Chronicles of the Craft: Things I Believed About Writing Before Actually Writing a Book

A reality check on what I thought writing would be like vs. what it actually is.

Welcome to Chronicles of the Craft, the corner where I leave all the thoughts, musings, and emotional outbursts of my journey as a writer. Don’t mind the mess.

Before I started writing A World Beyond the Unknown, I had so many assumptions about what it meant to write a book. I thought storytelling was instinctual. That I would just know how to weave a compelling plot, craft memorable, loveable characters, and weave that can’t-put-it-down tension on every page.

I figured if I had read enough books, writing one would come naturally.

And while instinct does play a role, I quickly learned that writing is a skill—a craft that requires practice, study, and revisions (so many revisions).

The reality of writing a book was very different from what I had imagined. So, here are a few things I thought I knew about writing—before I actually sat down and did the damn thing.

I Thought Writing Would Be Purely Instinctual

Before I started writing A World Beyond the Unknown, I assumed that storytelling was something you just knew how to do. That all my years of reading books, absorbing stories, and daydreaming about characters meant I would simply sit down, start typing, and—💥boom—an incredible, well-structured, emotionally gripping novel would emerge.

Plot? Instinct.
Character arcs? Second nature.
Tension, pacing, subtext? Easy-peasy.

And to be fair, some of it is instinct. When you’ve been a lifelong reader, you feel when a story is dragging. You recognize when a twist lands well. You sense when a character arc is satisfying. But knowing something as a reader and executing it as a writer? Two completely different things.

When I finished my first draft, I had a story—but it was bare bones at best. I had characters, but their arcs were vague. I had tension, but it wasn’t leading anywhere. I hadn’t actually thought through how all the pieces connected because I had assumed they just would.

🚨Spoiler: They didn’t.

Turns out, storytelling is a craft (🤦🏼‍♀️ duh). One that requires study, and practice, and a deep understanding of how stories actually work.

So what did I do?

💡 I started reading like a writer—analyzing how authors built tension, structured their plots, and developed their characters from page one to the end.
💡 I studied story structure, breaking down books and movies to see why certain beats hit harder than others.
💡 I listened to writers talk about their process, soaking in advice from people who had been where I was.
💡 I then I practiced. And practiced. And practiced some more.

Because, as much as I wanted to believe that writing a novel was all instinct, I discovered that it’s a skill (again, duh)—one that gets stronger the more you work at it.

I Thought First Drafts Were Supposed to Be Good

There’s this unspoken expectation—at least, there was for me—that when you finish your first draft, it should feel like a book. Messy? Sure. Needing polish? Absolutely. But still recognizable as something complete.

But my first draft felt more like an overly detailed outline than a novel. The bones of the story were there, but everything else? Mid.

What I did have:

🛠️ A beginning, middle, and end… but no real sense of pacing.

🛠️ Characters who moved through the story… but without clear emotional arcs.

🛠️ Scenes that existed… but didn’t always matter.

For a brief moment, I wondered if I had done something wrong. After all, if I had written 62,550 words. So, why didn’t it feel like a book yet?

Because first drafts aren’t supposed to be good, they’re supposed to be starting points.

Once I accepted that, I realized my next job wasn’t to “fix” the draft—it was to build on it. To add layers and depth into every paragraph and every scene.

So, I went back in and wrote a chapter-by-chapter synopsis of everything that happened. Seeing the full picture laid out in summary form helped me figure out what wasn’t working:

✅ Some scenes needed to be rearranged. Moving a key moment earlier in the book made the stakes clearer.
✅ Some scenes needed to be combined. Why have two separate conversations when one stronger scene could do the job?
✅ Some scenes needed to be cut entirely. Just because I liked writing them didn’t mean they were really needed (more on this another time).

This process turned into my real outline—the one that let me edit strategically instead of aimlessly. It also taught me one of the biggest lessons of writing:

✨ The magic isn’t in the first draft. The magic is in what you do with it.

I Thought Writers Just Sat Down and Wrote

In my head, writing a book looked like this:

1. Sit down with a cup of coffee.

2. Open my laptop.

3. Start typing.

4. Let the words flow effortlessly.

5. Repeat until I finally type: The End.

No elaborate planning. No second-guessing. Just pure ⚡️electric creativity.

🚨 Spoiler: That’s not how it works.

Some days, yes, the words came easily. Inspiration would strike, and suddenly, I was just the vessel chosen to dictate Alora’s story onto the page. On other days, I stared at the blinking cursor, rewriting the same sentence ten different ways before giving up entirely. Some days, I felt unstoppable. Other days, I convinced myself I had forgotten how the English language worked all together.

And momentum? That silver-edged thing I thought I’d always have? Turns out, she’s a fickle beast. Step away from the story for too long, and suddenly everything feels foreign when you come back. I lost weeks (months?) getting stuck because I had no clear direction—just ✨vibes✨ and the hope that my story would work itself out.

So, what actually saved me? Structure. Not a rigid, every-scene-planned outline but a guiding framework to keep me from getting lost in the weeds.

📌 I started mapping out key moments before drafting. Where does the story actually begin? Where does my main character change? What’s the emotional climax? Knowing these big beats meant I wasn’t wandering aimlessly.

