If you ever come across this message, please give me a moment.
You probably don’t know me, and you probably have no reason to care about the story I’m trying to tell.
But I’m hoping you’ll give it a chance anyway.
I’m not a writer.
At least, I’ve never really believed that I was.
I’ve written stories before. So many that I’ve lost count. Some made it to a few chapters, some made it much further—but none of them ever reached the end.
They always stayed unfinished.
And yet, somehow, my mind never stopped creating.
If anything, my imagination only became bigger.
The stories in my head became more complicated. The worlds became deeper. The characters started feeling like people I actually knew.
But knowing how to imagine a story and knowing how to write one are two completely different things.
And I’m still learning the second part.
So this time, I’m taking another risk.
I don’t know if my writing is good enough.
I don’t know if people will care about the world I created.
I don’t even know if I’ll have the courage to finish it.
But I want to try.
Because maybe this story deserves to exist outside of my head.
And maybe it needs readers before I can believe in it myself.
So if you happen to come across my book, give it a chance.
Read a chapter.
Tell me what you think.
If you believe there’s something worth continuing, tell me.
Because I think that’s what I’ve been missing all along.
Not imagination.
Not ideas.
Readers.
And maybe this time, they’ll be the reason I finally finish what I started. 🤍
