fiction

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Writing Exercise – An unexpected prompt

“Mike, try to think of one of the most insane things that could happen…” the text conversation began.

Turns out, that’s EXACTLY the kind of writing prompt I LOVE. And even better, he didn’t want to share the experience until our next call.

“You should write a three paragraph story of what you think happened.”

It’s like someone gave him a manual for hacking my writer’s brain.

Front page of the Roswell Daily Record, reporting a UFO crash in 1947.

I replied that writing was the easy part, but expected I wouldn’t be anywhere near the mark for what actually happened. In much of my writing, I tend to drift into fantastical situations or absurdity, and I’m usually not interested in reining myself in.

I was waiting for the school bus, so I started telling myself a story similar to the 1947 Roswell UFO crash, but in his neighboring state instead of New Mexico. However, it immediately became clear that he was bursting to share, even if he was keeping the full story secret until we could talk.

“It involves death, prison, and six hours at the animal care center.”

WOW. OK, no aliens. For now.

I’ve had conversations like this before, if not with details as intriguing as this, and I’ve found that including some personal info is a great way to draw the person into the brief story I’m crafting for them. It’s same reason I first considered a regional event like Roswell. I set the aliens idea aside and let those three details form a kind of movie for my mind’s eye.

Fifteen minutes later, I had this.

A Day of Troubles

Saturday. Bright. Warm but not too hot. One of the best kinds of days to say goodbye. Little did we know, God had more than one kind of farewell on the agenda.

Scratch that. There’s no way we could have had even the smallest inkling, but I get ahead of myself.

The day of my mother-in-law’s funeral had finally arrived. I say ‘finally’ because the disease had taken a long, tortuous route toward the final conclusion. But as I stated above, it was a good day – the kind she would have liked. One where we might have had lunch as a family in the park, or perhaps spent some time hiking in the desert foothills.

We were both drained and energized in a way that only funerals make a person feel. You reconnect with so many people and share so many wonderful stories. You also laugh more than you anticipate. And yet, you have to be on the whole day. It’s like you’ve adopted a persona that people expect to see: someone strong and well-adjusted. They don’t want to see behind the mask you wear, even though they wouldn’t be surprised because they’ve worn that mask, too.

Afterwards, we enjoyed the weather like she would have wanted us to: my wife, myself, and our dog, Trouble. He’s quite empathetic for a dog, and he seemed to be behaving out of respect for us. Until he wasn’t.

On our way home from the park, he caught me off-guard as he chased a rodent or something under a car. Before I could blink, I lost the leash, he scurried under the car, and disappeared on the other side.

We searched for hours, considering ourselves fortunate that we could follow the occasional bark or curse words that chased him as he scampered through people’s yards.

Dusk approached, heralding more than the night. Ahead lay the state prison, and it was lit up like a city under siege. We’d later learn that Trouble had discovered a hidden tunnel under the fences, and that three inmates had discovered Trouble.

What happens next? I have no idea. It’s an unedited draft of an idea that simply flowed from brain to page. It might never be fleshed out. Despite that, conscious writing decisions were made.

The story begins with a mix of emotions and proceeds at a slow pace, which was deliberate so I could ramp up the action or whatever absurdity my writer brain could conjure. I’m building toward something, even if I don’t know that is.

This brings me to another decision: while there’s nothing particularly profound about these 350 words, I’ve left myself an intriguing mystery to help spark inspiration, should I ever go back to it. It’s a writing technique I developed to help me on those days when my creative tank is running low. To learn more, check out Set Yourself Mysteries.

Cover of a Mad Libs book

It reminds me of another creative exercise I did in college after I changed my major from computer programming to writing. I’d tell someone to give me three details, usually something like a name, a place, and an event, and then I’d spend ten or fifteen minutes telling a story I was making up on the spot. Call it “reverse Mad Libs”. In hindsight, I was teaching myself a way to organize my thoughts around a few key details.

I share these techniques as examples of the tools in my writer’s toolbox. Even when I’m enjoying a simple writing exercise, I’m using these tools without having to think about them. It means the creativity flows better and the effort of writing is more joy than work.

Good luck with your writing!

–Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, June 2026

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Writing Exercise – The An-Teak Desk

A writer never knows when inspiration will arrive or from where. Because algorithm, I stumbled upon the podcast of a friend’s wife. It was a clip in which she discussed junk drawers with her friend. They laughed in delight at the idea of the drawer opening up like the wardrobe to Narnia.

An hour later, I had 1,700 words.

Jammie, so nicknamed for her love of footie pajamas, followed her brother Matt up the dim creaking stairs, her eyes fixed on the close-cropped black hair that had earned the slender boy a moniker of his own. “Gramma missed a spot, Matchstick,” she teased, pointing at the tuft on his head.

