There’s a point in writing where things stop feeling controlled.
Not like messy in a bad kinda way.
Definitely not lost.
Just… a bit different.
Like the story isn’t sitting in your hands anymore.
Like it’s almost standing across from you.
I’ve been feeling that a lot recently working on The Heretic’s Gospel.
At first, it was just another idea. Another character. Another story I was building piece by piece like I always do. Structure. Arcs. Themes. All the things you’re supposed to focus on.
But somewhere along the way, it just shifted.
Serith stopped feeling like a character I was writing…
and started feeling like someone I was trying to constantly understand.
Im not sure how others view it, but to me that’s a dangerous place to be as a writer.
Because now you’re not just asking,
“What happens next?”
You’re asking:
“Why would he do that?”
“Why does this feel right even if it shouldn’t?”
“What part of this is him… and what part isn’t?”
And if you’ve read into it at all, you already know…
Serith isn’t just one thing.
There’s him…
and then there’s something else.
Something that doesn’t speak the same way.
Doesn’t think the same way.
Doesn’t care about the same things.
And writing that?
It forces you to sit in a space where you don’t get easy answers.
That’s the part people don’t really talk about when it comes to writing darker stories.
It’s not just about making things edgy or intense.
It’s about holding two truths at once.
Serith can be calculated, quiet, controlled,
the kind of man you’d trust without thinking twice.
And at the same time…
There’s something in him that isn’t asking for trust.
It’s not asking for anything at all.
It just is.
And when you write that correctly, it changes how you approach everything.
Dialogue feels different.
Scenes feel heavier.
Even silence starts to mean something.
You stop writing just to move the plot forward.
You start writing to feel where the tension actually lives.
That’s something I’ve been learning the hard way.
Because it’s easy to write moments that look good.
It’s harder to write moments that feel like they’re about to break.
Like something’s sitting just beneath the surface, waiting.
That’s where The Heretic’s Gospel has been pulling me.
Not into bigger scenes.
But deeper ones.
Ones where a conversation isn’t just a conversation.
It’s a test.
A lie.
A warning.
Ones where a character isn’t just reacting to the world…
They’re reacting to something inside themselves that they don’t fully control.
And that’s where writing gets uncomfortable.
Because now you’re not just shaping a story.
You’re sitting in it.
You’re letting it push back on you.
You’re letting it ask questions you don’t have clean answers for.
That’s the forge.
Not the easy days.
Not the days where everything flows and you feel like a genius.
The days where you sit there thinking,
“Why does this feel off?”
and you keep digging anyway.
The days where you realize a scene needs to go further than you wanted it to.
Or a character needs to say something you weren’t ready to write.
That’s where the real work is.
Because that’s where the story stops being safe.
And when a story stops being safe…
that’s when it starts becoming real.
So if you’re writing right now and it feels uncomfortable,
like you’re stepping into something you don’t fully understand,
good.
Stay there.
That’s not you doing it wrong.
That’s you getting closer.
Because the best stories?
They don’t just come from you.
At some point…
they start watching you back.
The Writer’s Forge
Crafting stories. Sharpening skills. Growing as writers.
— E.J. Cordoue
Creator of Tales of Varestal
Where kingdoms rise, and crowns shatter.
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