Makitia Thompson's Blog

 

October 2nd, 2025 | When the Veil Begins to Break 🎃Editor’s Note: The Veil is Thinning 🌒

October has arrived. The air has sharpened, the nights stretch long, and Burrington breathes louder than ever.

This is the month where stories wake up. Where whispers crawl through walls and memory refuses to sleep. For Burrington, October is not just a season, it is the one time of year when the veil is so fragile you can almost feel it in your fingertips.

The town is already cursed. Its borders already thin. But on the approach to Halloween, the seams weaken further, and the boundary between life and memory, between shadow and breath, becomes something you can almost hear ticking.

This month, The Clock Between Worlds will carry you deeper. You will meet Silas Glaston again, the mayor who watched the town rise and sink into its own sorrow. You’ll walk the streets of Burrington on its most dangerous night, with a companion who is not what they seem. You’ll glimpse corners of the town captured in five short stories bound together in The Hollowed Hours. And you’ll be reminded that while the second book of the series is still finding its shape, Burrington is not silent-its stories are already waiting for you.

October is not safe. But perhaps that’s why you’re here.

Spotlight Feature: Silas Glaston’s Legacy 🕯️The Founding Mayor & Fragments of Glaston

To know Burrington is to know Silas Glaston. He is its shape, its first voice, and its warning.

In The Founding Mayor, readers step back into the moment Burrington’s bones were still fresh, timber being raised, homes etched out of land that already carried an older grief. Glaston is not a ghost here, not yet, but his presence feels inevitable, as though he was already writing himself into legend.

This short story lets you walk beside him, not as his confidant, but as an observer of what it meant to build a town that did not want to be built. The stones, the river, the soil: all of it whispered. And Glaston, for reasons of his own, refused to listen.

Then comes Fragments of Glaston, a book not of story but of shadows. It is a guided descent into Burrington’s truths, delivered not in one straight line but in fragments, broken pieces of a man who thought he was creating permanence and instead sowed the seeds of collapse. This book does not entertain. It unsettles. It places you in Glaston’s thoughts, in the cracks of his town, in the silence between his words.

Together, these two works open a doorway. Not the one you expect, but one you’ll wish you could close once you’ve peered through. Find them here Minds In Design Store 

Midnight in Burrington 🌌A Walk Through the Town, October 31st, 1826 - 12:01 AM

The streets of Burrington are never still, not even in silence. But on Halloween night, they breathe differently.

Step forward. The year is 1826. Midnight has just passed, and the air is heavy, waiting. The church bells have struck twelve, their echo still quivering in the stone. A fog settles low, hugging the cobblestones, and in it lies a tension you can’t explain.

A child approaches. Small, barefoot, eyes too wide for their face. They do not tell you their name. They simply reach out a hand.

“Come,” they whisper, though their lips hardly move. “The town looks different tonight.”

You follow. What choice do you have?

They lead you past shuttered homes, each window glowing faintly with candlelight though no shadows move inside. The air tastes of smoke, but no fire burns. Somewhere distant, a lullaby drifts through the mist, sung in a voice too strained to soothe.

The child points at the schoolhouse. Its windows flicker though no lessons are taught at this hour. “They say children play inside,” the child murmurs, “but they never leave when the sun rises.”

You glance at them, unsettled, but their gaze is fixed ahead.

Further on, you hear laughter-but when you turn a corner, the street is empty. The fog swallows sound in strange ways here.

The child pauses before the river. “This is where time folds,” they say, their small hand tightening around yours. “On nights like this, you can almost see the cracks.”

You look down into the black water. For a moment, you swear the current flows in two directions at once. Reflections ripple, showing faces not your own, lives not lived. A girl bending to pick up a book. A man screaming into the dark. A mother calling for a child who doesn’t answer.

The child tugs you away. Their steps are faster now, urgent. You pass the inn, the square, the orchard. Shadows move where no one stands. The air is filled with whispers, each one a fragment of memory-but none of them complete.

And then the church bell strikes once. Just once. 12:01.

You turn to ask the child what it means. But their hand is gone. The space beside you is empty. The fog has swallowed them.

Only then do you realize the truth: the child was never living. You walked Burrington with a ghost.

The air grows colder. The veil has thinned, and you were permitted only a glimpse. The rest waits in silence. For now.

Feature: The Hollowed Hours

Halloween is not one story in Burrington. It is many, layered and colliding.

The Hollowed Hours is a collection of five tales, each set on October 31st, 1826. Five corners of the same night. Five breaths in the same cursed hour.

You will not read them as chapters of one tale, but as pieces of a shattered mirror. Each reflects a different face of Burrington; horror, suspense, dread, sorrow, and the uncanny that lingers in silence. To walk through them is to be fractured. To understand them is to realize they are all happening at once.

Reading them feels like standing in a single haunted house, but in five different rooms, each one echoing with its own ghosts. And every door leads back into the same darkness.

You are not asked to buy your way into Burrington. You are invited to step in, knowing that you cannot leave unchanged. Find the collection here The Hollowed Hours 

Series Update: The Day That Broke Time ⏳

The second book in the Where Time Can’t Exist series has begun its journey. The writing is in its earliest breath, a foundation being laid. It will take time, as all things in Burrington do. Time here is never simple.

But silence does not mean emptiness. While you wait for The Day That Broke Time, the town offers fragments for you to explore:

The Withering Orchard (short story)

The Founding Mayor (short story)

The Hollowed Hours (short story collection)

Fragments of Glaston (behind-the-scenes)

Through the Cracks (behind-the-scenes)

Before the Clock Broke (behind-the-scenes)

Paper Ghosts: Volume 2 (letters from the dead)

Each is a shard. Each contains truth. Together, they prepare you for the moment when the town breaks further and the curse spreads wider. Short stories and collections are available on Amazon. While short stories, collections and behind-the-scenes content are all available at the Minds In Design Store

October Announcement: Shadows for Less 🪦

This month, the town is generous; though generosity in Burrington is never without its price.

Throughout October, every piece of Burrington. Its stories, its letters, its guides, will be offered at a discount. A chance to step into the town more easily. A chance to carry more of its weight with you.

And not everything comes with cost. October will also bring free content: glimpses behind the veil, secrets whispered in newsletters, fragments posted for those who linger too long in the dark.

But remember: when Burrington offers a gift, it always wants something in return.

Closing Words: Leaving the Town 🌕

You have walked with a ghost tonight. You have glimpsed Glaston’s legacy, peered into the Hollowed Hours, and been reminded that October is Burrington’s most dangerous breath.

The town does not thank you for visiting. It remembers you. It carries you now, the way it carries all who step within its borders.

This month will be long. It will be full. And it will be haunted.

When you close this letter, listen closely to the silence around you. If you hear a clock ticking where none should be, do not be afraid. It is only Burrington, reminding you that you are already part of its story.

Until next time,
- Makitia

#MindsInDesign #Makitia #TheMidUniverse #WhereTimeCantExist #MakitiaThompson #UntilTimeRemembers #TheHollowedHours #Midstories #Burrington #TheDayThatBrokeTime

 

🕯️Enter Burrington, If You DareThe Storyteller Speaks 👻

Step lightly, traveler. Do you feel it already? The air bends differently here. It tastes of iron and ash, as though every breath you draw might be your last and perhaps it shall be. Welcome to Burrington.

The name sits strange upon the tongue, does it not? A town stitched from timber and stone, born of sweat and sin in the 1800s, tucked where the woods 🌲🌲lean too close and the river runs too dark. At first glance it is but another settlement of its age: narrow streets of cobbled grit, chimneys coughing black smoke, children darting between market stalls. Yet stay a moment longer, aye, stay past sundown, and you shall see how October alters all.

For this month-this cursed, hollowed stretch of days, the veil between the living and the damned grows thin. By the thirty-first 🎃, it is not merely thin; it tears open, and Burrington breathes. A town ought not breathe, yet here it does, wheezing secrets through broken shutters, sighing through the roots of oak trees, howling through the bell tower when no man dares to pull the rope.

Walk with me. I am no merchant of books, no common peddler shouting wares. I am a keeper of whispers, a guide through shadows. What you hear may chill you, what you see may ruin you, but I ask you this: do not look away. Not tonight. Not in October.

