Somewhere in the shadows of every writer’s brain, there’s a vault. Not a shiny, secure one like a bank has. No, this one’s a bit chaotic. Mine’s filled with story ideas in the shape of fuzzy plot bunnies wearing sunglasses, half-baked villains muttering about screen time, and wistful protagonists who never made it past chapter three.

Why? Because I had to make the brutal decision to focus.

You see, chasing every story idea that prances through your imagination is fun, until it isn’t. Until your hard drive looks like a fanfic forum had a caffeine bender. Until you realize you’re six beginnings deep and haven’t finished a single book.

Oof. Guilty.

So, I made a choice. One idea, the idea, got louder. It stopped being “that cool twist on enemies-to-lovers” and started whispering actual scenes while I was trying to sleep. Characters argued in my head. Locations got Pinterest boards. A folder got color-coded. It grew teeth. It demanded love.
So the rest? Into the Vault. With a fond pat and a promise: “Not now, sweetlings. But one day, maybe.”

If more ideas arrive after that, they’re added to those threads. No pressure, no rabbit holes, no full worldbuilding spirals, just breadcrumbs for future-me to follow when it’s time to start plotting that novel properly.

It’s a little ritual of hope, really. A way of saying, “Not now, but I see you. I’ll come back when I can give you the attention you deserve.”

Because that one idea, the one with claws and conviction, is getting all of me right now.
And here’s the wild part. It feels like commitment. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. Because now, this isn’t just a scribble in a notebook. It’s the beginning of a real story, with real characters, and a future on the page.

The others? They’re not gone. They’re just resting in the writer’s vault, waiting for the right moment. Dreaming. Plotting. Growing teeth of their own.

But for now, I’m staying focused.

And I think that’s worth everything.