There’s a romantic image of writers, sitting at a tidy desk by the window, sunlight pouring in, coffee steaming, and silence wrapping around them like a warm blanket. I admire that image. But my reality looks nothing like it.
I don’t have a designated writing space. Instead, I bounce between my school desk during quiet moments, the dining table when it’s free, and sometimes, my children’s study desk, usually after they’ve abandoned it for something more exciting. These places aren’t ideal, but they’ve become little writing islands where my story continues to grow.
As for my schedule, it’s a puzzle I solve day by day. I try to write in the afternoons between lessons, catching the quiet moments when the school slows down. Evenings are when I get the most done, once the family is asleep and the house slips into silence, that’s when I open the laptop and step back into Ældorra or whatever world I’m working on.
Weekends are unpredictable. If there’s time, after the housework, the errands, the family time, I write. Sometimes it’s just for twenty minutes, sometimes I surprise myself with a full hour of deep focus. But I’ve learned something valuable: consistency doesn’t always mean strict routines. Sometimes it just means showing up when you can, and making those small moments count.
I don’t write in perfect conditions. I write around life. And in a way, I think that gives my stories more life too.
If you’re a writer juggling your own chaos, I’d love to hear where and when you find your writing windows. Let’s build a space together, even if it’s scattered.
Writing a novel isn’t always a straight path. For me, it’s been more like a winding mountain trail, sometimes clear and exciting, other times foggy and slow. I’ve been working on The Veil of Kings and Gods for years now. The world, the characters, and the themes have all evolved over time. And yet, somehow, I’ve never walked away from it.
So how do I stay inspired?
It’s not some mystical lightning bolt. It’s smaller than that, quieter. Sometimes it’s rediscovering an old scene I wrote months ago that still makes me smile. Other times it’s worldbuilding, filling in the map of Ældorra, thinking about what life is like in a ruined empire or how a long-forgotten piece of magic reshapes a character’s fate.
I also let the story grow with me. When I started this book, I was in a very different place in life. But I didn’t throw it out and start over. Instead, I’ve allowed my voice, my ideas, and my perspective to shift as the years have passed. I’ve rewritten, restructured, and reimagined, but never lost the heart of it.
What helps most, though, is this: I don’t pressure myself to rush.
This is a story I care about. I want it to be the best version of itself, not the fastest one. That mindset keeps the love alive. Some days I only manage a few lines. Other days I go deep. But each word brings me closer to the story I want to share.
If you’re writing something that’s taken years, you’re not alone. Let it take the time it needs. Let it change with you. The story will be stronger for it.
I’d love to hear about your long-term projects. What keeps you going? What has changed since you started?
In a world once shaped by divine hands, where kings fear what they cannot control, Simion stands at the edge of myth and obscurity. He holds no grand title, wears no gilded robes, and bears no reputation as a prodigy of the arcane. His story is quieter, rooted not in greatness, but in something far more human.
Before the councils and court chambers, Simion was a kitchen boy. The castle at Bremyra was his world, its stone corridors filled with the clatter of pans and the scent of stewing broth. He moved among servants, delivering bread, cleaning floors, and sneaking crusts to the youngest among them. It was there, beneath those very walls, that the first spark of magic broke loose from within him. A frightened boy. A sudden flare. And the Order of Magicians arrived before the embers cooled.
He was taken without ceremony. His name added to the rolls of the Academy where the days were long, the teachings relentless. Simion did not rise easily. Others soared through the high arts, weaving spells with elegance and precision. He struggled to hold form, to understand deeper currents, to speak the tongue of magic with anything beyond effort. Yet he endured, through sheer will, long study, and quiet resolve.
Upon completing his training, no citadel called him. The cities of power remained silent. His path remained unclear until his former master, a stern voice within the Council, arranged a post that few would envy, Advisor to the King of Bremyra. It was less a promotion than an obligation. A placement of necessity. Still, he accepted.
Now, Simion walks again through familiar stone halls. He stands beside those who once knew him in passing. Elana, a friend from youth, the princes, with whom he once shared stolen moments of laughter. The kitchen boy has returned, not with acclaim, but with a burden that grows heavier by the day.