He reached back and felt for the place, his lips hissing a derisive sound when he found it. “That’s my lucky spot. She says if you find one of those, you’ll be lucky ‘til your next haircut.”

“I think that’s one of those things grown-ups say to hide their mistakes,” she retorted.

He looked over his shoulder as they neared the top of the stairs. “With all that reading you do, I can’t believe you’ve never heard of that.”

“You read as much as I do and I bet you’ve never heard of it, either.”

The dark shape of the heavy oak door emerged from the shadows before them, a dull brass doorknob reflecting the oil lamp at the bottom of the stairs. Instead of reaching for the knob, he turned and looked down at her. “You read way more than I do.”

“Yeah, but you read en-cy-clo-pedias,” she replied, drawing out the enunciation as a sign of reverence. She’d always wanted to enjoy them – knowledge was important, her daddy advised – but she just didn’t have the head for it, her grandma said.

“I didn’t have a choice, you know.”

“But you like them now, right?”

He stared at his sister, her face aglow with wonder and curiosity. Her eyes could drink in all the details of the world, and still her inquisitiveness would not be sated. “I guess. They’re now like reading an old story you know by heart.”

“I know all about that. My books never showed me that symbol you found, though. My stories are all made up, and writers are liars.”

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What do you enjoy about being an author?
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What do you enjoy about being an author?

Well, that’s easy to answer.

Until someone actually asks the question.

For me, and I suspect many writers like me, it’s something we just know. Perhaps it’s similar to loving milk chocolate melted over marshmallows and graham crackers, Irish whisky splashing into an iced glass, or shaggy dogs who cuddle in your lap. You just know.

As writers, one of our primary jobs is to articulate those concepts that are difficult to put into words. To evoke meaning and emotion from words made of letters made of lines and curves that dance across a page. It’s hard, it’s easy, it’s simply impossible at times. Yet we trudge on because that’s the job.

And so, when I was recently given a survey as part of the publishing process, I paused and took some time to think about things that brought me joy and those that drained my energy. I already knew the answers. I just didn’t know which words I needed to express myself.

Mike fancies himself a Drake meme. This is something he doesn't like.

Please list up to 3 things you enjoy the least as an author related to writing, publishing and selling your books.

  • Book formatting. I wish I’d done more research about manuscript formatting. It’s caused a lot of rework.
  • Marketing myself. Ironically, my day job is marketing.
  • I love the learning process for all of this, though I wish it didn’t take so much time. It’s also very easy to distract yourself with rabbit holes when you’re struggling with the creative process.
Mike fancies himself a Drake meme. This is something he likes.

Please list up to 3 things you enjoy the most as an author related to writing, publishing and selling your books.

  • The pure act of creation energizes me like nothing else.
  • I am compelled to find ways to entertain and comfort people in all aspects of my life.
  • I believe my skills should be used to advocate for human beings who are under-represented, under-privileged, or otherwise face prejudices.

Being able to articulate things like this can be a helpful guide in your writing. If you know what will energize you, tap into that as you sit at the keyboard. If you know what drains you, meet that head on and consider ways to change that chore into something you adore.

Focus and time management are critical aspects of writing that I don’t think get enough attention. An exercise like this can help.

Good luck with your writing in 2026!

–Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, December 2025

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How Do You Honor a Life #3 – Ace
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How Do You Honor a Life #3 – Ace

A few years ago, I was invited to join a bunch of dice-rolling, whiskey-swilling hooligans at an annual tabletop gaming retreat called Whiskey Weekend.

Bunch of guys around a large table playing games.
Hooligans, amiright?

I was amazed how quickly I fit in and bonded with the group. With my neurodiversity, I don’t make friends easily or often, nor am I comfortable in social situations. One of the people I connected with quickly was Ace. I suspect this was a combination of our similar senses of humor and my willingness to play any game he rolled out. On a future weekend, I gave him some 3D-printed token holders for Everdell, one of his favorite games. His gratitude became delight when I revealed I’d bought my own copy of Everdell because of him.

About two years ago, he shared some rough news with us. Cancer. In the time leading up to our 2024 weekend, he told us he had chemo scheduled the first Saturday of our retreat. He was going to come up briefly and then jump into the treatments. He was in good spirits, and I could tell he enjoyed even that brief time with us. He offered us silicone bracelets as part of his journey – mine disappeared after Benji snagged it for his stuffies to wear – but I believe it conveyed Ace’s philosophy of staying strong and seizing the day.

Knowing how much he loved the event, I wanted to do something special. I wanted to help him feel like he could still experience some of the weekend, even from a distance. So I did two things.

