I recently watched the first three episodes of a show premier, and to be honest, I didn’t sleep well that night.

It wasn’t because I was overly invested in a comic book show or frustrated by a particular scene, it went deeper than that. I found myself lying in bed, turning over a strange kind of unease. Not about the characters or the plot, but about the creative process behind it. What kind of meeting led to this? Who approved it? And more than anything, why?

That night, my mind kept jumping between the program that I watched and something like The Last Kingdom, a series that left a deep mark on me for its rich characters, layered storytelling, and emotional authenticity. And I couldn’t help but ask:‍

Why would anyone choose to produce something hollow when something timeless is possible?

Of course, I know the answer. It’s business. Demographics. Franchises. Algorithms. Long-game brand strategies to hook a new generation.

But that understanding didn’t stop me from feeling a quiet fear.
A fear that maybe… the world doesn't care about depth anymore.
A fear that stories built from truth, sacrifice, or soul might be getting pushed aside for something quicker, safer, louder.
A fear that what I’m creating, this world I’ve poured my heart into, might be measured against metrics that were never meant to hold it.

That night became a strange turning point. It made me realize that my criticism wasn’t just about bad writing or missed opportunities. It was a reflection of what matters to me as a writer. I don’t want to make noise. I want to make meaning. I want to build something that lingers. Something people carry with them.

That kind of storytelling isn’t always trending. It’s not optimized for the algorithm. But it’s what I believe in. And maybe if you’re reading this, it’s what you’re looking for too.

So if you’ve ever watched or read something and walked away not just disappointed but haunted by the gap between what was and what could have been, know that I’m right there with you. That feeling? That’s your compass. That’s the part of you that still cares.

And honestly, that’s where the best stories begin.