I've been thinking a lot about why I'm so drawn to writing mythic fiction. Yesterday I wrote about a daughter discovering her wizard father isn't who she thought he was. On the surface, it's pure fantasy. But strip away the magic and ancient battles, and it's the moment every adult faces: realizing our parents were complex people with their own mysteries, not just the roles they played in our lives.

My character asks, 'Can love exist without trust?' But maybe the real question is: Can we love someone fully without knowing them completely?

Mythic fiction lets me explore these timeless human truths through a lens that makes them both larger and more intimate. An old wizard's secrets aren't just plot devices—they're every parent who never told their children about their first heartbreak, their deepest fears, or the dreams they abandoned. The archetypal father-daughter bond becomes a mirror for our own reckoning with the people who shaped us.