The Town’s Pulse🩸

Listen, hear the rhythm? Burrington’s heartbeat is uneven, like a clock wound by trembling hands. Each step you take down these streets aligns with it. Tap-pause-thud. Tap-pause-thud. ⏳

The lamps along Main Street flicker though no wind stirs. Their glow is yellow, sickly, burning not with light but with the hue of rotting teeth. Doors are barred, shutters nailed tight. Children peek through slits in wood, their eyes wide  👀as saucers, their mouths too silent. They know to keep their voices hushed. For if the night hears them, the night will answer.

Hark-the church stands at the end of the street, its spire stabbing the sky. Yet it has not rung the hour in years. Some say the bell refuses, some say the bell-rope is gripped by hands unseen. Step inside and the pews are empty, dust upon the hymnals, though you may swear you hear a congregation breathing behind you.

Do you see the cobbler’s shop? 👞 Its window fogs though no fire burns inside. Boots line the sill, yet none are for sale. Each belongs to a soul who never returned for them. Ask, and folk will whisper: “He mends shoes for the dead now.” They do not jest.

And the tavern-oh, the tavern. Its sign creaks on rusted chains, swinging though the air lies still. Laughter spills from within, but step through the door and you shall find no merriment, only chairs set neat and glasses waiting. The barkeep? They say he vanished one October, leaving only his apron folded upon the bar. Yet still the tankards glisten wet, as though poured moments ago.

This is Burrington’s pulse: a town alive when it ought not be, a town gasping for air in hours when mortals beg for sleep. 🌌

The Townsfolk’s Fears🕯️

Do not be fooled, folk of Burrington live on, stubborn and wary, though they carry fear as constant as their breath. Let me show you.

See the widow at her door? She sprinkles salt 🧂across the threshold in trembling hands, each grain a prayer unsaid. She dares not step past the line after dusk.

A father hammers 🔨iron nails into his floorboards, not to hold the planks but to bind whatever claws at them from beneath. His children sleep to the rhythm of his hammer, too weary to question, too afraid to dream.

In the market square, the butcher ties a string of garlic 🧄above his stall though he does not sell it. He will not meet your eyes if you ask why. He knows. They all know.

Listen to the children. Brave little fools. They gather near the cemetery gates ⚰️at dusk, daring one another to run and touch the iron bars. “Aye, the night breathes, lad,” one boy mutters, his voice cracking. “Best keep thy breath shallow, lest it be stolen.” His friends laugh too loud, too quick, for laughter is armor when courage is thin.

The seamstress mutters prayers in half-forgotten tongues, her needle darting too swift, her fingers nicked and bleeding. She stitches not cloth but wards into her gowns. “Better a cursed hem than a cursed heart,” she whispers.

And the mayor? He walks with eyes fixed forward, never left nor right, as though the shadows leer should he grant them notice. A man of stature, of power, yet in October, even he dares not linger outside after sundown.

Do you see? Fear lives in their marrow. They do not speak of it, for to give voice is to give life, and Burrington needs no further breath.

The Veil Weakens

Follow me now, deeper. Beyond the square, past the smithy and the baker’s ovens. Here, the streets grow narrow, the alleys long and crooked. Do you feel it? The air thickens, your steps drag. The veil frays here, unraveling like old cloth.

The cemetery ⚰️ yawns wide, its gates rust-bitten, its stones crooked as teeth. Names carved upon them blur when you try to read. Some headstones lean forward, as though listening. Others sink back, tired of rising each October.

Beyond lies the forest. Trees🌲knot together, roots twisting like grasping fingers. The ground is soft, too soft, as though hollow beneath. Step carefully, each pace might press upon something not yet fully buried.

And there, the abandoned house 🏚️. No family dwells within, yet curtains sway in shattered windows. Knock, and you will hear answering steps. Enter, and you may find the table set for supper, though no fire warms the hearth. Sit long enough and the food spoils before your eyes. Leave, and the chairs scrape as though rising in farewell.

The veil weakens most where memory clings tight. A child’s lost toy upon the road, a page torn from a prayer book, a woman’s shawl caught upon a nail. These things draw the other side close, for grief and longing are bridges stronger than stone.

The Night Burrington Breathed 💀

Now, traveler, the night has come. October 31st. The veil is gone. 🌑

The town exhales all at once, a sound like wind through broken flutes. Shadows spill from doorframes, pouring across the cobbles. Lamps gutter, flames sucked inward as though devoured. Bells toll in the church  ⛪, though the rope dangles free.

People flee, yet the streets lengthen, curving back upon themselves. You run, but the tavern door greets you again. You turn, but the cemetery gates stand before you. Burrington loops, twists, holds you in its breath.

Screams rise, swallowed quick. The air thickens with ash, with whispers not your own. Some pray, others claw the earth as though burrowing deeper may save them. Yet none escape. The night has claimed its due.

You feel it too, don’t you? The pulse quickening, your own heart racing to match the rhythm. Tap-pause-thud. Burrington breathes, and you breathe with it.

Closing Words from the Storyteller 📖

You have walked its streets, stood in its alleys, breathed its cursed October air. You have seen how Burrington stirs when the Hollowed Hours arrive.

What you’ve glimpsed is but a shadow, a sliver. There are stories 📚 yet untold, bound in ink and waiting for eyes bold enough to seek them. They whisper from the page as they whisper from these cobbles.

So I ask you, traveler-will you step deeper, into The Hollowed Hours: The Night Burrington Breathed? Or will you turn away, pretending you never heard the town sigh, never felt its breath curl against your neck? 👻

The choice is yours. But mark me well, Burrington never forgets those who walk its streets. 

October has begun.🍂

The Hollowed Hours have claimed you. The Hollowed Hours, the first five short horror stories to begin the spookiest season. Stay updated here on my blog or head over to Minds In Design to stay in Burrington's loop.

- Makitia

#MindsInDesign #Makitia #TheHollowedHours #WhereTimeCantExist #UntilTimeRemembers #Midstories #TheMidUniverse #MakitiaThompson #Burrington 

 

The M.I.D. Newsletter | Issue #5

From the desk of Makitia Thompson | Minds In Design

Editor’s Note ✍🏽

Greetings, seekers of the strange, lovers of the haunted, and brave souls who linger a little too long in the shadows. Welcome to Issue #5 of The M.I.D Newsletter. I’m Makitia Thompson, your constant guide through the worlds that live inside my imagination. The ones you can’t always explain but can’t resist exploring either.

October has rolled in, and with it comes a certain chill in the air, the kind that rustles leaves in uncanny patterns, whispers your name when you’re alone, and promises that not everything is quite as it seems. 🎃 For many, it’s a month of fun costumes and sweet indulgences, but here at Minds In Design, we dive into what lurks beneath the surface. The quiet unease, the haunting stories, the mysteries that cling to time like cobwebs in an old, forgotten house.

This issue carries a few special treats to mark the season: new stories, new poetry, behind-the-scenes content, and yes…a Halloween-themed special that’s sure to send a shiver or two down your spine. But if you think you’re only here for frightful fun, think again. There’s wisdom for writers, insights into Burrington, and glimpses into worlds yet to unfold. Stick with me, the pages ahead are as alive as any ghost waiting in a corner.

Before we plunge in, a small call-to-action: immerse yourself fully. Explore the links, linger on the stories, read the poems aloud if you dare. This newsletter is not a passive scroll; it’s an invitation. An invitation to experience Minds In Design as a living, breathing universe.

About Minds In Design 🌌

For those of you just joining our journey, let me introduce you to Minds In Design. This is more than a brand; it’s a sanctuary for imagination. It’s the place where I, Makitia Thompson, bring the worlds that haunt my mind into yours. Whether it’s a whispered short story about a town that remembers too much, a poem that dissects the quiet ache of life, or a behind-the-scenes look at the construction of a fictional universe, this is where creativity is allowed to roam free.

Minds In Design is where fiction and emotion collide, where curiosity is nurtured, and where the unusual isn’t just tolerated. It’s celebrated. If you love stories that linger, poetry that pierces, and worlds that demand attention, this is the space for you. Think of it as a laboratory of the imagination, where every work. No matter how small or experimental, it has a place to exist and breathe.

