The Road to Becoming an Author: Embracing the Imperfections of My Creative Journey

When I first dreamed of becoming an author, the image in my mind was flawless. I imagined myself sitting at a perfectly arranged desk, typing away as inspiration poured from me like water from a spring, creating rich worlds and characters with effortless ease. I pictured polished manuscripts flowing out into the world, readers eagerly devouring my words and critics hailing my brilliance. 

The reality, of course, has been far from perfect. And thank goodness for that.

The road to becoming an author has been anything but smooth. It’s been a winding path full of missteps, setbacks, and detours I never anticipated. In my earliest days, I struggled to find my voice, pouring over drafts that felt lifeless or derivative. I compared myself endlessly to other writers, convinced I would never measure up. For years, I wrestled with self-doubt, wondering if I was fooling myself into thinking I could ever create something worth sharing.

But looking back now, I see that the imperfect parts of my journey—the rewrites, the rejection letters, the moments of doubt—were essential. Each bump in the road taught me something new about my craft and, more importantly, about myself.

The Struggle Shapes the Story

The imperfections in my writing process have always pushed me to grow. I’ve learned to embrace first drafts that are clunky and uninspired because I know the real magic happens in revision. Early on, I wanted every sentence to be perfect on the first try, but now I know that writing is a process. Sometimes, you have to get the bad ideas out of your system to make way for the good ones.

In the early stages of my career, I was terrified of feedback. A critique felt like a personal attack, and I was quick to defend my choices. Over time, I realized that feedback—no matter how hard it was to hear—was one of the greatest tools for growth. Now, I seek it out, grateful for the chance to see my work through someone else’s eyes.

Setbacks Are Just Part of the Journey

There have been plenty of moments when I’ve felt like giving up. Manuscripts that were rejected by every publisher I sent them to. Stories I thought were brilliant, only to have them fall flat with readers. Even now, when I’m deep into writing a series, I sometimes wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

But every setback has also been an opportunity to learn. The rejections taught me to approach my work with humility and to always strive to improve. The failed stories taught me to listen more closely to my audience and to pay attention to the elements that make a story resonate.

I’ve also learned that the setbacks don’t erase the progress I’ve made. Each word I’ve written, even the ones I eventually deleted, has been part of the process of becoming a better writer.

Imperfections Give the Work Life

One of the most surprising lessons I’ve learned is that imperfections aren’t just something to overcome—they’re something to embrace. In my writing, it’s often the messy, unexpected elements that bring a story to life. A character who defies my original plan and takes the story in a new direction. A plot hole that forces me to come up with a creative solution. Even a typo can lead to an idea I wouldn’t have considered otherwise.

In my personal life, too, I’ve learned to embrace the imperfections. Writing isn’t a linear process, and neither is life. Some days, the words come easily, and other days, I stare at a blank screen for hours. Some days, I feel like I’m on top of the world, and other days, I wonder if I’m fooling myself into thinking I can do this.

But through it all, I keep going. Because I’ve learned that the imperfections are what make the journey worth it.

A Work in Progress

If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it’s that becoming an author is never really finished. Just like a story is never truly “done,” we as writers are always growing, always learning, always refining our craft.

I’m still learning to embrace the imperfections in my work and in myself. I’m still figuring out how to balance writing with the other demands of my life. I’m still learning how to share my stories with the world without losing sight of the joy of creating them.

And that’s okay. Because, in the end, the imperfections are what make the journey real.

To anyone out there who’s struggling with their own creative journey, I want to say this: Don’t let the imperfections hold you back. They’re not signs of failure; they’re proof that you’re trying, that you’re growing, that you’re on the path to something extraordinary.

Keep going. Keep writing. And embrace the imperfections—they’re what make your story yours.

How My Parker IM Shapes My Writing Journey

When it comes to writing tools, most people think about keyboards, screens, or even voice-to-text apps. But for me, there’s something grounding—almost magical—about holding a good pen. My Parker IM pen isn’t just a tool; it’s a connection to the creative process, a symbol of the deliberate thought that writing demands.

I bought the Parker IM pen during a time when I felt my writing was spinning out of control—too many ideas, too many stories, and not enough clarity. This pen helped me slow down. With its smooth ink flow and the perfect weight in my hand, it became my go-to for jotting down spontaneous ideas, sketching starship designs, or even mapping entire worlds in a notebook.