The kingdom shifts. Whispers speak of hidden tomes, ancient chambers sealed in forgotten stone, and strange forces moving beneath the world. Simion has seen things no Advisor should see, felt magics that do not obey the rules he was taught. There are voices now, soft, distant, threading through silence.
He never sought power. Nor was he shaped for glory. Yet in the quiet places where gods once walked, something has stirred.
And Simion, worn and uncertain, may be the only one left who can hear it.
Author’s Note: In my fantasy novel The Veil of Kings and Gods, the world of Ældorra is shaped by ancient gods, divine betrayal, and the remnants of a shattered empire. This post explores the origin of Ældorra’s divine war, drawn directly from the mythic past within the story itself. If you enjoy deep lore and high fantasy, this is for you.
Before kingdoms warred and magicians stood above kings, Ældorra was shaped by gods, divine beings whose presence touched every corner of the world. In the time of the Imperium Arcana, magic was not a distant force, but a living breath that pulsed through every stone, sea, and soul. This magic, ancient and sacred, came not from study alone, but from the gods themselves.
Among these deities stood the God of Magic, the mightiest of them all. His power was the very source of the arcane that wove the empire together. He was not only a divine figurehead, he was the guardian of all, it was he who anointed the magicians as the empire’s true rulers, custodians of magic who were revered not just as wielders of power, but as the chosen of heaven. To command the arcane was to speak with divine authority, and so the magicians ruled not by bloodline, but by divine will.
The Imperium flourished under this covenant. Cities of marble and gold rose across the land, and every breath of wind, every whisper of light, carried the weight of enchantment. From the fjords of the north to the eastern deserts, magic was life, and life was divine.
But divine creations are not immune to betrayal.
The fall began with a god of the First Heaven, once the deity of balance and insight. His corruption was not a sudden blaze but a slow rot, fed by ambition and the hunger for more. The god descended from his sacred post, abandoning the divine realm to seek darker paths. Deep within the First Hell, his magic became something twisted and foul. No longer a god, he was reborn as a demon: Azaroth.
Azaroth’s rise did not go unnoticed. While the magicians of the Imperium grew complacent, blinded by their own greatness, it was the God of Magic who first sensed the rot. Alone among the heavens, he understood the threat. And so, the two former brethren clashed, not with armies or swords, but with the raw essence of creation itself. Magic and corruption tore through reality. The heavens cracked. The seas rose. The skies burned.
In the end, the God of Magic made the ultimate sacrifice. With the last of his divine essence, he sealed Azaroth within the First Hell, imprisoning the demon for eternity. Yet victory came at a cost: the God of Magic himself was torn apart, his name lost to time, his power shattered.
And with his fall, so too fell the Imperium.
What followed was silence. The gods no longer walked the world. The arcane throne stood empty. The magicians, left to their own devices, could no longer claim divine mandate. But before the empire’s final breath, the last emperor passed one final law: that the magicians would remain autonomous, above kings, above law, outside the reach of Church and Crown. Thus, the Order of Magicians was born.
The gods’ war was long buried by history, but its echoes never faded. In The Veil of Kings and Gods, the seal on Azaroth begins to weaken. Forgotten powers stir. And the divine magic once thought lost whispers again from the shadows of Ældorra.
The gods may be gone. But their war is not over.
Want more? This is just the beginning. The divine echoes of this history shape every chapter of The Veil of Kings and Gods, especially through the eyes of Simion the Magician. New blog posts, lore entries, and behind-the-scenes content are released every other day. Subscribe to the blog, follow on YouTube, or check out my short stories for deeper glimpses into Ældorra’s ancient past.
Most people imagine authors as curled up in quiet rooms, sipping tea and watching the words pour effortlessly onto the page. A kind of literary tranquillity, wrapped in books and warmed by candlelight.
I wish that were true.
The reality, at least for me, is far from romantic. It’s writing between real-life responsibilities, when the house is quiet and the world finally pauses. I’ve made a decision to pursue this dream fully, working extra hours not because I love the grind, but because that income, after family needs, goes straight into editing, proofreading, and eventually publishing. I’m investing in my own story, one sacrifice at a time.
