Nick McCown

Momentum is a hell of a thing.

It can come in waves, all at once, or not at all. It’s an infinite, immovable wall that picks up and starts moving when you least expect it. That’s how it’s seemed to me, anyway.

I’ve always loved stories. When I was a boy, going to bed at night was one of my favorite things. Because when I lay down I knew that my dad was going to tell me the best story in the world. I don’t know how he outdid himself every night. I don’t know if he plotted them out ahead of time or rode by the seat of his pants. I wish I could still ask him.

Either way, his creative mind helped shape mine before I could read. But that didn’t stop him from introducing me to literature. Other creative minds. The first novel I ever experienced was Daybreak 2250 A.D. by Andre Norton. He read it to me chapter by chapter, explaining things that were too big for me to understand so that I could understand.

He read me other books, and then fed and nurtured my love of stories with recommendations. I eventually found some of my own. The Prydain Chronicles and Westmark by Lloyd Alexander. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.The Dark Tower standing tall through the clouds of Stephen King’s vast, interconnected tales of fantasy, horror and heart.

I lost dad in February of 2024, three days after his 68th birthday. It was the hardest time of my life. I lost my best friend that day. All those years that seemed so long when living them suddenly seemed to have gone by in the blink of an eye. Two weeks later, my relationship of four years ended under the strain. My father’s passing was not the catalyst, only the straw that broke the camel’s over-encumbered back.

Momentum is a hell of a thing.

When still, it seems like it doesn’t exist. When it first starts moving, you don’t even notice.

That summer was one of heartache and longing and rage. I felt like nothing would ever be alright again.

Then, something profound happened.

I read The Hedge Knight.

Suddenly I was taken back to my childhood. Those stories my father used to tell me. The books he read. Prydain, Middle Earth, Mid-World. Those boundless scopeless realms of fantasy and wonder.

I had seen Westeros. Imagined it. But not like this. I walked through those pages and the grounds of the Ashford tourney right alongside Dunk and Egg. And then I walked through them again. I wish dad could have read it.

I wanted this story. I needed it. And I needed more.

But more than that, I was reunited with a yearning that I had all but forgotten as life’s everyday struggles and obligations piled up like mountains.

I wanted to do to someone else what George R.R. Martin had just done to me. I wanted to show them the wonder and wildness and fantastical whimsy of a strange new world built on echoes of our own. I wanted to write. So I started writing and actually kept at it this time.

Until I had written a whole book. And then another.

Now I’m working on a third with firm plans for six more.

I joined my local writers guild. I met a lot of great new friends and critique partners. I’ve learned more about my craft and myself than I ever would have imagined.

I started querying. Went to my first con last year in Amarillo (Texas High Plains Writers, great folks, check them out if you’re local). Pitched, met more critique partners and made some incredible friends.

My plan was to shoot for traditional publishing. I spent countless hours fine tuning query letters and pitches. Working my pages to get them as clean as possible. And wrestling with doubt.

Is this good enough? Am I an idiot (yes, but hear me out)?

I’d spent the months leading up to the DFW Writers Conference this year working my pitch every way it would work. I tried not to carry those doubts with me to the con, though a few might have snuck into my luggage. And when I walked through those doors for the first time, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t carry some of those doubts in my pockets. But I learned a lot, made a few more friends, and came home with something I didn’t expect to.

Determination. And a plan. A real plan.

Or the skeleton of one, anyway. When I picked the Self Publishing panel as my last one of the con, I had no idea how much it would affect me over the next three weeks. I had heard of Royal Road, but didn’t really know much about it. The concept always interested me; I have always been enamored by serial fiction. One of my personal favorite works began as such: The Gunslinger by Stephen King. I always thought the way he writes lends itself well to the serial medium.

And on that Sunday afternoon, I realized the way I write just might too.

I realized that I have something a lot of people want right now. Something they need. Just as much as I needed the Hedge Knight when I cracked that spine and actually felt hope for the first time in… well, too long. And that now I knew a way to give it to them.

To you.

Two years ago I was diving into a new world of wonder for the first time since boyhood.
One month ago I was nervously preparing for a pitch meeting at DFWcon. Determined to pursue traditional publishing.
Three weeks ago, I came home from that con with a new determination, and the bones of a plan to share my work with the world.
Today, I approved preliminary designs for cover art, sent out the final advanced review copies, and pinched myself to confirm that this is all really happening.

It hurt.

On January 1, 2027 I will post the official title announcement and cover reveal, release schedule and a sneak peek at what you’ll be getting.

Long story short, sink or swim, I’m publishing my book next year. I’ve never been more terrified. And I’ve never been this excited.

Momentum is a hell of a thing.

– Nick