If you’ve been wondering whether I’m still here—still writing, still imagining, still chasing stories late at night—I wanted to answer that question plainly and honestly.
Yes. I’m still here. And yes, I’m still writing.
The past two years have been one of those seasons that look quiet from the outside but feel anything but on the inside. The kind where words are being shaped slowly, where stories are tested and re-tested, where worlds are being built with care rather than urgency. Not every chapter is written in public, and not every creative season announces itself loudly—but that doesn’t mean the work isn’t happening.
It is.
I’ve been spending time in two very different story spaces. One is filled with wonder, light, and the kind of magic that asks readers to believe again. The other leans darker, asking harder questions about survival, memory, and what remains when everything familiar is stripped away. They couldn’t be more different on the surface, and yet they share the same heartbeat: characters searching for truth, belonging, and hope in worlds that challenge them at every turn.
I’m being intentionally careful with these stories. Not because I’m unsure of them—but because I believe some worlds deserve patience. I want them to arrive fully themselves, not rushed or diluted by timelines that don’t serve the story. If you’ve followed my work for any length of time, you know I care deeply about atmosphere, emotional resonance, and the slow unfolding of meaning. That hasn’t changed.
What has changed is the depth of the work.
I’ve grown as a writer over the last few years—not just in craft, but in confidence. I trust my instincts more. I’m more willing to sit with difficult scenes until they say what they need to say. I’m less interested in chasing trends and more interested in telling stories that linger after the final page.
That’s the energy behind the stories I’m working on right now.
While I’m not ready to share titles, covers, or plot details just yet, I am hopeful—and quietly excited—to have something ready to share later this year. When it’s time, you’ll be the first to know. And when these stories do step into the light, they’ll do so with intention.
If you’re a reader who has been waiting, wondering, or checking back from time to time—thank you. Your patience means more than you know. Writing can sometimes feel like a solitary act, but it’s never done in isolation. Knowing there are readers who care, who remember, who are willing to wait—that matters.
So this is simply a small note to say: I haven’t gone anywhere.
I’m still building worlds.
I’m still chasing characters who refuse to leave me alone.
I’m still writing toward something I believe is meaningful.
And I can’t wait to share it with you when the time is right.
Until then, thank you for being here.
— Nina
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Nina Soden 