Happy Halloween Segment 🕯️

The wind howls across Burrington, rattling shutters and carrying the faint scent of smoldering leaves. Shadows stretch longer than they should, twisting along the streets, folding over themselves as though the night itself were breathing. In a house long abandoned, a candle flickers against the darkness, casting shapes on the walls that are almost human or perhaps they are human, once. 👁️

This October, Burrington awakens like never before in a special Halloween short story collection for the Where Time Can’t Exist series. This is not your run-of-the-mill trick-or-treat tale. These are stories where the town itself is alive, where the streets remember, and where the echoes of the past refuse to stay buried.

And because one story is never enough for a town as stubborn as Burrington, keep your eyes peeled - one or two more chilling tales may slip into the season before it’s done. If you have a taste for the eerie, the unsettling, or the outright strange, this is your invitation to step into the darkness and explore what lurks beyond the familiar streets.

(Link to the Halloween special coming October 1st)

What’s New in the M.I.D Universe 🚀

The universe of Minds In Design is constantly expanding. Here’s what’s newly arrived in our ever-growing collection:

When the Stars Weep (Poetry)
Link
Explore the delicate intersection of loss, love, and resilience. Each poem is a pulse, a fragment of the human soul, a quiet cry that stills the heart.

Through the Cracks: A Record of What Shouldn’t Exist (Behind-the-Scenes)
Link
Dive deep into the history of Burrington, the making of my worlds, and the hidden narratives that never made it to the page.

The Mind's Keepsake: Silent Rivers Volume 3 (Quotation Book)
Link
A carefully curated collection of words, reflections, and fragments that speak directly to the reader’s inner thoughts, perfect for inspiration or contemplation.

The Concept of Feeling (Poetry)
Link
Poems that dissect emotion with surgical precision and raw honesty, guiding readers through introspection and revelation.

The Founding Mayor (Where Time Can’t Exist short story)
Link
Meet the figures who shaped Burrington, witness decisions that ripple through history, and uncover layers of a town that refuses to forget.

All works are available in digital format via mindsindesign.com and in print format on Amazon ensuring you have instant access to every corner of the M.I.D universe.

Special Offer: $5 Gift Card 💌

Here’s a little treat for my most engaged readers: the next five people who subscribe to the newsletter via mindsindesign.com will receive a $5 gift card for their first purchase. Consider it a gentle nudge to dive into the library of stories, poems, and behind-the-scenes content that awaits you. Think of it as a small, tangible thank-you for being part of this community.

Writers’ Tips 🖋️

Navigating the literary landscape can feel like wandering a dark forest without a map. Trends shift rapidly, readers’ tastes evolve, and self-promotion is often as critical as the writing itself. Here’s a tip: curate quotes from your work, whether poetry, short stories, novellas, or novels and use them to engage your audience emotionally.

Post them on social media where text thrives: Pinterest, Instagram, TikTok, Facebook. A single line of compelling prose can spark curiosity and draw readers into your world.

Remember: inspiration often comes from lived experience. Step away when necessary, observe the world, and let your writing marinate. A book left to breathe for a week or a month, often returns richer, deeper, and far more resonant.

Makitia’s Book of the Month 📖

When the Stars Weep: Poems for Those Who Break and Mend

Within these pages, wander through the quiet ache of loss, the fire of passion, the tangled corridors of self-doubt, and the luminous moments of joy that make life worth every scar. Each poem is a constellation, a fragment of the human heart, a pulse of truth reaching into the deepest, most tender places of the soul.

For dreamers, heartbreakers, quiet observers, and resilient souls: to break is not to fail. To open yourself to the light that follows is a triumph. Let these poems sit with you, move you, and remind you that even in darkness, there is grace.

Link

Character of the Month 👁️

Mayor Silas Glaston; an enigma wrapped in ambition and shadow. In the Where Time Can’t Exist series, Glaston’s decisions shape Burrington in ways the town will never fully understand. Through his eyes, we see the delicate tension between morality and pragmatism, the weight of legacy, and the echoes of choices that stretch far beyond the present.

Explore his world in:

The Founding Mayor Link

Fragments of Glaston Link

Readers will discover not just a man, but a force - one whose influence lingers long after the final page.

From the Blog 💔

Featured story from It Ended By Beginning: The Pain of Time.

A free glimpse into one of my 32 short stories, The Pain of Time explores grief, love, and the quiet torment that threads through everyday life. This story embodies the essence of my writing: visceral, raw, and lingering.

Read Here

Minds In Design Discounts 💸

September deals are ongoing:

25% off all orders $10 or more

50% off It Ended By Beginning (32 short stories)

30% off The Founding Mayor

Buy one behind-the-scenes book, get a second 30% off

Buy When the Stars Weep and get The Concept of Feeling for 50% off

Don’t miss the chance to add new dimensions to your collection — or to gift someone a glimpse into Burrington’s shadowed streets.

Upcoming Projects 🔥

Obedient; the final chapter in the documentary-style exploration of Gregg Thorton. This installment reveals the voices of his surviving wife, daughters, neighbors, and the families of his victims. Told through interviews, media fragments, and hidden truths, this narrative eschews traditional true crime structure for a more haunting, immersive experience.

The end of Thorton’s reign is near, and with it comes revelations, reckonings, and the haunting weight of what was left behind.

Connect With Me 🌐

Stay in touch and never miss an update:

Instagram: @mindsindesign

TikTok: @mindsindesign

Twitter: mindsindesign_

Facebook: Minds In Design

YouTube: Minds In Design

Pinterest: Minds In Design

Online Store: mindsindesign.com

Until Next Time 🌙

Thank you for reading, exploring, and lingering. Minds In Design exists to craft stories that haunt, inspire, and linger long after the final word. Our worlds are dark, luminous, strange, and real. Just like the minds who inhabit them. Until next time, keep your imagination awake, your pens sharp, and never underestimate the power of a well-told story.

- Makitia Thompson

#MindsInDesign #TheMidUniverse #Midstories #Makitia #Wheretimecantexist #MakitiaThompson #Untiltimeremembers 

 

Spooky Season Awaits 🕯️

The air shifts in October. The wind carries a weight heavier than autumn leaves, thicker than the mist that creeps over Burrington’s streets, and I-your guide, your Storyteller - can feel it stirring before even the first candle flickers in the windows. Burrington does not wake easily. It does not rise at the bidding of any calendar or holiday. But something about this month, something about the chill in the bones of the air, calls the town to life.

You feel it the moment you step through the edge of its borders: the air tastes of memory, of secrets pressed tight beneath the dust of decades, of grief that refuses to be quieted. Shadows stretch long along the cobblestones, and the wind whispers names that time has tried to forget. Even now, the streets are empty- but they are not silent. You will hear them if you listen.

This October, I invite you to walk with me through Burrington. Not as a visitor, not as a casual observer. Walk as someone willing to see what is hidden, willing to feel the weight of a town that does not forgive and does not forget.

The Hollowed Hours: A Town Breathing Again

October 1st marks a turning of the tide, a time when Burrington exhales the darkness it has held all year. The Hollowed Hours: The Night Burrington Breathed; a collection of stories crafted from the town’s own restless heart, opens its doors on that day. The collection is alive in ways subtle and terrifying: a shadow in a window, a chill in the hallway, a whisper behind your ear that is almost too soft to hear.

These stories are not simply tales; they are fragments of Burrington itself. In them, the town remembers. It mourns. It laughs, it weeps, it screams-but always, it watches. Every creaking floorboard, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle through the autumn leaves carries the weight of what has come before. And if you are quiet, you may hear the stories calling to you, pulling you deeper into corners you thought were empty, corners that were never empty at all.

Walking Through Burrington

Come with me. Step lightly. The fog is thick, curling around your ankles, and the cobblestones are slick from the last evening’s rain. We begin at the heart of the town, the old square. The fountain is cracked and dry, the statues eroded with time, yet they still seem to watch. The children from long ago play just beyond the corner of your eye, figures frozen in a loop that no day can break.

Turn down the lane toward the library. Built in the 1800s but touched by the hands of another century, the library hums with a faint, unnatural glow. Books shift in their shelves when you are not looking; letters, journals, and notes seem to have been written for you alone, though no one else has read them in decades. The Storyteller’s voice-mine-echoes faintly here, guiding, warning, promising stories yet to be told.

