Why I Write Fantasy That Hurts (and Heals)

When I first began writing The Dark Mage, I didn’t set out to write a story about trauma.

I thought I was building a fantasy world full of mist and magic with the quintessential heroine ready to overcome the obstacles to her success. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was creating something much more, a fissure that released the bruised and buried pieces of myself.

Ren’wyn’s magic was the first sign. She weaves black fog through her fingers, calls wraiths from the mist, and listens as the dead speak their truths. Her darkness isn’t for shock or spectacle. It’s grief. It’s rage. It’s the ache of surviving things that should have destroyed you, things that still take up space in the center of your being.

There is a darkness left in an injured soul. And the chance to fight demons—even ones wearing the faces of fictional villains—is empowering.

Sabriel by Garth Nix was the first time I felt a draw toward darker fantasy. A girl alone with her necromancer’s bells chases the Dead things back into the river of Death—it felt like home. Not because I was a heroine, but because the danger and the gothic beauty spoke to the part of me that had always felt haunted. Sabriel would tell you the cover eventually fell off my paperback, but I still keep it displayed on my shelf.

Later came The Blue Castle by L. M. Montgomery, a book about a sad, invisible girl who finally finds her voice and escapes the suffocating weight of others' expectations. Valancy would tell you I walked with her over seventy times, until I stopped keeping tallies in the front cover. I didn’t know how much I needed that, a quiet fiction filled with the discovery of self and the awakening of a loyal, beautiful love between two misfits.

I wanted to tell that kind of story. One filled with magic. One that allowed darkness an honest voice. One that celebrated loyalty and romance and the beauty of kindness.

But I studied science. I didn’t pursue creative writing classes. I didn’t think I was interesting enough, brave enough, anything enough.

It wasn’t until my therapist asked me, gently, “Is there something you wish you had done but never had the courage for?” that I finally listened to my own heart.

“Write a book,” I said without hesitation.

Ren’wyn was already whispering her story. She just needed me to listen.

In turn, she showed me places hard to give voice to in the real world.

Some days, my inner world feels like a battlefield. Shadows behind trees. Screams in the mist. That’s what PTSD feels like to me. That’s what The Dark Mage tries to honor.

My characters carry the same heaviness I’ve known: perfectionism, self-doubt, numbness, rage. And sometimes, they lash out. They hurt people. They want vengeance as much as they want peace.

But they also protect others with ferocity.

I don’t write darkness for shock value. I write it because it’s true. Because it deserves space on the page.

Ren’wyn isn’t all violence and shadow. She’s also a botanist. A quiet, mud-covered, sun-drenched woman who tucks herbs in her bag and gets muddy harvesting cattails and leatherleaf. She’s the part of me that still finds wonder in the green world, that believes in the healing power of things rooted and wild.

Tucking herself between the giant roots of a northern white cedar, weaving mist into the air, calling the dead to rest, that’s where Ren’wyn finds peace. It’s where I find peace next to her. Like I’ve come home to something sacred.

Fantasy gives me permission to say the things I can’t always speak aloud. To imagine a world where justice is swifter, love is deeper, and even the quietest voice can reshape the world.

If You See Yourself in My Pages

If you are grieving…

If you’ve been hurt and carry it within your skin like a shadow…

If you’ve ever believed your darkness made you less worthy of love…

I hope Ren’wyn reminds you:

You are not too much.

You are not too quiet.

You are not too broken.

You are worthy of love simply because you exist. Messy, angry, loyal, tired, beautiful—you are a whole story. A heroic one.

I write because I believe in love that doesn’t flinch.

Because I believe stories can wound and still heal.

Because I needed Ren’wyn—and maybe someone else does, too.