A Creative Ritual

There’s something meditative about using a fine pen on quality paper. The act of uncapping it, putting the nib to the page, and seeing words appear in smooth, black ink feels deeply satisfying. When I’m stuck on a plot point or a world-building detail, I pick up the Parker IM and let it guide me. The tactile sensation of writing on paper helps me step out of the chaos of digital life and into the calm focus of the creative moment.

A Pen That’s Seen Worlds

My Parker IM has become a part of my world-building process. Many of my most vivid notes about the Merchant of Vision universe were scribbled in longhand—sector maps, starship designs, and even character motivations. There’s something about holding a pen and writing that makes the ideas feel more real. A pen can’t hit “delete.” You have to cross something out, which gives you the chance to reflect on your thoughts in ways that typing can’t.

Finding Meaning in the Small Things

In a way, this pen has become a metaphor for my writing journey. It’s not about the fastest way to get words down, or the flashiest tool; it’s about consistency, focus, and being present in the moment. Writing with a pen, especially one that feels as good as the Parker IM, reminds me that creativity is as much about the process as it is about the final product.

So if you’re a writer—or even just a thinker—who’s looking to reconnect with the joy of creating, consider picking up a good pen and a blank notebook. You might be surprised by the worlds it helps you bring to life.

What’s your favorite writing tool? Do you prefer digital, analog, or a mix of both? Let’s talk about the tools that help us tell our stories.

The Art of Writing Interstellar Histories

When writing a sprawling Space Opera, one of the biggest challenges lies in managing the intricate web of timelines that form the backbone of your universe. In the Merchant of Vision series, for example, every faction, every character, and every world has its own history—a tapestry of events that must align seamlessly to create a believable and immersive universe. It’s a daunting task, but also one of the most rewarding aspects of world-building.

The Timeline as the Skeleton of the Story

For me, the timeline isn’t just a reference document—it’s the very skeleton of my narrative. Without it, the story would collapse under the weight of its own inconsistencies. Wars fought hundreds of years ago, the rise and fall of empires, the discovery of star drives, and personal milestones for the characters all have to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. A timeline ensures that every action, every consequence, and every ripple effect makes sense within the broader context of the universe.

My Process: From Chaos to Order

Organizing timelines is not a linear process—it’s messy, recursive, and deeply satisfying. Here’s how I approach it:

1. Start Big, Then Narrow Down

I begin with broad strokes. For instance, when did the Terran First Empire rise and fall? What catalyzed the Prophet’s War, which left the galaxy fractured for a thousand years? Once I have those major events plotted, I zoom in to focus on individual factions or characters. This creates layers of history that feel real because they’re grounded in the "big picture."

2. Visual Tools Are Essential

I rely heavily on visual tools to keep everything straight. Timelines in my timeline creation software help me map key dates, while color-coding lets me quickly identify which events belong to which factions. For interstellar histories, I’ve even sketched out maps that evolve over time—showing the ebb and flow of territories, trade routes, and alliances. That was a real chore but it was also extremely helpful in making the whole thing seem more real to me. Mapping sectors that were initially barely explored star systems and then fledgling colonies or scout bases, and then minor interstellar routes which overtime became major trade hubs with Naval installations.

3. Character-Centric Threads

Characters don’t exist in isolation, and their backstories often intersect with galactic events. For example, Kris Herron’s ambition to attend the Naval Academy ties directly to the legacy of her father who died in the Felis Wars. Plotting her personal timeline alongside the broader galactic timeline helps me maintain cohesion.

4. Interweaving Past, Present, and Future

One of the trickiest parts of timeline management is ensuring that past events resonate in the present storylines. A thousand-year-old war may seem like ancient history, but its consequences ripple through every page of Merchant of Vision. I ask myself questions like: How do characters view these events? Are they myths to some or painful realities to others? The same is true for foreshadowing future possibilities—laying the groundwork for what comes next is just as critical.

Maintaining Consistency

Consistency is the hallmark of any well-crafted Space Opera. I frequently revisit my timeline to cross-check dates, ages, and durations. For example:

How old would Duchess Zhōu Yuèguāng have been during pivotal events like the Felis occupation of her homeworld?

If a starship takes three weeks to cross a specific subsector, how does that affect the pacing of the plot?

Whenever I hit a snag, I return to the timeline to ensure the answer aligns with established facts.

Tools of the Trade

Beyond timelines, I use several other methods to keep track of my universe’s intricate history:

1. Historical Summaries

I write "historical essays" for major factions or events, written as though they’re from an in-universe perspective. This not only helps me keep the history consistent but also inspires world-building details that can enrich the narrative.

2. Event Cards

Sometimes, I break events into individual cards—each representing a war, discovery, or political upheaval. These cards can be physically shuffled or digitally rearranged as I work through plot ideas, making it easier to see how different pieces connect.

3. Reference Documents

I maintain detailed character sheets and planetary profiles to ensure that everything—from cultural traditions to technological levels—lines up with the timeline.

The Joy of Exploration

While keeping track of a vast timeline might seem overwhelming, it’s also where I find joy and inspiration. There’s something thrilling about watching the pieces come together, about discovering new connections that I hadn’t planned. Sometimes, an inconsistency forces me to rethink a storyline—and more often than not, the result is stronger for it.

For example, when I realized that the collapse of the Terran First Empire overlapped with the rise of Felis starpower, it opened up new narrative possibilities about how their interactions shaped the current galactic landscape. That small detail, born out of necessity, became a linchpin for the entire series.

Why It Matters

Timelines aren’t just for the writer—they’re for the reader, too. A well-organized timeline lends depth and authenticity to the story. It allows readers to immerse themselves fully, to feel like they’re stepping into a living, breathing universe with its own logic and history.

For me, the timeline is more than a tool—it’s a promise to my readers that the world they’re exploring is as vivid and consistent as the one they live in. And in the end, that’s what makes all the effort worthwhile.

If you’ve ever tackled timelines in your own writing, I’d love to hear your process! How do you navigate the past, present, and future in your stories? Share your thoughts below!

Escaping to Other Worlds: Writing Through Uncertainty

Every morning, I sit down at my desk with a quiet determination. I think about my goals: finishing the next chapter, mapping out a new sector of the galaxy, balancing the family finances, and making sure my loved ones are taken care of. Life feels like a juggling act, and sometimes the weight of it all—especially the looming uncertainty of the world we live in—feels heavier than usual.

Lately, I’ve been trying to stay off social media. It’s not that I don’t want to connect with people, but it’s exhausting to see the endless flood of outrage, misinformation, and hopelessness. Every headline is a reminder of the rising tide of global instability. Climate change, the resurgence of authoritarian ideologies, and the unsettling presence of UAPs (unidentified aerial phenomena) create a tapestry of tension that’s hard to ignore.

But as a writer, I have my own way of dealing with this: I escape to the worlds I create.

My paracosm—my personal universe of stories, characters, and maps—has always been my refuge. I know that many readers turn to escapist fiction to forget about their troubles, and I realize now that I’m doing the same thing for myself. When I sit down to draw the trade routes between two star systems or imagine the political tensions between interstellar factions, I’m stepping into a world where I have control, where the chaos can be organized into something meaningful.

The truth is, the worlds I create aren’t perfect. They’re full of conflict, greed, and power struggles. But there’s a difference: I can see the bigger picture. I can understand the motivations of each character, the causes of each war, and the eventual resolutions that bring some sense of closure. In these imagined worlds, the struggle makes sense. On Earth, it often feels like it doesn’t.

I think a lot about why I write. On the surface, it’s to entertain, to craft a story that keeps readers turning the pages. But on a deeper level, I think I write because it’s my way of processing the world. The rise of fascism, the endless pursuit of greed and power, the fragile hope that humanity can find a better path—all of these themes find their way into my stories. Art imitates life, even when the life we’re imitating feels tragic.

And yet, writing these stories gives me hope. Because even in the darkest corners of the universe I’ve created, there’s always a flicker of light. There are characters who choose courage over fear, who fight for something greater than themselves. That’s what keeps me writing, even on the days when it feels like the world is falling apart.

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how much darker things will get before they get better. But I do know that I’ll keep doing my best—writing, creating, and finding a way to navigate the light and shadow of this strange, beautiful, and often heartbreaking life.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of the world on your shoulders, I hope my stories—or any stories—can give you a moment of escape. We all need a place to breathe, even if it is in the stars.

Nine Years as an Expat, in Thailand.

J6. Some years ago. But the line held.

But this post is about much more. Nine years. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since I first arrived in Thailand, stepping off the Dragonair plane from Hong Kong into a place that felt both foreign and familiar, a land I had dreamed of calling home. My reasons for coming here were many, layered, and deeply personal. Part of it was practical: the cost of living, the allure of a slower pace, a chance to build a life with less financial strain. But a larger part of it was a choice to escape, a desire to remove myself from a trajectory I saw unfolding back home in America—a path that seemed ominous even then.

When I left, the rumblings of political upheaval had already begun. Donald Trump was preparing to be president, and even in those early days, I could feel the storm coming. I didn’t anticipate the full scope of what would happen: the chaos, the lies, the pandemic that would ravage the world, and the way it would be mishandled so catastrophically in America. Time proved me right, COVID-19 was devastating enough, but watching my home country falter under poor leadership was another level of heartbreak. The scars it left are personal; they run deep. My second wife died in Ohio during those terrible years, and though I had chosen a different path for myself, her loss—and the suffering of so many others—remains a wound I carry.

And now, it seems, the storm isn’t over. Trump is back in play, and tens of millions of people seem eager to follow him down the path of ending democracy, eroding freedoms, and fueling division. It’s astonishing, maddening, and deeply sorrowful. What fools these mortals be, clinging to lies, hate, and fear as their guiding lights. I weep for my country, for the potential it once had, and for the damage it inflicts on itself with every misguided choice.

Today, as the sun set here in northern Thailand, the sky was nothing short of breathtaking. Wondrous hues of orange and pink stretched across the horizon, their beauty almost mocking in contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. I couldn’t help but feel the weight of this juxtaposition—how such a quiet, beautiful place could coexist with the tumultuous world I left behind.

I think about the life I’ve built here. A rescue cat, that is 8 1/2 years old. She has FIV, and was slayed to die 5 years ago. But she is still hanging in there, as am I. This life...It’s far from perfect, but it’s mine. A quiet Sunday spent writing, creating maps, and Space opera, and Fantasy worlds where hope can endure even in the face of despair, where characters navigate chaos with courage and determination. Maybe it’s a form of therapy, this act of making worlds while the real one feels like it’s beginning to burn, again.

Maybe it’s my way of coping, of holding onto the belief that even in the darkest times, there’s a chance for something better.

I often ask myself if I did the right thing, leaving when I did. Was it cowardice? Was it wisdom? I don’t know. What I do know is that I couldn’t have stayed and watched the unraveling firsthand. And yet, even from across the globe, the sorrow is inescapable. I still feel the pain of watching my homeland fall apart, piece by piece.

Nine years. It’s a lifetime and a heartbeat all at once. I’ve built a life here in Thailand, one filled with love for my family, my wife and kids, my cat. Love for the stories I write, and for the quiet moments under skies that seem to stretch endlessly. But I carry the memories of America with me, the good and the bad. I carry the grief for what was lost and the hope that maybe, somehow, it can still be reclaimed.

For now, I’ll keep creating. I’ll keep dreaming. I’ll keep building worlds where light finds a way to break through the darkness, even if only in fiction. Because sometimes, that’s all we have—and sometimes, it’s enough.

The Infinite Beauty of the Details: A Glimpse into the Merchant of Vision Universe

One of the most rewarding aspects of crafting the Merchant of Vision universe has been immersing myself in the tiny, intricate details that bring this vast galaxy to life. There's something to be said for suggestions for the reader. But also I just love to generate facts and data for the setting.  The worlds, the cultures, the histories—they’re all painted with broad strokes and refined with careful, deliberate attention to the small, fascinating quirks that make them feel alive.

Take, for example, the mysterious orbital megastructure known as Kaeloth’s Array. When I first conceived of it, it was simply a massive ring encircling a dying star—a remnant of an ancient civilization that had long since vanished into the void. But as I dug deeper into its potential story, it evolved into so much more. The Array isn’t just an artifact; it’s a fully functional hub of ancient technology, its inner rings housing gravitational wave collectors and energy converters that tap directly into the dying star’s volatile energy. This power is distributed through still-functioning conduits to nearby systems, remnants of a galactic empire that stretched across hundreds of star systems thousands of years ago.

