut, Shadows Cast by Magic, gathers three novellas that showcase his range—from eerie horror to emotional brotherhood to explosive action.

1. The Sleep That Binds: A mysterious affliction is sweeping through a village—anyone who falls asleep can’t be woken. Two young state sorcerers must unravel the curse before it claims them too.

2. The Household Rebellion: Niff wakes to find his furniture alive—and homicidal. It’s a darkly whimsical tale with a chilling twist.

3. The Fractured Bond: Acwell must hunt down Akuji, his once-beloved brother, now a criminal manipulated by their father. The story unfolds in two timelines, building a tragic portrait of love turned to loss.

These stories, previously available only in Dutch, have now found a new home with English-speaking readers. Laverman used various tools to translate the book and worked closely with an English speaker to polish the translation. “It’s hard work,” he admits. “But this was always the goal.”

When the Words Stop Flowing

Despite his planning, Laverman is no stranger to creative droughts. “Since Corona, I’ve been stuck,” he confesses. “Four years without a new book. It just didn’t work.”

What brought him back?

“There was this one character—one of the first mages I ever thought of. I’d never written his story. And suddenly I knew: I want to write about him.” That moment of connection was enough to pull him out of the slump. “It worked. I didn’t expect it, but it worked.”

For Ian, the lesson is simple but powerful: “You can’t force inspiration, but you can be ready. Keep trying. Eventually, it will come.”

Choreographing Action Like a Dance

Laverman draws more inspiration from manga than classic Western fantasy. “Tolkien is great, but I love fight scenes,” he says. “Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, One Piece—that’s where the creativity in magic and action comes alive.”

To write compelling combat, he thinks like a choreographer.

“You cut the fight scene into blocks and tell a story within each. It’s like a dance—you escalate, you shift, and you conclude. A fight scene should have a beginning, middle, and end, just like any good story.”

What's Next

After four quiet years, Ian is finally writing again. A new book in A Sorcerer’s Legacy is on the horizon, and with Shadows Cast by Magic making its English debut, international readers are just beginning to discover the world he’s been building for a decade.

Follow Ian on Instagram at @thekroniekvanmagie or @ianlaverman to stay updated on his writing journey.

“If you’re paying attention, it’ll all come back around.”

With that promise, Ian Laverman invites us deeper into a world where every spell has a cost, every fight tells a story—and every story, eventually, comes full circle.

Watch the video of the interview: