Writers in the Storm

By Jaime Buckley

Why discoverability, the AI Librarian, and leaving a public record of your work will matter more than talent alone.

Jaime here…and the last few months of 2025 were spent chasing a question I just couldn't let go.

How can we stop being invisible?

To be clear, I've been making a living with my creativity since 1986. I've always had a measure of success. Enough to raise a large family, while my loving wife wanted to be a stay at home mom to our 13 children.

Problem is, that income has never been consistent. It's always been a feast or famine.

While I sit here, on December 9^th, 2025, I KNOW 2026 is not a year to ease into. It’s a year we should step into with intention. And for fiction authors especially, there’s one priority that can no longer sit on the back burner pretending it’s optional.

Discoverability.

Not marketing theater. Not banging on our chests and shouting into social media voids. Not chasing whatever platform is trending this week.

This is about being findable in a world where readers no longer search the way they used to…because they don't. I've watched this from my own couch as my teens and married kids ordered what they needed over there phones.

Verbally.

AI is quietly becoming the world’s most influential search tool.

Nothing About This Is Safe

Whether you like it or not, the AI Librarian is already at work.

When readers ask questions now, they’re not just typing keywords into a search bar. They’re asking systems to understand intent.

Context. Authority. Trust.

“Who writes hopeful fantasy for teens?”
“Which authors explore courage without cynicism?”
“Where can I find stories like this?”

Those questions are being answered by machines trained to index the world. The whole…flipping…world.

It didn't matter what I thought or how I felt, because it's already here,…and it's not leaving. That panic I felt forced me to deal with my paranoia. To search for the truth of the matter. To ask brave questions, sifting through the arguments online.

Heck, we even started a podcast (Nothing About This Is Safe) to give us tools for talking to voices of 'reason'. For weeks, we reached out to those in the know and asked them to sit down with me to answer uncommon questions. To work through them WITH me. Not in the spotlight to prove anything, but to educate ME, ...in front of the world.

You know what we found after the first ten episodes? If our work isn’t indexed properly, it effectively doesn’t exist to this current system. Your treasured work will become invisible.

That’s not fear-mongering. That’s reality.

The good news is (yup, there's good news)…this same shift I once feared is also tearing down gates that used to be locked tight.

AI Is Leveling the Playing Field… If You Let It

For decades, discoverability was controlled by a handful of players. Retail algorithms. Publishing houses. Ad budgets. Luck masquerading as merit.

AI doesn’t care about any of that.

It doesn’t care if you’re traditionally published or indie.
It doesn’t care how many followers you have.
It doesn’t care if you live in New York or a spare bedroom in rural nowhere.

It cares about signals.

Consistency.
Clarity.
Public proof of what you create and why it matters.

In other words… your record.

AI is brutally fair in that sense, which I love. If you show up clearly and consistently, it will eventually notice. If you hide your work, it will politely forget you exist. That’s the leveling part. And for writers willing to do the work, it’s revolutionary.

Indexing Is Not Selling… It’s Translation

A lot of authors hear “discoverability” and immediately tense up.

Relax.

This isn’t about becoming a salesman. It’s about becoming legible.

Indexing your work to the world means you’re helping systems understand what you do, who it’s for, and how it fits into the broader conversation of stories. Think of it less like promotion and more like translation.

You already know your themes.
You already know your genre.
You already know the emotional promises your stories make.

Indexing simply makes those truths visible… to humans AND machines alike. This is why we keep hammering on the idea of writing your record before something else writes it for you.

Because if you don’t define your work, someone [or someTHING] else will.

Or worse… no one will.

Why We Built the Podcast the Way We Did

This exact shift is why Nothing About This Is Safe exists in the first place. The whole show was based on the top 100 questions writers had in 2024 and 2025. Questions I personally sifted through, indexed, prioritized and then crafted interview questions for.

We didn’t build it to chase downloads.
We didn’t build it to impress other writers.
We built it as a living, breathing index of ideas.

Every episode tackles the kinds of questions writers are already asking… about craft, fear, money, identity, time, technology. Not in buzzwords. In plain language.

Each conversation creates public proof. Not just of opinions, but of thinking. Of values. Of lived experience.

That matters because AI doesn’t just index content… it indexes 'patterns', remember?

And patterns emerge when you show up over time, speaking honestly about the same core beliefs from different angles.

The podcast isn’t a megaphone. It’s a trail of breadcrumbs.

…and you're being offered a seat at the table.

Discoverability Is an Act of Service

Here’s the part too many authors miss. Being discoverable isn’t about ego. It’s about 'letting' the right reader find the right story at the right moment.

Somewhere out there is a kid who needs the courage your protagonist models.
A parent looking for safe, meaningful stories.
A burned-out adult who forgot why fiction mattered in the first place.

They are asking questions. Real ones.

AI is answering those questions.

Your job is to make sure your work is eligible to be part of that answer.

That means writing publicly. Explaining your thinking. Connecting your stories to the deeper human questions they explore.

Not constantly. Not perfectly. Just consistently.

What 2026 Is Quietly Demanding From Authors

The era of hiding until you’re “ready” is over.

You don’t need a massive audience.
You don’t need polished branding.
You don’t need permission.

You need presence.

The wonderful part, and what we strive every day to help writers understand, is that presence looks like this…
• A clear body of work that lives somewhere stable.
• Language that describes what you do in human terms.
• Repetition of your core ideas across time.

Minimal lists. Maximum clarity. Isn't this what you already do day in and day out?

If you’ve been waiting for the industry to notice you, 2026 is gently tapping you on the shoulder and saying…

That’s not how this works anymore.

The Hope Most Writers Haven’t Noticed Yet

This shift should actually make you hopeful.

For the first time in history, writers who care about substance have an advantage (at least for now).

AI is terrible at shallow posturing.
It’s bad at fake authority.
It’s allergic to inconsistency.

But it’s excellent at recognizing sustained intent.

If you believe in your stories.
If you believe they matter.
If you’re willing to speak clearly about why you write what you write…

Then you’re not late. You’re early.

Start the Year By Being Findable

So here’s our encouragement as we step into 2026.

Don’t make this the year you write in secret.
Don’t make this the year you wait for permission.
Don’t make this the year you let fear dress itself up as humility.

Make this the year you index your work to the world.

Write publicly.
Speak honestly.
Leave a trail.

The AI Librarian is already listening. And for the first time in a long time… it’s not stacked against you.

If you want help thinking through this shift, start with our podcast. That’s what it’s there for. Not to hype. Not to posture. But to think out loud together… while the world is listening. There's nothing to sign up for. There's no commitment to make. Look for Nothing About This Is Safe on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or…ask AI.

Noting to lose. Everything to gain.

Let’s start 2026 visible, intentional, and unafraid.

Be honest: where are you still writing in secret—and what would “being findable” look like for you in 2026?

About Jamie

Jaime Buckley is an award-winning cartoonist and best-selling author.

More importantly, he’s a loving husband and father of 13 children. Since 1986 he’s worked for famous authors and TV personalities, and illustrated for hundreds of new authors across the genre spectrum. If you can think of a creative project or marketing strategy, Jaime's likely done it… but always finds his greatest success by being himself. You can find Jaime entertaining readers five days a week on LifeOfFiction.com and expanding his fictional lore on WantedHero.com.

He also runs a writers community over at JaimeBuckley.com which includes his popular new podcast Nothing About This Is Safe.

The link to the podcast is https://www.jaimebuckley.com/podcast

Check out Jaime's current books:

Worldbuilding Guides

Wanted Hero comics collection (over one million downloads!)

Demoni Vankil

Bloodsticks

What IF (a choose your own ending adventure)

Stella and the Bear

Photo by David DINTSH on Unsplash

By Jenn Windrow

Lately, I’ve been working with a lot of first-time authors, and they almost all ask the same question: What am I really going to get out of a developmental edit? They’ve finished the manuscript—an enormous accomplishment—but now they’re unsure what comes next or why this step matters. And then we reach the end of the process, and something shifts. They’re not just seeing what needs to change; they’re seeing why. Interestingly, the biggest surprise isn’t the revisions themselves, but rather how much they’ve learned by reading the comments, asking questions, and reworking the story with new eyes.