But the real joy in world-building isn’t just about the big, dramatic elements like Kaeloth’s Array. It’s in the small, surprising details that emerge when you’re fleshing out a world. For example, on the lush, jungle planet of Talarin, the locals harvest phosphorescent “sky-pods”—balloon-like plants that emit a soft, natural glow at night. Used as both lanterns and decorations, these sky-pods have become central to Talarin’s culture, symbolizing light in the darkness. To outsiders, they might seem like mere curiosities, but to the Talarin people, they hold deep cultural significance, featuring in songs, festivals, and even funerary rites.

One of the most unique and mind-bending details in the Merchant of Vision universe is the phenomenon of "memory currents" on the planet Zaien Toh. Here, travelers speak of rivers that seem to hum with ancient songs. Scientists hypothesize that these “currents” are made up of microbial organisms that emit vibrations, collectively creating an ambient soundscape that shifts and evolves as the currents flow. It’s a small, strange detail, but it’s these little things that make Zaien Toh feel like a real place.

For me, these fun facts and intricate world-building details aren’t just “extra” material—they’re the heart of the story. They’re what make the Merchant of Vision universe not just a backdrop for action and drama, but a living, breathing galaxy full of wonder, history, and endless possibilities.

These moments of discovery—both for the characters and for me as the creator—are what inspire me to keep writing. When I create a new detail, whether it’s a forgotten relic, an alien species, or a strange natural phenomenon, I’m reminded of why I started this journey.

So, tell me—what’s the one small detail from a story or a world you’ve read about that stuck with you? Is it a glowing plant, a singing river, or something even stranger? I’d love to hear how these details have shaped your connection to a story as a reader or an author!

Friday Writing Inspiration: Iterating Maps and Stories – The Power of Revision

 

Writing is often compared to a journey, but for me, it’s equally about charting the terrain—both figuratively and literally. Over the years, I’ve created countless maps for the settings in my stories. These maps, much like the stories themselves, have gone through multiple iterations. Each time, I refine my process, adopt new tools or techniques, and find better ways to express the intricate worlds I’ve built in my mind.

When I started, my maps were simple sketches, born from imagination and hastily scrawled on paper. At the time, they felt perfect—a complete reflection of the worlds I wanted to share. But as my understanding of the stories deepened, I found myself revisiting those early drafts, feeling the need to evolve and refine them. The characters grew richer, the cultures more complex, and the distances between stars more meaningful. The maps, like the stories they were tied to, had to grow with them.

Every iteration of a map is like editing a chapter. Sometimes, it means cutting out entire sections that no longer fit or redrawing borders to better align with new ideas. It’s never easy. There’s always a pang of loss when you let go of something that once felt complete. But I’ve learned to embrace that feeling because with every step forward, I’m creating something that reflects my vision more clearly.

The process can be painstaking—adjusting star systems by hand, tweaking trade routes, or rethinking political borders to better reflect the cultures I’ve written. But it’s also deeply rewarding. A well-crafted map isn’t just a tool; it’s a story in its own right. It shows relationships between factions, highlights the flow of resources, and reveals the natural challenges characters face in their travels. A map isn’t static; it’s alive, just like the narrative.

What inspires me to keep going, even when I’m tempted to stick with the “good enough” version, is the thought of readers seeing these worlds the way I do. When they can follow a starship’s journey from a contested border world to a bustling trade hub and understand the stakes along the way, that’s when I know I’ve succeeded.

This iterative process is not just about maps, though—it’s a philosophy I carry into my writing. Revising chapters, reworking dialogue, or even rethinking entire plotlines follows the same principle: use what works as the seed for something better. The effort isn’t wasted, even if you end up scrapping entire sections. It all contributes to the final vision.

Lately, I’ve been focused on remapping an area of my setting spanning a few hundred light years from Earth. I’ve taken old maps that I once thought were finished and used them as the foundation for something new. This time, I’m bringing everything I’ve learned over the years—new processes, better software, and a clearer vision of the galaxy my characters inhabit. It’s exciting, challenging, and occasionally frustrating. But every moment spent refining these maps brings me closer to creating a universe that feels as real to readers as it does to me.

So, my writing tip for today is this: Don’t be afraid of revision. Whether it’s a map, a chapter, or even a character, your first attempt is just the beginning. Use it as a foundation, learn from the process, and keep building. Writing, like mapping, is a journey of discovery. And the best worlds—the ones that stay with us—are born from the courage to refine and reimagine.

What’s something you’ve reworked, refined, or reimagined that turned out better than you ever expected? Share your experiences—I’d love to hear about your creative journey.