For a long time, Neri and Ezra were quiet.
These characters once occupied so much of my imagination that their world felt almost as real to me as my own. I knew their histories, their struggles, their love, and the forces that continued to pull them toward one another. Then, somewhere along the way, my motivation to write fiction faded.
I did not stop writing altogether. Much of my recent writing has been personal and reflective. I have been exploring healing, trauma, family, relationships, identity, and the experiences that shaped me. That kind of writing has been meaningful, but it requires a different part of me than fiction does.
For a while, I wondered whether I had lost my connection to the fantasy world I created.
The Story Was Still There
Even when I was not actively writing, Neri and Ezra never completely disappeared. Neither did Mami Wata, the ancient histories, the inherited gifts, or the mysteries connecting generations across time.
Their world remained somewhere in the background, quietly waiting.
Recently, new ideas began returning—not as complete chapters, but as questions, images, fragments, and possibilities. I started thinking more deeply about Mami Wata’s origins, the Eleven Suns, and the forgotten history that shaped the world Neri and Ezra inherited.
Then a possible title came to me:
The Forgotten Songs of the Eleven Suns.
The moment I heard it in my mind, something shifted. It felt mysterious, ancient, and connected to the mythology I have been building. More importantly, it sounded like the story was speaking to me again.
Returning Without Rushing
My first instinct was to begin making changes immediately. However, I realized that I need to spend time with the manuscript before attempting any major revisions.
I need to reread Book Two and reconnect with the characters as they already exist on the page. I want to remember who they were when I first wrote them, while also paying attention to who they may need to become.
Stories can change while their writers are away.
I have changed since I began creating this world. My understanding of love, grief, survival, family, faith, identity, and legacy has deepened. Those experiences will naturally influence how I see the characters and the choices they make.
That does not mean I need to dismantle everything I previously wrote. It simply means I can return with a clearer and more experienced perspective.
Creativity Has Its Own Seasons
Gardening has taught me that a quiet season does not mean nothing is growing. Some of the most important work happens beneath the soil, long before anything becomes visible.
Creativity can work the same way.
A story may appear dormant while its roots are stretching in directions we cannot yet see. Characters may remain silent until we have lived enough life to understand what they have been trying to tell us.
Perhaps I did not abandon this story. Perhaps I simply needed time to become the writer who could carry it forward.
For now, I am not placing pressure on myself to finish quickly. I am returning slowly—reading, listening, making notes, and allowing myself to feel curious again.
Neri and Ezra waited for me.
The Eleven Suns continued burning somewhere beyond the page.
And now, I am finally ready to listen for their forgotten songs.
CTA: Have you ever returned to a creative project after a long break? What helped you reconnect with it?
