The Silent Work: Taking Stock in the Long Middle

New year, sharper scalpel, clearer map.

January feels like a natural place to take stock. Not because anything has reset, exactly, but because enough time has passed for the shape of the last year to come into focus. The dust has settled. What needed to finish has finished. What needed space has had it.

I’ve also been conspicuously quiet here since September. Not for any dramatic reason—just the usual combination of writing, thinking, revising, and deciding not to narrate every intermediate step. The blog went silent. The work did not.

Closing the 2025 querying loop

All of the queries I sent during that period have now resolved. The single full manuscript request I mentioned in my previous post was read carefully by a lovely agent and ultimately declined, closing the final open thread from last year’s submissions. The feedback itself was generous—strong voice, an engaging concept, an enjoyable read—but in the end it came down to fit rather than execution. That brings the 2025 querying cycle to a clean end.

There’s something clarifying about that kind of closure. It turns down the background noise without needing to answer every question. Once the loop closed, it became easier to look at the work itself again—without anticipation, inbox refreshing, or speculative math—and decide, deliberately, what to do next.

Clear boundaries tend to sharpen my focus. They give the work traction.

What changed as a result

I went back into the manuscript for another focused pass, aiming to tighten rather than transform. Some of the prose grew leaner, helped along by a few months of distance and a sharper scalpel. A few narrative beats became more decisive. The most visible change came at the front: I carefully condensed the original first chapter to roughly half its length so the portal element arrives earlier. When an agent requests ten pages, the fantastical turn now appears on page five instead of page ten. That shift brings the opening into closer alignment with what the book is actually doing.

At the same time, I rebuilt the query letter with fresh perspective. Late last year, I had the good fortune to receive detailed feedback from an editor at a Canadian speculative fiction press. It was generous, precise, and exactly what I needed at that moment. The result is a query that feels sharper and more faithful to the story I am telling.

The practical consequence is straightforward. I am querying again, with a smaller, more deliberate list. I am focusing on fit first, taking shots only where the alignment feels real, and personalizing when it adds clarity rather than noise.

The novella as a deliberate container

While the main manuscript was cooling and the query loop was closing, my focus shifted. Over a few months in late fall, while drafting Heir of Secrets (the working title for Book 2), I realized there was a stretch of narrative ground I didn’t yet understand well enough to move past.

A character had crossed from The Fractured Soul into the sequel. Time had passed. Something in him had changed. I could outline where he needed to land, but the internal path between those points was still unclear. Rather than force my way forward, I started writing into that gap to see what emerged.

What began as a short exploratory piece gradually took on its own weight and shape, eventually becoming a novella written entirely from that character’s point of view. Because it doesn’t carry the structural load of the trilogy, it gave me room to experiment—to play with tone, linger in texture, and follow lines of curiosity that don’t belong in the main arc. Writing it was, unexpectedly and deeply, a joy.

Most importantly, it did its job. It clarified continuity, sharpened emotional causality, and gave Heir of Secrets firmer footing. When I returned to Book 2, it didn’t feel like resuming something I’d paused. It felt like continuing something I finally understood.

Widening the lens: being in rooms again

Additional clarity came from stepping away from the desk.

In October, I attended Can*Con and the Ottawa International Writers Festival, which was a useful reminder that while writing itself is solitary, the life of an author is not. Spending time in conversation—with authors like my friend Suyi Davies Okungbowa, editors, and others working in the field—offered perspective that’s hard to access when the work is reduced to inboxes and spreadsheets.

That sense of literary citizenship is carrying into 2026. I’m serving on the volunteer committee for the Tucson Festival of Books this year, and I’m looking forward to being part of that ecosystem in March. There’s a particular kind of renewal that comes from talking shop with people who care about the architecture of stories as much as you do. It turns the industry from an abstract void into a community—one you can meaningfully engage with.

How querying fits now

Querying is part of the picture again, but it’s no longer the center of it. I’m sending work out selectively and at a low volume, guided by stronger materials and a clearer sense of fit. The process is quieter this time, less about momentum, and more about alignment. It’s something happening in the background, not something I’m measuring my days against.

I’m not treating this as a fresh campaign or a reset button. It’s simply a continuation, informed by what I’ve learned and by a better understanding of what this book is and who might be right for it. The work moves forward either way.

Re-anchoring the blog’s role

That same posture applies here.

This blog isn’t meant to track outcomes or provide a running commentary on submissions. It’s a place to think in public, to reflect on process, craft, and the longer arcs that don’t fit neatly into spreadsheets or social posts. That was the intention when I started it. Living through the last year has only clarified why that matters to me.

Going forward, I plan to return to a roughly bi-weekly cadence, rotating between writing work, craft observations, industry context, and the subtler lessons that surface along the way. Not everything will be timely, and most of it won’t be urgent. That’s the point.

The throughline, as ever, is the work itself. Stories unfold on their own timelines. Understanding deepens in fits and starts. Curiosity remains intact.

I’m here, writing, revising, paying attention, and staying open to what the next stretch of the road requires. That’s enough to keep going.

Let’s talk

If you’ve found yourself navigating a long middle—between milestones, between decisions, between drafts—I’d love to hear how you’ve kept your footing. What helps you maintain momentum when systems move slowly and certainty is in short supply?

P.S.: Check out Suyi here: https://suyidavies.com Look out for Season of the Serpent, Book 3 of his The Nameless Republic trilogy in August 2026!