I didn’t expect Book Two to feel like this. When I first sat down to outline Empires of Durajan, I had a strange mix of excitement and intimidation sitting in my chest. The Chronicles of Durajan was born in a kind of raw, unfiltered burst that was equal parts experiment, passion, and revelation. I didn’t know I had a “process” back then. I didn’t know I had a voice at all. I was just writing, searching, almost putting words out to let people in to my deepest thoughts. There were moments in my early childhood where I felt I didn't want to speak again. Especially about things held so deep inside. But the Awakened World, a place that was both was painfully close and impossibly far away, was something I had to pursue.

And then people read it and connected with it.

They called it triumphant, enthralling, spellbinding, resonant, and cinematic. Some even compared it to authors I’ve admired for years. Comparisons that are humbling in a way I still don’t have words for. And suddenly, stepping into Book Two felt a little like stepping onto a cliff. There was this quiet fear. I wondered if I could do it again. But despite the fear, I knew I had to try.

But the funny thing about the creative process is that it reveals itself only after you surrender to it.

I had a massive amount of material and outline. Rough ideas of where to cut for books. Large areas that I know would need to be filled in, fleshed out and refined.

So I chipped away. More like chopped away. One scene. One chapter. One small decision about a character’s heart or a nation’s history. Removing parts that no longer felt right, adding arcs that were needed. Things began to flow and I found myself falling back into that strange, sacred place that created the first book. Where characters speak first, and I simply try to keep up.

And that’s when I realized something important: The Chronicles of Durajan, wasn’t an accident or luck. It was the beginning of a process I didn’t know I’d been learning.

Now, writing isn’t just an experiment or a passion project. It’s a living process I’m in dialogue with that is as exciting as it is challenging. The act of writing opens parts of myself I’ve kept guarded for decades. It still makes me vulnerable — deeply vulnerable — because storytelling demands honesty. But it also makes me hopeful, because this work feels like the truest version of who I am.

So while The Empires of Durajan has a long road ahead, with thousands of words still to write, battles to choreograph, hearts to break, and futures to forge, I feel energized and grateful.

And I’m finally confident that I know how to do this. Not because the path is easy, but because the process is now something I can return to, again and again.

The Empires of Durajan is coming alive.

And I can’t wait to share it with you.