Past the library, the streets wind into the oldest neighborhoods. Here, houses lean closer than they should, their windows opaque with history. A family’s laughter once spilled into these alleys; now only whispers remain. Yet, if you pay attention, you might see the shadow of an old man tending a garden that has long since died, or a woman gazing from a balcony as though waiting for a train that never arrives.

Every corner, every empty street, every flickering lamp holds a story. Some are joyous, some tragic, some so dark that even the night itself shies away. And in October, they do not hide. They breathe.

Whispers from the Past

The town’s history is a tangle of love and betrayal, of moments frozen in time and memories that refuse to let go. The Seinfeld family, reliving a child’s funeral that echoes through the decades; Elijah, the boy ghost who wanders the streets looking for laughter he will never find; Lavinia Hark, whose life was stolen before she could claim it, these are not just stories. They are Burrington’s heartbeat.

The Storyteller does not always know why these events have lingered so long, or why some souls are drawn back into the living world while others remain hidden. I can only watch, record, and guide you to witness. Each story is a fragment of a life, a heartbeat, a secret kept too long. And when October comes, you feel them all at once: the weight of grief, the pull of curiosity, the thrill of fear that dances along your spine like the first candlelight in a dark room.

The Spooky Season Ahead

October is a month that demands attention. The Hollowed Hours is only the beginning. As the days pass, more stories will surface, two brand-new Halloween tales that will draw you further into Burrington’s streets, where shadows shift and the past lingers like a scent you cannot place.

I will also reveal behind-the-scenes glimpses: glimpses into how the town’s mysteries were constructed, the lives that inspired its ghostly residents, the moments I have captured in words that might have gone unnoticed if not for careful eyes. Sneak previews of the Where Time Can’t Exist series will surface, inviting you to revisit familiar streets or to explore them for the very first time.

And there will be content created solely to satisfy the horror-hungry souls among you. Short, sharp, terrifying slices of Burrington designed to make you pause, look over your shoulder, and feel the hair on your arms rise.

Halloween Philosophy

Humans have always been drawn to fear. There is something about the shadowed corners, the whispered names, the thrill of danger without the danger itself, that calls to us. Burrington embodies this desire. It is the perfect vessel for it: a town suspended in time, a place where pain and love linger long after life has ended, where the past never forgets and the present cannot move without its consent.

Halloween is more than a date on a calendar. It is a threshold, a veil, a chance to step into the stories that haunt us, to confront the shadows of our own lives through the safety of another world. Burrington offers this in abundance. And I will lead you there.

Final Invitation

The Hollowed Hours are coming. The night is long, and the streets of Burrington are ready for your footsteps. The town waits for no one, but it will make room for those who dare to see it fully, to feel it in its raw, aching entirety.

Step lightly. Pay attention. Listen for the whispers in the fog. Follow the Storyteller’s voice.

The veil thins in October. The Hollowed Hours begin on October 1st, and the town, every shadow, every echo, every heartbeat of grief and joy-welcomes you.

Are you ready to step inside?

- Makitia Thompson 

#MindsInDesign #MakitiaThompson #TheMidUniverse #Midstories #Makitia #WhereTimeCantExist #UntilTimeRemembers #TheHollowedHours #HappyHalloween #Spookyseason 

 

Introduction: The Myth of Originality

Let’s start with a harsh truth that no one really wants to admit: originality is overrated. There it is. No take-backs. Somewhere right now, a literary purist just fainted into a pile of their self-published novellas, whispering, “but… but… the sacred spark of creation!”

Listen, here’s the deal-every story you’re reading today, writing today, or even thinking about writing today has roots in something older. Much older. We’re talking myths, folklore, bedtime stories, religious texts, and probably a campfire tale someone once told to scare a cousin who still sleeps with a nightlight.

It’s not laziness to recycle old bones into new flesh. It’s survival. These myths are sticky because they work. They’re primal. They’ve survived wars, plagues, countless translations, terrible stage adaptations, and (God help us all) fanfiction so bad it should’ve been quarantined.

Now pair myths with nostalgia, and you’ve got yourself a tag team that can knock out even the most jaded reader. Nostalgia whispers in our ear: remember how magical it all felt the first time? You can feel that again. And so we return, not because we’re uncreative, but because these stories still own us.

This post is both a love letter and a roast to nostalgia and reimagined myths. And maybe, by the end, you’ll stop pretending that every idea you have was born out of some untapped well of genius, and instead admit the obvious: you’ve been borrowing from the greats all along. Congratulations. You’re human.

1. Why We Crave the Familiar

There’s a reason you rewatch the same TV show when life gets hard. (Yes, you with your eighth rewatch of The Office, and you, clinging to Friends like it’s a life raft in a storm.) You already know the jokes, you already know who dies, and yet it feels safe. Comforting. A warm blanket made of canned laughter and predictable arcs.

That’s nostalgia in action. And in storytelling, it’s basically a cheat code. The familiar works because it taps into the brain’s love for patterns. It’s why your heart beats a little faster when you hear the opening notes of a song you loved at thirteen, or why reading a retelling of an old fairy tale can pull you back into the emotional gravity of childhood.

For writers, nostalgia is gold because:

It makes readers care instantly. You don’t need to build the foundation from scratch, the emotional scaffolding is already there.

It creates shared shorthand. You can hint at something, and your readers will fill in the gaps because they already know the framework.

It lets you tap into memory. Nostalgia isn’t about plot, it’s about the feeling of being pulled back into a moment that never fully left you.

Readers don’t always want new, they want new enough. They want familiar stories twisted, cracked open, and reimagined so they can feel both safe and surprised.

2. Reimagining Myths Without Ruining Them

Here’s where the real artistry comes in: reimagining myths without butchering them into lifeless, soulless husks. There’s a thin line between creative brilliance and creative plagiarism-with-extra-steps.

Reimagining a myth works best when:

You add new context. What if Hades isn’t a villain, but an overworked bureaucrat trying to manage underfunded departments of souls? (This man did not sign up for HR complaints from Cerberus, thank you very much.)

You change the perspective. What if we stop telling the hero’s story and tell the monster’s? Or the side character’s? (Wicked, Circe, and countless indie works have thrived on this alone.)

You update the stakes. What if Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t innocent, but complicit in the game of predator and prey?

Butchering myths looks like:

Copy-pasting a story into a “modern” setting with zero depth. (Slapping Zeus into a leather jacket does not count as innovation.)

Stripping the story of its soul just to cash in on a trend.

Forgetting to ask the crucial question: why does this myth still matter?

Respect the bones, but don’t be afraid to put new flesh on them. Mythology doesn’t need your protection, it needs your evolution.

3. Nostalgia as a Writer’s Crutch (and Secret Weapon)

Let’s be brutally honest: nostalgia is dangerous. It’s soft, it’s comforting, and it’ll gladly lull you into writing mediocrity if you’re not careful. (Insert groan at the fifteenth gritty reboot no one asked for.)

But, if you wield it carefully, nostalgia can be a secret weapon.

Here’s how to use it well:

Anchor your readers emotionally. Nostalgia gets their guard down. Once you’ve got their trust, you can twist the knife (metaphorically… unless you’re writing horror).

Bridge your story into the real world. Nostalgia makes the fictional feel real by tethering it to something the reader already knows.

Create timelessness. A well-done nostalgic echo can make a book feel like it belongs to yesterday, today, and tomorrow all at once.

The trick is balance. Nostalgia is seasoning, not the main course. Too much, and your story feels derivative. Too little, and you miss the emotional weight nostalgia can bring.

4. How Rambling (Yes, Rambling) Ties Into Myths and Nostalgia

People don’t talk in clean, plot-driven dialogue. They ramble. They trail off. They go on tangents about their childhood, their grandmother’s soup recipe, or some half-remembered myth they’re not even sure they’re telling right.

That’s where nostalgia and reimagined myths thrive. A character rambling about the bedtime story their mother told them or the urban legend that haunted their neighborhood, doesn’t stall the plot. It breathes life into it. It makes the world feel lived in, chaotic, human.

Rambling ties into myths because myths are, at their core, rambling stories polished by centuries of retelling. They were never neat. They were messy, contradictory, full of digressions and embellishments. And that’s why they lasted.

So let your characters ramble. Let them tie your world to their past. Let them wander into nostalgia, because that’s how real people talk and how stories become bigger than themselves.

5. Why Readers Want the Same Stories Told Differently

Readers are impossible creatures. They scream for originality, but riot when you change too much. (See: every fandom meltdown ever.)

The truth? Readers don’t want brand-new, they want familiar with a twist. They want to recognize the skeleton, but be surprised by the skin.

Examples?

Vampires. Hundreds of vampire stories, yet people keep buying. Because every author tweaks the formula, sometimes terrifying, sometimes romantic, sometimes sparkling (don’t pretend you don’t know).

Greek mythology. How many times has it been retold? And yet, every version thrives because it speaks to something universal in us: power, tragedy, betrayal, love.

You’re not betraying your readers by giving them something familiar, you’re feeding them exactly what they came for. The trick is the wrapping.

6. My Personal Experience: Why I Started With Myths and Nostalgia

I’ll confess something: I started writing myths and nostalgia not because I was brave, but because I was buying myself time. I wasn’t ready to give the world my deepest, most personal stories yet. So I borrowed.

Borrowing gave me practice. It gave me structure. It let me experiment with voice, pacing, and style without the crushing weight of “this must be the masterpiece that defines me.” Nostalgia and myths became training wheels. And in the process, I discovered that my own voice was loud enough to stand on its own.

If you’re just starting, don’t feel guilty about leaning on what’s already out there. These stories are scaffolding. They’re safe enough to give you room to grow, but flexible enough to let you bend them into something new.

And when you’re ready to write from the heart, you’ll find your own originality sharpened by everything you learned while borrowing.

7. Practical Tips: Using Nostalgia & Myths in Your Writing

Alright, let’s get tactical. Here’s how to actually use nostalgia and myths without falling into cliché:

Pick a myth or memory that haunts you. Don’t chase trends. Write the stories that won’t let go of your brain.

Ask what’s missing. Every myth has blind spots. Every nostalgic memory has shadows. That’s where the gold is.

Add your era. Nostalgia thrives when it’s tied to a specific time and place, whether it’s 90s suburbia, 18th-century countryside, or your own chaotic childhood.

Make it personal. The deeper your emotional tie, the deeper your readers’ investment.

Break it on purpose. Nostalgia is comfort. Sometimes the boldest, most powerful move you can make is to destroy it.

8. The Inevitable Sarcastic Section: Bad Uses of Nostalgia

“What if Romeo and Juliet had TikTok?” (I beg you, stop.)

Rebooting a beloved story just to sell merch (no names, but you know exactly which franchise I mean).

Entire plots that rely on: “remember this thing from the 80s? Good, because that’s literally the whole story.”

Nostalgia without heart is empty calories. It gives readers a quick rush, but leaves them hollow.

9. Conclusion: Nostalgia Isn’t the Enemy - It’s the Map

Here’s the truth: nostalgia and myths aren’t enemies of creativity. They’re the foundation. They’re the stories that kept people alive during hard winters, the ones that made children believe in magic, the ones that connected generations long before Instagram tried.

As writers, it’s not our job to escape nostalgia. It’s our job to have a conversation with it. To ask: what does this story mean now?

So don’t run from it. Borrow from it. Twist it. Break it. Reshape it. Nostalgia isn’t a weakness, it’s a compass. And if you follow it far enough, it just might lead you back to the kind of originality you’ve been chasing all along.

- Makitia Thompson

#Makitia #TheMidUniverse #MindsInDesign #MakitiaThompson #WhereTimeCantExist #UntilTimeRemembers #Midstories #Midcontent 

Let’s be brutally honest: publishing trends come and go faster than your favorite character gets killed off in a George R.R. Martin novel. One year it’s vampires that sparkle; the next it’s morally gray fae who brood. Self-help suddenly becomes “mindset manifesting,” dark romance takes over TikTok, and then boom-someone’s indie poetry book about coffee and heartbreak becomes a New York Times bestseller.

It’s a lot.

And if you’re an author trying to figure out how to keep your work relevant without selling your soul (or your prose), it feels like standing in the middle of a literary carnival while every ride operator screams: “THIS WAY TO SUCCESS!”

Here’s the truth: you don’t have to chase every trend to survive. But knowing what’s hot right now (and why readers are flocking to it) can help you make smarter, more sustainable choices for your writing career. It’s not about losing your voice to fit in, it’s about learning to surf the wave without wiping out.

So, let’s break down what’s sizzling in books right now, what’s driving these fires, and how you (yes, you with your draft folder full of brilliance) can ride the momentum while staying true to your craft.

The Big Waves of 20251. Romantasy Isn’t Just a Trend, It’s an Empire

You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. Your neighbor’s cat has seen it. The fusion of romance + fantasy is dominating everything from TikTok hashtags to Amazon charts. And no, it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Readers want escapism, but they also want emotional gut-punches. Enter romantasy: dragons, magic systems, and kingdoms at war plus all the tension of “will they/won’t they?” with a side of morally gray eye candy.

Why it’s hot:

TikTok is basically one long romantasy recommendation reel.

Readers crave high stakes, both personal and world-ending.

It taps into both romance readers (who are legion) and fantasy readers (who are equally rabid).

How to ride the wave (without faking it):

If you love fantasy but hate writing romance, don’t shoehorn it in. Instead, lean into relationships (platonic, familial, rivalries). Readers want intensity more than they want kissing.

If you love romance but feel lost in worldbuilding, start small. A single town, a single magic element. Don’t feel pressured to map out 14 realms with 300 years of history.

If neither romance nor fantasy is your jam, borrow what works: the tension, the “big stakes meet personal stakes” formula, and the way romantasy builds communities around shared worlds.

2. Dark Romance: Readers Want to Dance with Danger

This is where it gets messy. Dark romance is thriving, and it’s not afraid of controversy. From morally gray antiheroes to taboo dynamics, readers are hungry for stories that flirt with the line of “is this okay?”

Why it’s hot:

It’s the perfect rebellion against sanitized, safe narratives.

TikTok and Bookstagram thrive on strong reactions (shock, swoon, rage). Dark romance provides all three.

Trauma, redemption, and messy humanity are baked into it.

How to ride the wave:

If this speaks to you, lean into your version of dark. That might mean gothic atmospheres, psychological manipulation, or villains who get the girl.

If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t do it. Readers can smell inauthenticity faster than burnt popcorn.

Instead, pay attention to the emotional intensity dark romance thrives on. You can weave that same intensity into thrillers, dramas, or even historical fiction.

3. Short Fiction & Episodic Content Are Back (Thanks, Digital Attention Spans)

Surprise: not everyone wants 700-page epics. Platforms like Kindle Vella, Radish, and even serialized newsletters are booming. Why? Because modern readers like bite-sized storytelling they can consume on a commute, during lunch, or before bed without commitment.

Why it’s hot:

Streaming culture has rewired us to love bingeable, serialized storytelling.

Authors can test ideas faster and cheaper.

It’s perfect for building loyal communities.

How to ride the wave:

Break down your big ideas into arcs. Could your 120k fantasy novel also work as a serialized release before you bind it into a book?

If you’re already blogging, consider turning your posts into “micro-stories.”

Don’t ignore poetry and flash fiction. They thrive in this space.

4. Nonfiction Readers Crave Specificity (Not Just “Inspiration”)

Vague self-help is dying. Readers no longer want the same “10 steps to success” listicle dressed up as a hardcover. They want lived experiences, actionable insights, and raw vulnerability.

Hot right now:

Hybrid memoir/self-help.

Industry-specific “how I did it” books.

Narrative nonfiction that feels like a novel but teaches something real.

How to ride the wave:

Be specific. “How I survived burnout as a nurse” will sell better than “How to Be Resilient.”

Use your story. People want authenticity more than expertise.

If you’re writing fiction, consider essays or blog content on the side. It builds your voice and your brand.

5. Cultural Horror & Gothic Revival

Blame it on the chaos of the world, but readers are obsessed with horror that doesn’t just scare-it reflects. Stories rooted in cultural identity, folklore, or the quiet horrors of everyday life are dominating.

Why it’s hot:

Horror is a safe space to process fear, grief, and injustice.

TikTok horror recs are exploding.

Readers are ready for diverse voices redefining what “haunting” looks like.