The first was for the group. I 3D printed tabletop minis for everyone to paint and wrote little stories so people could mix and match. More info here. I gave Ace first pick and he was able to make his selection before he had to leave. I later heard he painted it right away and had a fun time. I wish I could have seen the results.

The second was for Ace himself. The whiskey part of Whiskey Weekend involves a double-elimination tournament where we do a blind taste test every hour. I brought little empty bottles for each entry so Ace could sample the same selection he would have gotten with us. It was perhaps a small comfort, considering Ace looked forward to the weekend more than anyone, but he seemed truly touched. I hope he was able to enjoy the drinks and think fondly of Weekends past. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him. I never got a chance to ask.

Friendship is wonderful, strange, magical thing. I think I’d been together with Ace less than 10 times, and yet, I quickly, easily considered him a good friend. I don’t think I knew his actual name for two years.

And so, I found myself at my first Jewish funeral today.

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Writing Exercise – Don’t Write Yourself Off

Mike Wallevand on high school graduation day at 135 pounds

I hadn’t worked out in 28 years.

I graduated high school a skinny 5’11”, 135-pound basketball player who’d spent his childhood with a ridiculous metabolism. For many of us, things changed in college. Four years later, I’d gained 30 pounds. It wasn’t muscle. Those size 32 pants were a bit snug.

Fast forward nearly twenty years – around 2015 – I stopped checking my weight. A scale displaying 220+ pounds wasn’t something I wanted to see any more. I had more willpower for that than to make any meaningful lifestyle change, and my weight continued to increase.

Collage of Mike at his heaviest

In fact, the only real change I would make was cutting out soda and trying to walk the dogs more. From 2012-2017, I lost maybe 10-15 unremarkable pounds. I certainly didn’t feel any better, physically, mentally, or emotionally.

My wardrobe also remained the same: layers of bulky clothes to hide rolls, folds, and not-quite-manboobs. My shirts were XL and my pants were 38 waist. The collars of dress shirts were hangman’s knots and suitcoats were sausage casings.

Five years ago, in early 2019, I was invited to a class at a local boxing club. Did I mention I hadn’t worked out in 28 years? I found workouts boring. Or intimidating: I didn’t want to be the fat bald guy in a massive fitness center who was wheezing on a treadmill or struggling under weights. And if that were true, punching something for an hour was certainly far outside my interest, not to mention my personality.

Coming into the class, I didn’t expect anything to change, even if a small voice between my ears told me that I really, really needed an exercise routine. But I’d been ignoring that guidance my entire adult life.

In that first 1-hour class, I thought I was going to die.

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Commission: Tildy Silverleaf by Danny Givens

For a while, I’ve wanted to hire some illustrators to help me populate this site with more imagery. Until the book was finalized, however, I knew it would be a distraction to help me procrastinate. Believe me, writers have an endless variety of options to help with that. Just look at our search history.

Now that I’m working on publishing the book, I have time. I recently hired Danny Givens, who was recommended by another creator I admire. Danny was looking for work and I was looking to hire. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.

I’ve worked with enough illustrators, designers, and writers to know when to provide direction and when to butt out so they can follow their creative impulses. I’m not going to dictate lines and shading any more than I’m going to dictate seasonings to a chef. It’s the same kind of freedom I appreciate when I’ve taken on a writing job. In my experience, it results in a frictionless relationship. And that’s certainly what I experienced here.

In a recent conversation with another illustrator, I described my philosophy for my art.

I want to give readers enough detail for a scene that allows them to complete the picture in their own minds. It’s a kind of hand-off. In this way, however, I relinquish some control of the story and ownership of it. And that’s perfectly fine. If an artist wants to maintain iron-fisted control over the interpretation of their work, they probably have to keep it hidden from the world. And unshared art is a shame, IMO.

So, I provided some basics about the character and suggested four types of scenes that might make a good visual:

  • Solitude: Tildy perched impossibly upon a branch
  • Action: fighting some of the monsters in the book
  • Friendship: saving her friend Marklin
  • Family: time with her adoptive mother

I let him choose what spoke to him, and then I provided some specifics. Here’s the first sketch, which captured the essence of the scene I provided.

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Chapter One available
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Chapter One available

As I mentioned in a previous post that announced the Prologue, I’ve started working on publishing my book, Tildy Silverleaf and the Starfall Omen. As I release chapters, I plan to write an accompanying post that provides a behind-the-scenes look at the work. To skip right to reading the new chapter, click here: Chapter One – Spring in Dappledown.

I started my writing with Chapter One, not the Prologue, because getting a feel for my protagonist and her home were crucial to understanding whether I had a story worth pursuing. I needed to establish my unnamed hero, her home, and the witch she reluctantly called “mother”. The ideas flowed effortlessly from thought to word, and Tildy, as she would became known, nearly flew from the page into life.

