More from iacula

I used to skip the scenes where characters got broken. Now I’m the one holding the pen.

A droning hum spiralled—and inside the vibration, the rhythmic tread of thirty thousand men.

I was twelve years old when I first tried to write a fantasy novel. I didn’t know what I was beginning.

Writing has always been my thing. Other kids had the guitar, or football, or dance—mine was the pen; my way of being myself.

Thunder growled outside her window, making Dinah shiver. Silver flashes streaked across her bedroom walls, sneaking through the cracks in the heavy pink drapes.