How to ride the wave:

You don’t have to write slasher gore. Lean into atmosphere, unease, and the universal fear of being powerless.

Mine your own culture, history, or family folklore for material.

Blend genres. Gothic romance, horror-fantasy, psychological horror-thrillers, hybrids are thriving.

6. AI Anxiety Is Fueling New Storytelling

Yep, we can’t ignore it. AI is the ghost haunting every industry, and publishing is no exception. Authors are grappling with copyright, originality, and the terrifying thought that robots might out-churn us. But here’s the twist: this anxiety is creating new creative demand.

Why it’s hot:

Readers value human stories more than ever.

Dystopian/tech thrillers are on the rise.

“Authentic author voices” (memoir, indie poetry, niche essays) are thriving because they can’t be faked.

How to ride the wave:

Don’t panic-write about AI unless you’re genuinely obsessed.

Instead, highlight your humanity. Your perspective, your flaws, your scars, that’s your edge.

Market yourself as a person, not just a product. Readers buy connection.

7. Community-Driven Publishing

Kickstarter, Patreon, Substack, these platforms aren’t fringe anymore. Authors are using them to fund books, build fandoms, and skip the gatekeepers.

Why it’s hot:

Readers love feeling like they’re part of the process.

Authors gain financial independence.

Direct-to-reader means direct-to-loyalty.

How to ride the wave:

Don’t just ask for money, invite readers into your world. Behind-the-scenes content, Q&As, even playlists.

Use your blog and socials to funnel readers toward your “inner circle.”

Remember: community is currency.

How to Ride the Waves Without Wiping Out

Now that we’ve talked about what’s hot, let’s talk about the part that matters: you.

Because here’s the danger, you see a hot trend, you twist your work to fit it, and suddenly you’re writing books you don’t care about, for readers who can tell you don’t care about them. That’s the fast track to burnout and bitterness.

Instead:

Know what excites you. If you hate romance, don’t write romantasy. If you’re bored by self-help, don’t write it. Trends only work if you can bring authentic passion.

Borrow, don’t steal. Take the elements that resonate (emotional intensity, serialized formats, folklore vibes) and mix them into your style.

Experiment small. Before you commit 2 years to a trend, test it with a blog post, a short story, or a serialized arc.

Trust your voice. A trend may sell books, but your voice keeps readers coming back. If you bend too far, you’ll break.

Final Word: Your Voice Is the Trend They Haven’t Seen Yet

Here’s the secret the industry won’t tell you: every “trend” started because one weirdo wrote the thing they couldn’t not write and readers flocked to it.

Romantasy? Someone blended kissing with dragon fire and refused to apologize.
Dark romance? Someone said “what if love but make it messy?”
Poetry-on-Instagram? Someone posted their heartbreak in line breaks.

So yeah, trends matter. They’re currents in the publishing ocean. But your voice? That’s the ship. You decide whether you let the wave carry you or whether you steer straight into new waters.

And who knows? The next hot thing? It might just be the book only you could write.

- Makitia Thompson

#MindsInDesign #TheMidUniverse #Makitia #MakitiaThompson #Wheretimecantexist #Midstories #Untiltimeremembers 

 

Introduction: The State of Storytelling in 2025

Publishing is a beast that never stops mutating. Just when you think you’ve figured out the industry - bam! A new trend kicks down the door, BookTok births a genre you didn’t know existed, or Amazon tweaks its algorithms like a digital overlord toying with our sanity.

As authors, we walk this strange tightrope: stay authentic to our voices, but also remain relevant to readers who are living, breathing, and buying books in this moment.

And 2025 is…well, let’s just say it’s not a quiet year. Psychological thrillers are clawing through charts, “romantasy” has become less a genre and more a lifestyle, and audiobooks are devouring bigger and bigger chunks of the market. Readers want stories that heal, stories that bite, and sometimes both in the same book. And let’s not even get started on the rise of authors selling directly to their audience (spoiler: Amazon’s probably fuming).

Here’s the honest truth, though: trends come and go. What matters most is still the same, it’s about connection. A good story will always matter more than an algorithm.

But ignoring trends entirely? That’s like refusing to check the weather and then being surprised when your book launch gets rained out.

So, let’s talk about the big waves hitting publishing in 2025 and how you, as an author, can ride them without losing yourself.

Trend #1: Psychological Thrillers, Dark Suspense, and Characters Who Lie to Us

If 2025 were a book genre, it would be a psychological thriller: tense, suspicious, and nobody’s quite sure who to trust.

Readers are devouring unreliable narrators, morally gray protagonists, and plots that twist so hard they could double as yoga routines. This is less about “who done it” and more about “why the hell did they do it, and can I ever believe them again?”

Why? Because we live in an age where institutions, leaders, and even technology often lie to us. Readers crave stories that reflect that unease but also give them a satisfying confrontation with the truth.

Writing Tip: If you’re going to craft an unreliable narrator, don’t just make them inconsistent. Give them motives. Let the reader feel the pull between what’s being said and what’s really happening. The tension lies in the cracks.

I’ll be honest, I lean into this space in my own work. The Killer Across the Street, for example, doesn’t just tell the story of Gregg Thorton, it forces you into the unsettling headspace of a fractured psyche. Readers are horrified and fascinated because they’re constantly questioning: am I hearing the truth, or a version twisted by obsession and madness?

That’s the allure of this trend. Readers don’t just want answers, they want to wrestle with uncertainty.

Trend #2: The Rise of “Romantasy” and Genre Hybrids

Let’s thank (or blame) BookTok for this one: “romantasy” has become the giant everyone is chasing.

Romance + fantasy. Two juggernauts fused into one. And suddenly, everyone wants dragons and a slow-burn love story. Magic spells and emotional healing. Swords and swooning.

But let’s be real, not every writer needs to shoehorn romance into their world just because “the algorithm demands sacrifice.” Readers can smell a forced love interest from miles away, and it reeks of desperation.

Here’s the real takeaway: readers are showing us that blending genres works. They don’t want to be boxed into neat little categories anymore. They want emotional depth paired with adventure, tenderness paired with chaos.

Writing Tip: Instead of forcing romance, think of what emotional layer your story is missing. Could a friendship, sibling bond, or mentor-apprentice dynamic carry the same emotional punch? The lesson here isn’t “write romance,” it’s “write connection.”

Personally, I love this trend because it challenges authors to stretch. Even if you don’t write fantasy, you can still hybridize. Imagine a courtroom drama infused with poetry. A psychological thriller that doubles as a meditation on grief. Readers want both the punch and the poetry and when you give them both, they come back for more.

Trend #3: Wellness, Mental Health, and Books That Heal

It’s no surprise: after years of collective burnout, readers are reaching for books that help them heal or at least feel seen in their brokenness.

Fiction, nonfiction, poetry-it doesn’t matter. The trend is toward writing that acknowledges pain but doesn’t wallow in it, offering readers a path toward resilience.

I know this intimately. My poetry collections (Because I Felt Everything and When the Stars Weep) were written from a place of raw honesty. They don’t offer cheap comfort, but they do say: “I’ve been where you are. You’re not alone.” That’s what readers are seeking.

Writing Tip: The key is authenticity. Don’t write trauma because it’s “trendy.” Write it because it’s truth, yours or your characters’. Performative pain rings hollow, but honest vulnerability resonates.

And here’s where the sarcasm slips in: just because everyone’s writing about “healing journeys” doesn’t mean you have to turn your novel into a group therapy session. Sometimes healing looks like laughter. Sometimes it looks like survival.

The real point? Readers want books that do more than entertain, they want books that matter.

Trend #4: Audiobooks and Alternative Formats

Remember when audiobooks were for long commutes? Well, they’ve become a full-blown phenomenon.

In 2025, audiobook sales are soaring, and not just the vanilla “one narrator, one voice” editions. We’re seeing full-cast productions, immersive soundscapes, and experimental blends that feel more like theater than books. Even AI narration has entered the ring (cue collective groan).

Why is this exploding? Because people consume stories differently now, while cooking, while at the gym, while pretending to listen in a work meeting.

Writing Tip: Indie authors don’t have to mortgage their houses to get into audio. Start small. Partner with new narrators, experiment with short stories, or even offer serialized audio content.

In my own store, I’ve been experimenting with pairing digital copies with free audiobook codes for early buyers. It not only boosts sales, but it gives readers options and options = loyalty.