I had something.

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What do you call a book without a cover?
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What do you call a book without a cover?

I wish I had a better punchline for that set-up. It’s been a long day.

Let’s try another one: if an author writes a story and it doesn’t have a cover, is it still a book?

OK, OK, now I’m just procrastinating.

In a recent post about publishing my book, I mentioned looking for a cover designer. An online gaming buddy connected me with a graphic artist in Australia named Hoomie. Her portfolio was excellent and I found her to be a consummate professional. And as the conversation progressed…I knew she would be out of my price range. That’s on me: I have champagne tastes and a lite beer budget. It’s unfortunate because I liked her and was excited to see what we could accomplish together.

What I was able to witness, however, was an expert who knew the right questions to ask. It required me to articulate things I knew – things churning about in the cauldron between my ears – but hadn’t put into words. I find this extremely valuable because it’s challenging to distill thousands of hours of writing time into an engaging and succinct description. I’ve written about the importance of it here: Learn about your writing by talking with people.

The following questions are among the things I will continue to contemplate in this and future writing projects.

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Writing Exercise: Monday Positivity

I’ve been trying to work on my positivity.

Correction, I’ve been working on my positivity.

CORRECTION: I have improved my positivity.

It’s tough. I have a pragmatic, neurodiverse, and often all-or-nothing view of the world. I like to identify problems and find creative ways to fix them. I’ve often said that the old Lexus commercials of the 1990s especially resonated with me.

a car with martini glasses stacked in a pyramid on its hood
Lexus: The Relentless Pursuit of Perfection

As I’ve matured, I’ve come to understand that this also creates the relentless pursuit of imperfection. Nothing is ever good enough, which often means, things remain bad until they are. It’s a helluva thing to overcome to publish a book. But if I put my “reason mind” to work (If you want to publish, you have to stop puttering about), it begins to drown out the “emotion mind” that’s often loudest in my head (Just one more edit and it’ll be perfect. Just one more. You’re so close. But just one more.)

This morning, I was looking for a way to start my Monday with a positive attitude, which is tough for many of us. Part of our social contract in America is commiserating over the start of the work week. It’s probably a multi-million dollar industry, when you consider all the merchandise dedicated to grumpy Mondays.

I thought back to how good my Friday was. It started with this: A Day Bright, and Full of Promise. It was a simple writing exercise that got my brain moving, and the creative outlet got those feel-goods coursing through my veins.

Instead of simply jumping into work, with who knows what surprises awaiting me, I took a few minutes to jot this down in a coffee shop.

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Chapter available: Prologue

A few weeks ago, I started publishing my book on this site. My intent was to finally, actively, truly work toward publishing it in full digital and physical formats, instead of cowing to those fears that always tell you: It’s not good enough. It’ll never be good enough. There’s a point where the author has to listen to voices that aren’t internal. When Trusted Readers regularly provide positive feedback and encouragement, that should carry more weight.

It does carry more weight.

This post isn’t simply an announcement, though you can start reading this chapter here: Prologue: The Children’s Gifts. Consider it a behind-the-scenes look at how a chapter and book come to life. I might not have this context for every chapter I release, but we’ll see. It’s very easy for a writer to procrastinate when fun new post ideas come to mind.

Prologues have been integral to fantasy books for decades. Thoughts on this are cyclical: from “must-have” to “cliche” to “must-have” and around again. IMO, if your writing is chasing what’s fashionable, you’re doing your story a disservice. You’re also not being honest with your Readers, which to me, is the more egregious matter.

Early on, I knew I wanted a prologue for each of my books, and they would all have a corresponding epilogue, as well. This was part of a larger decision: each book is told from the hero’s point of view. You know what they’re thinking, you see the world through their biases, you see how they grow based on their reactions to stress and other factors. Which meant I had a problem for the antagonists of the series. How do I help the Reader understand the machinations of their schemes?

I didn’t want to keep any of that hidden from Readers. In Lord of the Rings, you get a limited sense of Sauron’s plans. The Harry Potter series offers a little more visibility to Voldemort through a prologue or monologue. I wanted more for my Readers.

And so, the bookends of the story are devoted to the primary antagonists of the series: the dark god Delosh and Its thrall, the Mellifluent, the last survivor of a genocide committed by its master. This is where I communicate their motivations and plans, but also how the actions of our heroes affect those plans.

When I wrote the prologue, I took inspiration from the cinematic opening to the Fellowship of the Ring and the writing of Tolkien himself. It was formal and grand; it had depth and history; and it had necessary exposition to set up the entire series, not just the first book. It was heavy.

It was too much. And Trusted Readers were right to call me on it.

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