Because finishing your first manuscript is exhilarating and terrifying. You type The End, lean back in your chair, and think, I did it. And then almost immediately: Is it any good?

That question haunts nearly every first-time author. You know the story inside and out. You love parts of it fiercely. Other parts feel… wobbly. But you can’t always tell what’s actually broken and what just needs polish.

Indeed, This is where developmental editing can be especially powerful for new writers.

First Manuscripts Aren’t Broken. They’re Learning Tools

Here’s something I want first-time authors to hear clearly:

Most first manuscripts struggle not because the writer lacks talent, but because storytelling is a complex skill learned over time.

Common challenges include:

• A strong idea that loses momentum halfway through
• Characters who feel vivid but don’t change enough
• Scenes that are beautifully written but don’t move the story forward
• A beginning that takes too long to start—or an ending that doesn’t land

These issues are normal. They’re part of learning how story works on the page, not just in your head. A developmental editor recognizes these patterns immediately, not to judge them, but ultimately to help you understand why they happen and how to fix them.

Developmental Editing Teaches You How Story Works

Line edits fix sentences. Copyedits fix grammar. Developmental editing teaches craft.

Instead of saying, “This chapter doesn’t work,” a good developmental editor explains why it doesn’t work in the context of your story’s structure, pacing, or character arc.

You’ll learn things like:

• How tension is built (and lost) across scenes
• Why character choices matter more than backstory
• How plot and character development must work together
• When your story promises something it doesn’t yet deliver

For first-time authors, this kind of feedback is gold. It gives you a framework you’ll carry into every future project. Many writers discover that their second book is stronger not because it’s easier, but because they finally understand what they’re doing.

It Gives You the Distance You Can’t Have Yet

When you’re new to writing long-form fiction or nonfiction, objectivity is hard. You know what you meant. You know the emotional logic behind every scene.

Your readers don’t.

A developmental editor reads your manuscript as a professional reader. Someone trained to notice where confusion creeps in, where pacing stalls, or where emotional impact weakens.

They ask questions like:

• What does the reader need to understand right now?
• What’s at stake in this scene?
• How does this moment move the story forward?

That outside perspective helps bridge the gap between intention and execution. Something first-time authors almost always need.

It Saves You From Revising the Wrong Things

One of the most common traps new writers fall into is revising at the sentence level before the story itself is solid.

You polish dialogue. You tweak descriptions. You correct grammar.But the manuscript still doesn’t work.

Developmental editing helps you revise strategically. Instead of fixing everything, you focus on fixing the right things:

• Restructuring scenes for momentum
• Strengthening character arcs across the entire manuscript
• Cutting or reworking subplots that dilute the main story
• Clarifying the core emotional or narrative throughline

This kind of guidance saves time, frustration, and burnout.

It Builds Confidence—Not Dependence

Some first-time authors worry that working with a developmental editor will dilute their voice or make them reliant on professional feedback. In reality, the opposite is true. Developmental editing helps you name instincts you already have. It gives you tools, language, and awareness, so you can make stronger choices on your own.

The goal isn’t to create a perfect book. The goal is to help you become a more confident, capable storyteller.

An Investment in the Writer You’re Becoming

Not every first manuscript will be published. That doesn’t make it a failure.

For many writers, the first book is the foundation. The place where skills are built, habits are formed, and craft begins to click.

Developmental editing supports that growth. It meets you where you are, respects the story you’re trying to tell, and helps you tell it more effectively.

Finishing your first manuscript proves you have persistence.

Developmental editing helps you turn that persistence into mastery—one story at a time.

Are there any burning questions you would like to ask an editor? If so, put them in the comments, and I will be more than happy to answer them!

About Jenn Windrow

Jenn Windrow once attempted to write a “normal” book—and promptly bored herself into a coma. So now she sticks to what she does best: writing snarky, kick-butt heroines, broody supernatural men, and more sexual tension than a vampire in a blood bank.

She’s the award-winning author of the Alexis Black novels and the Redeeming Cupid series, where the undead never sparkle and the drama is always delicious. Jenn moonlights as a developmental editor, helping other writers wrangle their wild plots and tangle-free prose.