Audiobooks aren’t going away. The sooner you embrace them, the more readers you’ll reach.

Trend #5: Direct-to-Reader Sales and Author Branding

Here’s a dirty little secret: traditional publishing doesn’t hold all the keys anymore.

More and more authors are realizing they can sell directly to readers, through personal websites, online stores, or platforms that actually let them own their audience. Instead of handing over 70% or 30%, of their royalties to Amazon, they’re building their own ecosystems.

This is where I’ve leaned in with my store, Minds In Design. From short stories to behind-the-scenes collections like Paper Ghosts, I’m not just selling books. I’m building a brand. A space where readers know they’ll get more than just words on a page.

Writing Tip: You don’t need a fancy store to start. Offer exclusives on your site, start a newsletter, share behind-the-scenes content. The point isn’t just selling books, it’s building a relationship that Amazon can’t own.

And yes, I’ll say it: Amazon doesn’t need your extra 70 cents.

Trend #6: Shorter, Faster, and Serialized Reads

Here’s the reality: attention spans are shrinking, but the appetite for stories isn’t.

Serialized fiction is booming. Short stories are back in style. Readers are saying, “Give me something I can devour in a sitting, but make it pack a punch.”

This is where collections like It Ended by Beginning shine. Thirty-two short stories, each a burst of emotion and life lesson, pulled from quotes I love. It’s proof that brevity doesn’t mean shallowness.

Writing Tip: If you’re struggling to market a massive manuscript, consider breaking it down. Release novellas, serialized installments, or companion short stories. Not only is it more digestible for readers, it keeps your name circulating more often.

Think of it like feeding an audience snacks between meals-they stay hungry, but they don’t starve while you cook the main course.

What These Trends Really Mean (Without the Hype)

Let’s strip away the buzzwords and TikTok hype: what all these trends point to is adaptability.

Readers don’t want to be boxed in. They don’t want one format, one genre, one type of story. They want connection, variety, and honesty.

And as authors, we can’t control algorithms, but we can control the experience we give. That’s where the power lies.

Actionable Tips Every Author Can Apply Today

Okay, enough trend-spotting. Here’s the “do this now” section:

Experiment with formats. Try audio, try short stories, try newsletters.

Own your audience. Build an email list, start a store, make your own space.

Lean into emotional honesty. Readers crave stories that feel real.

Hybridize, don’t homogenize. Play with blending genres instead of chasing one.

Think in doses. Serialized content keeps you in front of readers.

Focus on story first. None of this matters if your book isn’t good. Harsh? Maybe. True? Absolutely.

Closing: Why Storytelling Still Wins in 2025 (and Beyond)

Publishing will keep shifting. Today it’s “romantasy.” Tomorrow it might be “sci-fi haiku thrillers” (don’t tempt the internet, it’ll happen). Formats will change, platforms will rise and fall, but one thing doesn’t: stories still matter.

Readers don’t come back because you followed a trend, they come back because you made them feel something they can’t forget.

So yes, pay attention to trends. Experiment. Adapt. But never let them eclipse the reason you started writing in the first place.

And if you remember nothing else, remember this: the only trend that never dies is a story that doesn’t suck.

- Makitia Thompson

#MindsInDesign #Makitia #MakitiaThompson #TheMidUniverse #Midstories #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Authors 

 

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✨ Introduction

Some stories stay with us because of their shadows, but others remain because of their light. The Pain of Time is one of those stories.

Taken from my short story collection It Ended By Beginning, this piece explores what it means to love someone so deeply that even time itself feels cruel for daring to take it away. An elderly couple, bound by fifty-eight years of love, laughter, and companionship. Must face the inevitability of goodbye as illness threatens to end their shared journey.

It’s a story about more than romance. It’s about true friendship, everlasting love, and the aching truth that even the strongest bonds cannot outlast time forever. To frame it, I chose a line from Shakespeare that captures its spirit perfectly:

“For you and I are past our dancing days.”

I’m sharing it here as a gift; for anyone who has ever held someone close and wished the moment could last just a little longer.

“For you and I are past our dancing days.” - Shakespeare

Max Cadence had always known that love would end in grief. He just hadn’t expected grief to start arriving in pieces.

It came quietly, like wind slipping under the door-frame, like light growing dim without warning. It came in pill bottles stacked like towers beside Connie’s bed, in the smell of antiseptic in their home, in the nurses' polite nods as they passed him in the hallway, familiar now-too familiar.

He sat in the kitchen that morning, their wedding photo resting just beside his lukewarm cup of tea. Connie’s smile was wide, young, glowing. He remembered that day like a photograph in motion, how she had laughed when the wind lifted her veil, how he had felt like the richest man alive.

Fifty-eight years ago.

Now, the house was too quiet.

No laughter floating from the living room. No records playing. No voice calling him “Maxie” from down the hall.

Connie was upstairs, asleep again. The new medication made her drowsy. Max hated it. Hated how pale she looked now, how thin her arms had become. Hated that the woman who once danced barefoot through their garden now struggled to climb a flight of stairs. He swirled the tea absently, untouched.

Some days, he still expected her to come bursting in with a new hat she found at the thrift shop, declaring it “too ugly not to wear.” Other days, he barely left her side, holding her hand like she was already disappearing.

He didn’t know how to say it out loud, what had begun haunting him in the spaces between sleep.

What happens when one of us goes first?

They’d always been together. From the moment they met at sixteen, Max all limbs and awkward jokes, Connie with her loud voice and unbrushed curls-they had been inseparable.

They got married at twenty-one in a borrowed church with secondhand lace and a chocolate cake that collapsed slightly on one side. It was perfect.

They never had kids. Not by choice, not really, but by timing and circumstance and then one missed appointment that turned into two decades of quiet acceptance. It never mattered to Max. He had Connie, and that had always been enough.

Their life had been filled with everything else: early morning walks, jazz records, years of late-night conversations, two golden retrievers over the years-both named Harold-and Sunday pancakes whether or not it was Sunday.

They didn’t fight much. When they did, it was over who left the tap running, or whether they should finally repaint the living room. Connie would go cold for an hour, Max would apologize with a burnt grilled cheese, and that would be the end of it.

Fifty-eight years.

He couldn’t remember the last full day he’d spent without her.

She woke up around noon that day, coughing softly into her elbow. He was there in an instant, helping her sit up, brushing her hair back.

“Morning, love,” she rasped, smiling.

He returned the smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been sleeping half the day.”

“Guess I needed it.”

He helped her dress. Her hands trembled as she tried to button her cardigan. He covered them gently with his own.

“I can still do some things, you know,” she muttered.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I like helping you.”

She looked at him then. Long and searching.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve got that faraway look again, Maxie.”

He didn’t answer.

That evening, they sat on the back porch, wrapped in the same wool blanket, watching the sun set behind the trees. The same view they’d looked at for three decades.

Connie rested her head against his shoulder.

“I ever tell you I regret not dying my hair purple in the ’70s?” she said out of nowhere.

Max chuckled. “I regret not letting you.”

She looked up at him, her face lined and luminous in the golden light.

“We did alright, didn’t we?”

“We did more than alright,” he said. “We built a life out of dust and music.”

Connie’s eyes welled. “Don’t get poetic on me, you old sap.”

“I’m only poetic when I’m scared,” he admitted.

That silenced her.

He didn’t mean to say it. But it was out now. Floating between them like fog.

She gripped his hand.

“Are you scared of losing me?” she asked.

He didn’t speak. Just nodded.

Connie leaned in and whispered, “Me too.”

Max never cried in front of Connie.

He never did when she got her diagnosis, never when she started needing help to shower, never when the hospital called the first time to say she had fainted while he was out buying milk. He cried at night, in the laundry room, where her cardigans still smelled like lavender and home. He cried in silence so she wouldn’t hear, so she could believe-pretend-that he was still strong enough to carry both of them.

But lately, it had gotten harder to keep the dam from breaking.

It wasn't that she was dying-at least not outright. It was that she was disappearing. Little by little. Sleep taking up more of her day, food less of her appetite, her laughter less often, her stories half-told before they drifted into quiet.

He missed her. And she was still here.

Max began forgetting things.

