When I sat down years ago with the earliest spark of Markus Kane: Dawn of Shadows, I believed I understood what it meant to write a novel. I had ideas. I had passion. I had determination. What I didn’t realize was how much the process would shape me — how many blind spots it would expose, and how many internal walls it would force me to climb.
Publishing my first book was not just a milestone.
It was an education.
Here are some of the biggest lessons I learned while writing my debut.
Worldbuilding Cannot Be an Afterthought
I began writing Dawn of Shadows long before I truly understood the world it belonged to. Aerias wasn’t built yet — not structurally, not historically, not cosmologically. I found myself inventing lore as I went, which created confusion, loose ends, and entire chapters I had to rewrite once the world finally came into focus during the second draft.
Worldbuilding isn’t just setting.
It’s plot, character motivation, theme, pacing, culture, tone, and emotional resonance.
It is the soil everything else grows from.
I learned this lesson the hard way — and I am grateful for it.
Learning to Filter Feedback — Not Absorb It Whole
I received feedback from every direction:
writing peers, my mastermind group, Joanna, my content editor, my line editor, and beta readers.
And here’s the truth:
Not all feedback is equal.
Not all feedback is right.
And not all feedback is meant for the book I was actually trying to write.
I had to learn:
- what feedback sharpened the story
- what feedback diluted my voice
- what feedback reflected someone else’s taste
- what feedback revealed a real structural issue
This wasn’t just about writing.
It was about developing discernment — the ability to listen deeply without losing myself.
Finding My Voice… Then Losing It… Then Finding It Again
Prose is a strange thing.
Some days it flows like a river.
Some days you feel like you’re pushing it uphill with your bare hands.
Throughout the writing process, I worried about:
- sounding too poetic
- not sounding poetic enough
- leaning too heavily into description
- not leaning enough
- whether I could recreate the “energy” of my best chapters
Even after finishing the novel, that doubt followed me into the trilogy.
Here is what I now believe:
Your voice is not one thing.
Your voice evolves with the story you’re telling.
And if you stay honest on the page, your voice will remain intact — even when you fear you’ve lost it.
Pacing Is Not About Speed — It’s About Rhythm
I wrestled with pacing the entire time.
Fantasy demands a dance between:
- intensity and stillness
- action and reflection
- suspense and sensory immersion
Some chapters are meant to breathe.
Some are meant to sprint.
When my line editor found certain chapters “less interesting,” I struggled.
Was that a flaw or simply the nature of narrative rhythm?
What I learned is this:
Not every chapter needs to explode.
But every chapter needs purpose.
Some scenes exist to deepen the character’s interior world.
Some exist to foreshadow.
Some exist to give the reader — and the character — a moment to breathe.
Pacing is not a straight line.
It’s a heartbeat.
Crafting the Opening: Hook vs. Exposition vs. Immersion
My opening went through many versions.
Should I begin with a sharp hook?
A cinematic crawl?
A small dose of world exposition?
Something sensory?
Something symbolic?
Every choice changed the tone.
I didn’t want an info-dump.
But I also didn’t want readers lost in a world they knew nothing about.
Finding that balance taught me one of the most difficult lessons of all:
The opening must do three things:
- anchor
- intrigue
- invite
That balance is harder than it looks.
And achieving it taught me more about writing than any book or class ever could.
When the Antagonists Outshine the Protagonists
Both of my editors told me something I never expected:
My antagonists were among the most interesting characters in the book.
At first, this startled me.
But then I realized why:
Villains come from wounds.
Villains have clear wants, clear fears, clear stakes.
Villains reveal the depth of the world.
And in my case?
My villains were simply honest reflections of the darkness Markus himself must confront.
This feedback also taught me the importance of not sidelining powerful characters — like Xara, who became essential to Markus’s journey once I realized what she meant to the story.
My antagonists taught me how to write my heroes better.
And that is a lesson I carry into the trilogy.
What Writing This Novel Taught Me About Myself
Writing Dawn of Shadows didn’t just teach me how to write a book.
It taught me:
- patience
- humility
- courage
- vulnerability
- how to take criticism
- how to trust my instincts
- how to endure creative burnout
- how to build something brick by brick
Most of all, it taught me that storytelling is not about perfection.
It is about becoming.
Becoming a better writer.
A better observer.
A better listener.
A better version of myself.
This novel was my first step into the world of Aerias.
And now — with the trilogy ahead — I am stepping forward with clearer eyes, steadier hands, and a heart ready to create again.