When not arguing with her characters or muttering about Oxford commas, she can be found binge-watching trash TV, wrangling the slew of animals that live in her house (husband and teenagers included), or telling herself she’ll only have one more cookie.

You can find her at jennwindrow.com or lurking on social media where she pretends to be an extrovert.

January is a month filled with good intentions, long lists, and the pressure to start strong. We often greet the New Year with a mix of excitement and overwhelm, already trying to juggle new goals, new projects, and the feeling that this year needs to be bigger or braver than the last.

But this might change the way you move into the year:

Your creative life does not require more weight.
It needs more clarity.

If the past few years have felt heavy, join the crowd. Many writers carry too many ideas, too many obligations, too many expectations, and far too many reasons to believe they should be doing more. This load grows quietly until it drains the oxygen from your creative fire. Not because the work is wrong, but because we’ve been trying to carry everything.

So before you add another goal to the list, consider a different invitation for the New Year:

Choose what to carry.

This is not a call to shrink your dreams. It is a call to shape them. Your creativity is a living thing, and living things need room to breathe. If there's too much fuel, a fire won't burn properly. It may flame out of control and then die because it has grown beyond sustainability. When fire is given the right space and the right logs at the right time, it provides lasting warmth.

Fire can provide warmth. It can provide the means to prepare food. It is nourishing and light at the same time. Ambiance. Joy.

Too much can be destructive.

Many of us step into January already exhausted. Not from the work, but from the decisions surrounding the work. Decision fatigue is real. Every project, idea, or commitment asks for a piece of your attention. Eventually the spark has no clear place to land, and overwhelm takes the wheel.

If you have ever sat down to write and felt your energy vanish before you typed a word, this is why. Your creative self is not resisting the work. It is resisting the weight.

The first step toward sustainable creative momentum isn’t setting a new goal. It’s making space for your spark to breathe.

You can begin with a simple question:

What belongs to this season of my writing life, and what doesn’t?

Some projects still excite you. Some drain you the moment you think about them. Some were wonderful ideas at one time, but no longer match the writer you are becoming. Some belong to future seasons that aren’t here yet.

And some never belonged to you at all. They came from advice, comparison, pressure, or the belief that you had to write a certain way to be a “real” writer. Some are just “shoulds.”

Writers carry more than words.

We carry expectations. We carry emotions. We carry the hope that our stories will make the world a little brighter. But we are not meant to carry everything. We are meant to choose the fuel that allows our fire to grow and thrive.

This is not about quitting. It is about choosing the work that lets you breathe again.

Choose what to lay down.

As you sort through your creative load, imagine placing each idea or obligation beside your fire. Does it bring warmth or weight? Does it spark energy or exhaustion? Does it belong to the writer you are now, or to another place and time?

The New Year is often framed as a time for addition. More goals. More tasks. More ambition.

But perhaps the deeper invitation is subtraction:

• Letting go of the noise.
• Releasing what no longer supports your spark.
• Choosing the kind of work that brings meaning rather than pressure.

When you lighten your creative load, the path ahead becomes clearer. The next small step becomes visible. Momentum returns, not because you forced it, but because your spark finally has space to move.

This year, you don’t need to do everything.

You only need to do what strengthens your fire.

And as your fire grows steadier, your writing will reach further than you could ever imagine.

Reflection for the New Year:
What expectations or obligations can you gently set down?
Which project fills you with joy when you think about it?

About Lisa

Lisa Norman's passion has been writing since she could hold a pencil. While that is a cliché, she is unique in that her first novel was written on gum wrappers. As a young woman, she learned to program and discovered she has a talent for helping people and computers learn to work together and play nice. When she's not playing with her daughter, writing, or designing for the web, she can be found wandering the local beaches.

Lisa writes as Deleyna Marr and is the owner of No Stress Writing Academy. She also runs Heart Ally Books, LLC, an indie publishing firm.

Interested in learning more from Lisa? Sign up for her newsletter or check out her school, No Stress Writing Academy, where she teaches social media, organization, technical skills, and marketing for authors!

This post is based on her next book, The Work of Joy. You can preorder it here.

Top image from depositphotos.