📌 I learned that writer’s block is often just a sign of unclear direction. If I didn’t know what happened next, it wasn’t because I was "uninspired"—it was because I hadn’t figured out the stakes, or the motivation.

📌 I stopped waiting for the “perfect writing conditions.” No ideal playlist, cozy ambiance, or perfect burst of inspiration was going to write the book for me. I had to sit down and write the damn thing—even when it felt uninspiring.

But, the biggest lesson I learned? Writing is not about waiting for inspiration. Writing is about discipline 😳 (and not the *check your trigger warnings* kind 😉). The kind that keeps you writing day after day, even if it’s just one page, one paragraph, one phrase at a time.

I Thought Editing Would Be Quick and Easy

In my mind, editing was just a final polish. A light read-through. Some typo fixes. Maybe a few tweaks to clunky sentences.

I was so wrong. lmao.

Editing wasn’t a final step—it was an entire process of its own.

When I hit 106,541 words in February 2024, I thought, Yes. This is the book.

It wasn’t. Not by a mile.

I revised it three more times, bringing it to 123,737 words, adding depth, layering emotions, refining character arcs, sharpening dialogue, and cutting anything that didn’t serve the story. And every single time I finished another pass, I thought Now it’s done.

Every single time—it wasn’t.

In fact, I’m still editing as we speak. I doubt I’ll ever truly stop editing. They’ll have to pry my manuscript out of my cold. dead. hands.

What I Learned About Editing the Hard Way:

➡️ Revisions take months (or years), not weeks. I grossly underestimated how long it would take to fix structural issues, deepen character arcs, and fine-tune pacing.

➡️ Big picture edits come first. My first attempts at editing were wasted trying to tweak wording on scenes that later got cut entirely. I learned to fix story structure first before worrying about the details.

➡️ Rewriting is part of the process. Some chapters had to be completely rewritten. Some scenes had to be scrapped and rebuilt from the ground up. Editing isn’t just tweaking—it’s rebuilding.

➡️ Reading my own book a hundred times is exhausting. After enough rereads, my brain went numb to my own words. I knew the story so well that my eyes skimmed right over errors. Which is why...

➡️ Text-to-speech is a lifesaver. When I started using text-to-speech software to have my book read aloud to me, it changed the game. Suddenly, awkward phrasing and clunky dialogue stood out immediately.

I had gone into editing thinking it was a small step. Instead, I learned that the real book—the one readers will see—doesn’t emerge in the first draft. It’s built brick-by-brick in every revision.

I Thought Writing Was a Solo Activity

Before I started writing, I imagined myself as the mysterious turtle-neck-wearing type, toiling away in eclectic coffee shops, crafting my literary masterpiece one sip of my caramel macchiato at a time.

I thought:

⚠️ Writing a book was something you did all by yourself, start to finish.

⚠️ No one should ever see my work until it was polished.

⚠️ If I was struggling, it meant I wasn’t good enough.

Turns out, while writing a book alone is possible—making it great requires other people.

I hit a point where I couldn’t see my own mistakes anymore. Scenes I thought were clear didn’t actually convey what I intended. Twists that felt obvious to me weren’t landing for readers. And, most importantly, I had blind spots—big ones—that I never would have noticed without outside perspective.

What I Learned About Writing Communities & Feedback:

💛 Beta readers and critique partners are essential. They catch inconsistencies, pacing issues, and character moments that don’t hit the way I thought they did. They see what I can’t.

💛 Fresh eyes are the difference between good and great. I read my own book so many times that my brain started auto-filling gaps. And as the author, I knew the larger stakes, the overarching plot, the details and the history, and the lore. Which meant that sometimes, what ended up on the page was too vague, or hadn’t been properly introduced yet. Letting someone else read it highlighted where things were missing or needed to be refined.

💛 No one should write a book alone. Even traditionally published authors have agents, editors, proofreaders, and sensitivity readers. Good books aren’t created in isolation.

💛 Talking to other writers makes the process less lonely. Writing is hard. Revisions are brutal. Querying is soul-crushing. Having a community—even just a handful of writer friends—makes it easier to push through the tough moments. Which is why I’m so grateful for Substack and all the amazing, supportive writers here.

I went into this thinking I had to figure everything out on my own. But the real truth? The best thing I did for my book was letting other people in.

Writing Is Harder Than I Thought—But It’s Worth It

I went into this journey believing that writing a book was all instinct, that my first draft would be publish-ready, that I’d just know how to tell a great story.

Instead, I learned that writing is a challenging craft—one that takes study, practice, and more patience than I ever thought I had.

I learned that first drafts are supposed to be messy. That revising is where the real story takes shape. That writing isn’t about waiting for inspiration—it’s about showing up and doing the work even when you’re feeling uninspired.

Most importantly, I learned that no writer succeeds in isolation. The best thing I did for my book—and for myself—was to let go of the myth that writing is a solo act.

So if you’re somewhere in this process—whether drafting, revising, or buried under self-doubt—just know this:

✨ You don’t have to know everything right away. You just have to keep going.

Anyways, happy writing.

Magnolia 🌿

P.S. I’m always looking for more writer friends, beta reading angels, and editing fiends. HMU.