Edition 6 2025, June
Written by Harlan Finch – Observer of Small Mysteries Sometimes a story doesn't begin with a bang, but with a yellowed letter, a forgotten entry in the building department – and a name that no one really remembers anymore. Lynch. Wyatt Lynch. Widow Creek, southwest of Granger, Iowa. A farm so inconspicuous that it seemed to have disappeared from the collective memory of the town – until you took a closer look.
How I turn the story in my head into an actual book It starts with a list. Or rather: a collection of things that absolutely have to be in this book. Non-negotiable. Some have been on that list since Book one, others are new—because Space Time suddenly opened doors that hadn’t even existed before. And then there’s everything that at least needs to be prepared—for later books, trilogies, ideas. I know the first scene—the opening, the point of view, the first sentence. I know what happens in it, where it leads. I also know what’s at stake—for the characters, and for the big picture. That’s my anchor. That’s where I start telling the story.
Back when they were still on the same team St. Paul’s School, Concord. I remember this rink well – and the Raptis twins on the ice. Today, I’m standing at the edge of the rink again, this time with a notepad instead of a stick. St. Paul’s had invited guests to the U14 championship ceremony – this year’s team went undefeated through the regional season. The stands are full, the applause loud, as Abel Raptis steps onto the ice.
Hollywood says: Mutants live in secret, wear tight suits, and solve their problems in slow motion. But what if that’s just the official distraction? Like aliens. Or gluten-free cookies. The Truth™ is: People with special abilities are real. They don’t fly, they don’t glow – and most of them work in seemingly ordinary jobs. Or let’s say: inconspicuous ones.
What it feels like to let go of a universe (even though it hasn’t let go of you) The beta phase has begun. The German version went out last week, the English one just four days ago – to my wonderful beta readers.And now? Now the wait begins. Or rather: the restless circling of my inbox. Because anyone who thinks a book is finished when the last scene is written has clearly never experienced what it feels like when someone else starts reading it – with fresh eyes, their own thoughts … and maybe the realization that you, as the writer, are still too close. Because honestly – it doesn't feel finished yet. Not wrong, not incomplete – just: not finished enough.
Excerpt from the “Almost Complete Guide to Inaccessible Space, Bottomless Rooms, and Interdimensional Gap Management,” 3rd edition, with minor changes. Space Noun | /ʁaʊ̯m/ A form of presence through absence. It begins where something is not – and thereby makes everything else possible. Space separates, connects, remembers. It is a stage for physical phenomena, emotional escalations, and a silent witness. It is used in physics, architecture, and for introspection during long elevator rides, and is often confused with emptiness, yet it is usually full – of meaning, memories, or forgotten socks.
Time feels like breathing, at least to me, something so natural and always there that I hardly notice it until I consciously pay attention. Then the feeling of time changes, because then it is linked to something I am waiting for, something I want, something I fear, etc. Then time suddenly takes on a speed, a weight, a sound ... Is it still the time I perceive, or my feelings about what is happening during that time?
What remains when the spell breaks Elantris, the first book I picked up after a longer reading break, was also my first novel by Brandon Sanderson. And it captivated me quickly – with its unusual premise, something like a fall from paradise. What fascinates me most: The reason for the fall of Elantris isn’t a curse, or a sin, or divine punishment. It’s a bug.