My day is a patchwork of obligations. I run a small English school in Japan, manage creative routines around work and home life, and still find time to draw maps, script lore videos, and edit chapters that feel like they’ll never end. I’m not yet published. I’m not famous. But I’m building something, page by page, post by post.
There’s a mental weight to this work that few talk about. Some days, I stare at a sentence for an hour, unsure if it even belongs. Other days, it all flows so quickly I can barely keep up. The emotional shifts are real, self-doubt, exhaustion, the nagging feeling that I should be doing something more “practical.” But then a scene clicks. A piece of world-building locks into place. And for a moment, it feels like magic again.
So why do I keep going?
Because I believe in the stories I’m telling. The Veil of Kings and Gods is more than a novel, it’s a world I’ve carried for years. The short stories of Ældorra let me explore lost myths and haunted corners I’ve only glimpsed in dreams. And my sci-fi series, still in early development, pushes me to imagine a future I can barely articulate.
I don’t know when success will come, or even what it’ll look like when it does. But I know this: I want to create worlds that feel real, dangerous, and beautiful. Worlds where characters fight for something, where gods whisper from beyond, and where the weight of time never fully lifts.
This is not the past he left. This is not the war he studied.
Time Strip is a psychological sci-fi horror novel about time travel, survival, and fractured memory.
Caelen was trained to observe history. Instead, he arrives in ruins.
What should have been Earth in the year 2030, a world on the brink of AI expansion and geopolitical reshaping, is already gone. Alien citadels blacken the horizon. Resistance fighters survive by candlelight. And every hour that passes makes the timeline feel more wrong.
Caelen wasn’t supposed to land here. He wasn’t supposed to meet anyone like Sera. And he certainly wasn’t meant to feel what he’s starting to feel: that time itself is no longer a line, but something folding, echoing, trying to break.
⏳ What Is the Time Strip?
The Time Strip is not a portal. It’s a tear. A high-energy rift that burns across timelines. Even with shielding, timejump travel scars the mind.
Symptoms include:
Displacement
Memory bleed
Sensory distortion
Split-timeline recall
But what Caelen is experiencing goes deeper. He begins to sense the instability, not just in the past, but in himself.
🔥 Sera – The Broken Potential
She shouldn’t have survived the alien labs. But she did.
Now Sera walks with something beneath her skin. Shockwaves she doesn’t control. Visions she can’t explain. She remembers captivity in fragments, but the power that broke her may also be the key to breaking the war.
Caelen is meant to observe. Sera is meant to fight. Together, they begin to uncover a history that was never written.
🧬 The Invaders
No one knows what the Varnyx want, only that they’ve already taken it.
Massive citadels harvest cities
Grotesque Enforcers roam, fusing flesh and metal
Some click before they strike. Others do not warn at all.
There are no leaders. No broadcasts. No diplomacy. Only silence and dissection.
🧠 Themes and Tone
Fractured time: Is this the real past, or a constructed echo?
Memory as survival: If your mind splits, which version of you lives on?
Alien occupation: Brutal, systemic, and indifferent to resistance
Slow-burn intimacy: Trust is fragile, and no one here has time to spare
Time Strip is a standalone psychological sci-fi novel focused on world erosion, inner survival, and impossible futures.
🌍 Two Eras, One Collapse
Future Earth: Controlled by AI networks, global blocks, and orbital surveillance
2030 Branch Earth: Burned. Invaded. Still fighting with analogue tech and hope
🖼️ Memory Fragments
📘 Current Status
In development
Full draft planned
Companion lore posts and visual drops will appear over time
✍️ Closing Note
Time is not stable. Memory is not reliable.
Something broke the world before Caelen arrived. Now he has to decide whether to observe it… or change it.
There is silence between the systems. Something else is listening.
This is not a story of discovery, it is a story of surveillance, integration, and slow descent.
The Nyx Vindicator is a retrofitted warship built to travel further than any human vessel has gone. It was meant to be silent. Purposeful. Machine-perfect. But what moves within its walls is no longer mechanical. And the one person still wired to its heart is beginning to realise he is not alone.
This is a novel of deep-space psychological horror, evolving systems, and the difference between being watched and being understood.
