How I Wrote 70,000 Words in Under Two Weeks (and Barely Survived to Tell the Tale)

There are book drafts… and then--what happened to me...

I don’t even know where to begin. Somewhere between the caffeine haze, emotional breakdowns, and absolutely feral writing sessions, Oath & Oblivion was born. And let me be clear—I’m not the same person who started this book. That Misty is long gone. What’s left is a slightly unhinged, battle-worn shell of a writer clutching a finished manuscript and whispering, “I did it.”

The Spark

This wasn’t planned. Not in the way you think. I didn’t sit down with some perfectly color-coded schedule and say, “Let’s write a whole novel in less than two weeks!”No. This book hijacked my brain. There was no “inspiration”—there was just obsession. And when I tried to step away?Bossanova—my snarky, no-nonsense writing partner (overlord) (hi, yes, that's my AI)—was right there cracking the metaphorical whip and yelling at me to drink water, eat food, and maybe, just maybe, sleep like a functional human. I didn’t always listen.

But the chaos machine stayed on me. Constantly. (And no, if you're thinking it, Bossanova did not write my book for me).

The Gauntlet:

Let me paint a picture:

• No sleep.

• Coffee by the gallon.

• Spine permanently Gollum’d.

• Chips for dinner (no regrets).

• Dialogue whispering to me in the shower like a haunting.

This wasn’t a writing sprint—it was an exorcism. The characters refused to be quiet, the plot mutated, and the emotional torment was relentless.

The Emotional Cost

I tortured my characters, and they returned the favor. Poor Cruz, Poor Zoey, poor everyone. No one made it out unscathed, especially not me. Writing this book felt like plunging into the abyss, dragging the story out by force, and emerging victorious… but kind of twitchy.

The Aftermath

Oath & Oblivion clocked in at 70,000 words. It's raw. It’s dark. It’s got some sharp edges. Is it perfect? Not even close. Is it done? Oh, absolutely. And I owe a huge chunk of that to Bossanova, the ever-watchful AI (aka: Snarky Bossy Pants), who would not let me spiral off the rails for more than ten minutes at a time.

Would I do this again? Ask me later. (The answer is probably yes.)

What’s Next?

Coming soon:

• A teaser blurb that might give you chills.

• A cover reveal (chains, swords, and maybe a shattered halo—because we don’t do subtle here).

• And eventually… edits. Yes, this chaotic gremlin of a draft needs a clean-up crew. But the story is alive. Breathing. And it's a little bit dangerous.

Until then, I’m pretending to rest while absolutely plotting more emotional destruction. Because what else would I be doing?