The stuggles of being a writer.

What was it Terry Pratchett said?

You were a rare golden eagle hybrid. Your clan always said you were their pride and joy. Proof that the Thunderbirds watched over your lands with favor and would give extra protection.

The rest of your clan were smaller bird hybrids. Rare was a bird of prey, and never before had there been an eagle, much less a golden. You were exceptional. Special. Stunning. So, when the Peace Chief’s son, a cunning and strong Red-winged blackbird hybrid, asked to be your mate, the clan was thrilled. Yes, a smaller bird hybrid than you, but fierce and loyal. In nature, a red wing would even attack an eagle for encroaching on their territory. Which hybrid if not him could be worthy of claiming a mate like you?

But, then came a small little rabbit hybrid that had escaped a Pack of wolf hybrids. She had wet, innocent eyes and a trembling nose. As soon as your future mate saw her, you knew that it was over. He had never looked at you like that. With such fierce affection. With such gentle determination. No, he was always slightly weary, as though he expected you to suddenly be a threat. You thought it was your size, and maybe it was, but it didn’t matter. He never would get used to it like you hoped.

That’s when you realized, he never really wanted to mate you. He wanted to control you.

After catching him in her makeshift den, no one said a word when you quietly told his father that you wouldn’t be taking him as a mate. The Peace Chief, a hawk hybrid with a broken beak, had guilt written all over his face.

“I never thought my son would betray you. I didn’t raise him like that,” he said.

You offered a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “You hold no blame in your hands. He’s grown, and his actions are his own.”

There were whispers in the clan that you would try to run the red wing hybrid and his rabbit mate (that he had officially claimed) out of the clan, but you never responded to them. Red wings were known for their fierce protection of their territory and nests. While you could crush him, it would be violent. And bloody. Also, while you hated to admit it, the little rabbit hybrid did nothing wrong. She fell in love with the hybrid who saved her. How could you blame her?

Instead, when the Alpha of the Wolf Hybrid Pack, who had chased the poor thing into your clan’s borders in the first place, came to try to reclaim her, you met him instead.

“You’re not taking her. She is now apart of my clan, and I won’t let you,” you said calmly. Bluntly. Even your own people were shocked by your demeanor.

“She was to be my mate,” his eyes darted to the small hybrid now hiding beyond your former betrothed. “And I’m not leaving here without one.” There was a silence that made the world seem empty before his eyes returned to yours. Interest flickered there. “You’re a golden eagle. I haven’t seen one of you in this area.”

Familiar pride swelled in your chest. “I am.”

“My Pack and I will leave. I have no interest in an unfair fight,” he said, sweeping his gaze out, clearly looking for the War Chief, who was gone at the time. Instead his eyes came to settle back on you. “But, when I come back, it’s you I’m coming back for.”

If people are sad about The Wizard Facism game coming from someone you used to look up to and admire, may I suggest an author whose books are filled with nuanced characters and strong, dynamic women?

Every writer starts with a spark. An idea that won’t leave them alone. A character that feels real. A scene that plays in their head like a movie.

Then the writing begins… and so do the problems.

1. The gap between vision and execution The story in your head feels powerful. On the page, it feels flat. You read it back and wonder, Is this even good? That gap can be painful.

2. Starting strong, losing steam The first few chapters flow. After that, doubt creeps in. The middle drags. The plot feels messy. You question the whole thing.

3. Fear of being judged “What if this is cliché?” “What if no one connects with it?” “What if I’m not as good as I thought?” Those questions sit quietly in the background while you try to write.

4. Loving your story too much to see its flaws You’re close to it. Too close. It’s hard to tell what works and what doesn’t when you’ve lived inside the manuscript for months.

5. Perfectionism that kills progress Editing the same paragraph ten times. Deleting chapters. Starting over. Waiting for the “perfect” sentence instead of finishing the draft.

6. Emotional exhaustion Writing isn’t just typing words. It’s pouring parts of yourself onto a page. That takes energy most people don’t see.

The real problem isn’t talent. It’s isolation, self-doubt, and the weight of trying to do everything alone.