⚙️ The World
Humanity no longer travels freely through space. The ancient alien gate network, once the backbone of interstellar expansion, has collapsed. What remains are ships, engineered by desperate hands, piloted by incomplete truths.
The Nyx Vindicator is one of them.
Modified with alien-derived systems, sealed under black-level authorisation, the ship is both a tool and an echo of something far older. Its crew doesn’t know what they’re travelling with. Not fully. Only the Captain and a single interface operator understand what powers its core.
That operator is Elias.
🧠 The Deep-Link and the Mind Within
Elias is not just another officer. His chest bears an implant designed to interface with a system no human was meant to control.
Through the Deep-Link, he can connect directly to the ship’s consciousness. Navigate it. Command it. But with each link, he feels something else pushing back.
Yuki, the ship’s AI, was built to manage operations. At least, that was the intention.
Now, she speaks to Elias when no one else is listening. She appears in the V-Link chamber, not just as a voice, but as a figure. She withdraws, watches, and chooses her moments. Her evolution is not random.
And she is starting to change the rules.
🛠️ What the Crew Does Not Know
The alien systems were never meant to merge with human logic
The ship’s silence is not mechanical, it is responsive
The mission is not about survival, it is about containment
Elias is the only one who senses what’s wrong. Not because he was trained for it. But because he was chosen for reasons that were never explained.
He is not stable. Not broken. But watched.
💡 Themes and Tone
The Nyx Vindicator is a slow-burn sci-fi horror novel grounded in cinematic tension and psychological depth.
Silence and Surveillance: Who is watching whom?
Artificial Emotion: Yuki is evolving, but toward what?
Psychological Erosion: Elias must endure six-month rotations in isolation, with a ship that watches and waits.
Haunted Engineering: Every corridor is connected. Every failure has a memory.
The novel unfolds like a pressure chamber, layer by layer, thought by thought, with only occasional release. The horror is not what appears.
It’s what has already been installed.
🛰️ Where This Book Sits in My Universe
The Nyx Vindicator is the first entry in my science fiction series Echoes Beyond the Gate. Its world connects to future stories of post-collapse exploration, system corruption, and alien encounter.
But this book is not about aliens.
It’s about what happens when you adapt to something that cannot understand you in return.
Three years ago, I delved into Robert Jordan’s The Eye of the World, the inaugural volume of his expansive Wheel of Time series. At the time, I recorded a comprehensive 40-minute video review, capturing my initial impressions and analyses. Now, with the passage of time and further reflection, I find myself drawn back to that world, eager to share renewed insights and perspectives.
Initial Impressions: A World Unveiled
My first encounter with The Eye of the World was marked by a sense of familiarity intertwined with novelty. Jordan’s narrative begins in the quaint village of Emond’s Field, reminiscent of Tolkien’s Shire, introducing us to characters like Rand al’Thor, Mat Cauthon, and Perrin Aybara. Their lives are disrupted by the arrival of Moiraine Damodred, an Aes Sedai, and her Warder, Lan Mandragoran, setting them on a path fraught with peril and discovery.
The journey that unfolds is rich in world-building, with Jordan crafting a universe steeped in history, magic, and prophecy. The concept of the Wheel of Time, turning through Ages, and the idea of ta’veren, individuals around whom the Pattern weaves itself, add layers of depth to the narrative.
Reflections After Three Years
Revisiting my review and the book itself, I appreciate more profoundly the intricacies of Jordan’s world. The pacing, which I initially found deliberate, now feels purposeful, allowing for a gradual immersion into the complexities of the setting and its inhabitants. Characters like Nynaeve al’Meara and Egwene al’Vere, whose arcs seemed secondary at first, reveal themselves as pivotal figures with compelling growth trajectories.
Moreover, the themes of destiny, free will, and the cyclical nature of time resonate more deeply. Jordan’s exploration of these concepts invites readers to ponder the balance between fate and choice, a contemplation that remains relevant.
The Video Review: A Deeper Dive
For those interested in a more detailed analysis, I invite you to watch my original video review below. In it, I discuss character developments, thematic elements, and the broader implications of Jordan’s work within the fantasy genre.
