You know how they say everyone has a book in them? Well, turns out I had two.

Yesterday, I let slip that I’ve been secretly penning my second novel.

It’s been my clandestine companion for nearly two years now.

I’ve been building this world in the stolen moments between daily life and nightly dreams.

A pianist suddenly finds herself a prisoner in her own mind.

An inner daemon has awakened due to her relentless pursuit of perfection.

It now pulls the strings of her life like a puppet master.

This story has become my own daemon of sorts.

It whispers to me at odd hours, demanding to be written.

Some days, the words flow like a virtuoso’s performance.

Other days, I’m trapped in my own mental purgatory, much like my protagonist.

I’ve named this creation “Ember Rising” – for now, at least.

It’s a crucible where identity melts, reality bends, and the boundaries of self blur into beautiful, terrifying abstraction.

March 2025. That’s when I hope to unleash this daemon upon the world.

But between you and me? I’m not sure if I’m writing this story, or if it’s writing me.