Every time you rewrite a book, you create a new version of it. Maybe the protagonist makes a different choice. Maybe the plot unfolds in a different order. Maybe the entire tone of the book shifts, depending on when you’re writing it, what you’re feeling, or who you are at that point in your life….

Some books never get written. Not because the writer wasn’t talented enough. Not because the idea wasn’t good. But because something—hesitation, time, self-doubt, fear—kept the words from ever making it to the page. And yet, those books don’t disappear. They linger. Half-formed outlines in forgotten notebooks. Scraps of dialogue buried in old files. Concepts that…

Some books refuse to be written—until the right moment. You try. You outline, draft, push through, but something doesn’t click. The sentences feel forced. The characters won’t come alive. The story won’t take shape the way you imagined it. So you set it aside. Then, months—or years—later, you come back to it. And suddenly, it…

Some stories don’t feel finished—even when they technically are. The climax happens, the big confrontation plays out, the resolution ties everything up… and yet, something feels off. It’s not that the book ended on a cliffhanger or left major questions unanswered. It’s something subtler, harder to define. The story is over, but the reader feels…

Some stories feel like they’re missing something. Not just a small detail—a fundamental piece of logic, a gap in the timeline, a hole in the world that shouldn’t be there. You reread a scene and feel it immediately: there’s something off. The moment doesn’t connect to what came before. The transition feels jarring, incomplete. Somewhere…

Some days, writing feels effortless. The words flow, the ideas connect, the story unfolds as if it’s already written somewhere and you’re just pulling it onto the page. Other days? It’s like staring into a void. Nothing comes. The words won’t land. The ideas that made sense yesterday feel distant, like they belong to someone…