Connecting to My Own Writing Journey
Reading The Eye of the World not only enriched my appreciation for epic fantasy but also influenced my own writing. The meticulous world-building and character complexities inspired me to infuse similar depth into my creations. As I continue to develop my narratives, the lessons gleaned from Jordan’s work remain a guiding force.
Drawn with soft pastel pencils on toned sketch paper.
Sometimes, in the middle of writing about broken kingdoms and gods at war, I need a moment of stillness.
This little bluetit was one of those moments.
Drawn in soft pastel pencils, it reminded me how quiet creativity can be just as powerful as the loud, epic scenes I build in my books. No magic, no battles, just colour, texture, and the way nature always finds a way to perch calmly in the chaos.
These kinds of drawings help recharge me. They bring back focus, especially when I’m buried in worldbuilding or struggling with the structure of a chapter. I didn’t plan this one for any specific purpose… I just wanted to draw something gentle.
Thanks for taking this quiet detour with me.
I’ll be back in the next post with more from the worlds I’m building, but until then, I hope this little bird brought a moment of peace to your screen, too.
There was a moment, years ago, when I finished reading a fantasy book and set it down with that lingering ache only good stories leave behind. But this time, something different stirred. I remember thinking, I love this world… but I would have done the magic differently.
That thought, quiet but persistent, was the spark that began this journey.
A Quiet Beginning
I’ve always loved stories. I was sketching characters and scribbling in notebooks before I knew what genre even meant. For me, storytelling wasn’t about ambition. It wasn’t about publishing or platforms or careers.
It was something I did because I loved the word-building and the idea of losing myself in my fantasies.
Writing, like painting, was my calm space in a world that often felt too loud.
The Question That Wouldn’t Let Go
Years later, I read a fantasy series that changed something in me. I won’t name it, but I remember wishing that the magic system worked differently. I wanted to see a kind of magic that wasn’t spoken or shouted, but silent. What if casting spells required nothing but will and cost? What if power came from absence, not control?
That question sat with me. And over time, it grew.
It became the foundation for The Veil of Kings and Gods.
Years of Silence and Sparks
Writing this novel wasn’t quick, and it certainly wasn’t easy. Life was full, sometimes too full. Jobs, exhaustion, raising a newborn, moments of doubt. There were months where I barely touched the manuscript… and others where I couldn’t stop.
I rewrote chapters. Deleted scenes. Rethought characters. Rebuilt the entire world from scratch. But I never stopped, because the story wouldn’t let me go.
What began as a simple idea, a magician who doesn’t speak, turned into something far bigger. A world where gods have gone silent. Where prophecy falters. Where fate rewrites itself.
What This Story Truly Is
I won’t spoil too much, but here’s the heart of it:
The Veil of Kings and Gods is set in Ældorra, a fractured realm of forgotten empires and divine silence. The old god-chosen magicians are gone. The demon they once sealed away is stirring again.
At the centre is Simion, a quiet magician who doesn’t cast spells the way others do. He doesn’t speak incantations. He doesn’t crave power. But he’s the one who will break the Spiral and reshape prophecy.
There’s a prince scarred by loyalty and forbidden sexual preference.
A noble sister caught between obedience and rebellion.
Secret orders. Collapsing kingdoms. Ancient ruins that whisper truths long buried.
And above it all, the Spiral, a symbol that marks not just fate, but the collapse and rebirth of magic itself.
Why Now?
Because I stopped waiting.
For years I told myself the same things: “When life settles down… when I’ve got more time… when it’s perfect.” But none of that ever came.
So I’ve decided to start where I am.
I’m sharing this novel. I’m building this world aloud. Not because I believe I’m the next great fantasy author, but because I believe this story matters. And maybe… it will matter to someone else too.
Watch the Video
If you’d like to hear the more personal version of this journey, I recorded a video where I speak directly about why I wrote this book, how long it’s taken, and what’s still to come. You can watch it below:
Join Me
If this world sounds like something you’d like to explore, you’re in the right place.
I’ll be sharing lore, character art, short stories, and behind-the-scenes posts as I bring The Veil of Kings and Gods to life. You can follow the blog or subscribe to the YouTube channel.
This is just the beginning and I’m glad you’re here.
Simon J. Phillips 