Nothing urgent-at first. A missed call. A bill left unpaid. A cup of tea gone cold in the microwave. He brushed it off. Connie was the one who needed care, not him. He couldn’t afford to break down now.

But the forgetting got worse.

He left the water running one morning and flooded the bathroom. Another time, he found himself staring at a box of crackers in the supermarket for ten full minutes, no idea what he was supposed to be looking for. He started walking slower, sleeping longer, eating less.

Grief was catching up to him before death did.

One afternoon, Connie asked if he wanted to go through old boxes. Max was too tired, but he said yes anyway.

They sat on the floor in the guest bedroom with a dusty collection of their life laid out like a museum exhibit-photo albums, postcards, ticket stubs from movies long shut down.

“Remember this?” she said, holding up a note he once passed her in high school.

It read: If you don’t say yes to prom, I’ll die a sad and lonely man before 18.

“You were so dramatic,” she teased.

“You married me anyway.”

“Unfortunately,” she said, but her eyes were full of laughter.

Max traced the edge of a faded Polaroid of them at Niagara Falls. Young. Wet from mist. Laughing so hard they were almost out of frame.

“Would you do it all again?” he asked quietly.

Connie turned to him.

“In a heartbeat,” she said. “Even the hard parts.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn't.

Because in his chest, something was breaking. The kind of breaking that no one could hear but him. The knowledge that this wasn’t just a sickness or a hard season. This was the final stretch. The last chapter.

She was turning 80 next week. And she might not live to see 81.

In the evenings, Max started staying up long after she fell asleep.

He’d sit in the living room with the lamp on low, flipping through books he never read, listening to the sound of her breathing from the baby monitor they kept on the end table. Every time it paused, he froze.

He lived in that pause.

Waiting to hear it return. Wondering when it wouldn’t.

Some nights he thought about writing her a letter. Something to leave behind, just in case he went first. But every time he started one, it felt like tempting fate.

Max had never been one to beg time for mercy.

But he found himself whispering into the walls: Just give us another year. Or another spring. Or one last birthday party.

Connie’s 80th was a quiet affair.

Just them. A lemon cake from the bakery down the street. A string of lights Max had dug out from the garage and nearly electrocuted himself installing. She wore a silly paper crown and a scarf too warm for indoors.

He gave her a small box with a tiny gold locket.

Inside was a photo, grainy, black and white of them kissing in their first apartment. Young and poor and happy.

“I don’t want you to forget me,” he said.

Connie placed a trembling hand on his face. “You’re the only thing I’ll remember.”

Two weeks later, she stopped waking up for full days.

She’d stir, say a few words, smile faintly, and fall back into sleep. The doctor came. The nurse began staying through the night. Max never left her side, barely sleeping, eating only when they forced him to.

One evening, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “You can go, if you need to.”

Connie opened her eyes.

“Not without you.”

He smiled through tears. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Then smiled, soft and slow.

“It should be.”

Connie died three days later, just before dawn.

Max was holding her hand.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her chest rise… then fall… and not rise again.

The nurse put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move.

He stayed in that room until the sun had fully risen, until her skin had gone cold, until the sounds of the outside world began to hum again like nothing had changed.

He buried her on a Tuesday.

And for the first time in fifty-eight years, Max Cadence was alone.

Weeks passed like molasses.

He didn’t eat the same. Didn’t turn on the radio. The house was too quiet. He didn’t mind the silence anymore. He visited her grave every morning.

Sometimes he brought flowers. Sometimes just stories.

“Do you remember the time we danced in the grocery aisle because our song came on?”

Or: “I wore that ugly scarf you bought me today. The one that makes me look like a bag of onions.”

Or sometimes nothing at all.

Just: I miss you, Con.

And one day, he didn’t show up.

The nurse found him in the armchair, dressed neatly, photo of Connie in his lap, the paper crown from her birthday still resting on the bookshelf nearby.

The doctor called it natural causes.

But maybe, just maybe, it was something else.

Maybe it was a heart that had given everything it could.

The obituary read:

Maxwell Cadence, 79, passed peacefully in his home beside photos of the love of his life, Connie Cadence. Married for 58 years, their love was the kind of story that most never get to live.

And if you visit their graves-side by side, under the willow tree, you’ll find a single quote etched into the shared stone:

“For you and I are past our dancing days.”
But the music never truly stopped.

🌙 Ending

The Pain of Time is only one of thirty-two stories in It Ended By Beginning, a collection built around the idea that pain ignored is pain passed on. Each story stands alone, but together they create a portrait of love, loss, grief, betrayal, and survival.

If this story resonates with you, I invite you to step into the rest of the collection. There, you’ll find stories that challenge, comfort, and linger long after you’ve finished reading.

📖 Read the full collection here

Because sometimes the only way to remember and to heal, is to tell the story.

- Makitia Thompson

#MindsInDesign #TheMidUniverse #Makitia #MakitiaThompson #Itendedbybeginning #Midstories #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Thedaythatbroketime #books #shortstories

 

Hi, I’m Makitia Thompson 👋 and I’m opening the floor to you. This is your chance to ask me anything about my books, my characters, my writing process, or even the emotional themes that run through my work.

To help spark ideas, I’ve broken this AMA into sections highlighting my series, collections, and stories. Each section has a short description (and a link if you’d like to explore more). Ask away!

⏳ Where Time Can’t Exist Series

Memory, grief, and the horrors we inherit.

When filmmaker Rebecca “Beck” Escarra stumbles into the forgotten town of Burrington, she finds a place frozen in 1827; haunted by tragedy, illusions, and ghosts that won’t let go. As Beck unravels its mysteries, the town becomes a mirror of her own buried fears.

📖 Explore Where Time Can’t Exist here

Ask me about:

The curse and history of Burrington

Character motivations and secrets

Hidden Easter eggs in the town

How time itself shapes the story

🎤 From the King Series

Truth, power, and confrontation.

Cole King is a journalist who doesn’t just ask questions, he forces people to face them. From forgotten victims to corrupt elites, his interviews expose the darkness people try to hide. Some confess. Some resist. None leave unchanged.

📖 Start with The Killer Across the Street (Gregg Thorton’s story)

Ask me about:

The psychology of Cole’s interview subjects

Writing fictional interviews that feel real

How Cole handles power, fame, and corruption

The man behind the microphone

📚 It Ended By Beginning (Short Story Collection)

32 stories. One truth. Pain ignored is pain passed on.

Told through the voice of a lone journalist, this collection captures raw, unfiltered moments of grief, betrayal, and justice. Each story stands alone, but together they reveal a haunting truth about memory and survival.

📖 Read It Ended By Beginning here

Ask me about:

Where these stories came from

My favorite characters within the collection

Themes of silence, loss, and survival

How short fiction can hold big truths

💔 Because I Felt Everything (Poetry Collection)

What does it mean to feel everything and survive it?

Through fifty raw and lyrical poems, this collection explores heartbreak, rage, healing, softness, and joy. It’s about carrying the weight of the past while daring to live inside the present.

📖 Get Because I Felt Everything here

Ask me about:

What inspires my poetry

Writing for the “overfeelers”

How I balance pain and beauty in words

Which poem is closest to my heart

🔪 The Killer Across the Street (Gregg Thorton)

The nightmare next door.

Gregg Thorton murdered for decades while hiding in plain sight as a father and husband. In this chilling installment of the From the King series, journalist Cole King digs into the twisted psychology of a killer who takes pride in his cruelty.

📖 Enter Gregg Thorton’s story here

Ask me about:

The psychology of Gregg Thorton

Writing crime fiction that feels real

The uneasy line between evil in fiction and reality

How Cole King handles interviewing a monster

💬 Ask About Characters

Want to know more about your favorite (or most hated) characters? This is your chance.

Ideas to spark questions:

What drives [Character Name] to make certain choices?

How would [Character Name] react to [hypothetical situation]?

What hidden secrets or traits would surprise readers?

🚪 Your Turn

No question is too big, too small, or too strange. Whether it’s about Burrington’s curse, Gregg Thorton’s twisted mind, a hidden theme in my poetry, or my writing process itself, drop your questions below. I can’t wait to share more with you.

- Makitia

#MindsInDesign #Makitiathompson #Makitia #Themiduniverse #Wheretimecantexist #untiltimeremembers #Midstories #Thedaythatbroketime