Behind the Book: The Hardest Scene to Write — and the One I’m Most Proud Of

There are scenes in Moons and Shadows that seemed to pour out of me effortlessly, almost as if they had been waiting years for me to put them on paper.

And then there are the Visha scenes.

The ones that take everything out of me.

The Visha scenes, he moments of darkness, emotional brutality, and deep personal stakes, are the hardest for me to write. They drain me mentally. Sometimes they leave me feeling physically sick.

It’s because they aren’t just words on a page.

They’re layered with my own experiences, the stories I’ve been trusted with, the conversations I’ve had with people who’ve been through their own dark nights. They’re heavy because they matter.

I didn’t grow up in an awful childhood - for the most part, it was good. But it was also quiet in a way that taught me to keep my voice tucked away.

I wasn’t allowed to communicate my uncomfortable thoughts. They were assumed to be too sharp, too likely to hurt someone else. So I learned to keep them inside.

Instead of speaking, I learned to observe. I became curious about how people interacted, how they handled conflict, how they mended after hurt. I’d go to Disneyland often, climb into the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, and just… watch.

I studied body language. I listened to tone shifts. I noticed who comforted, who ignored, who shut down. That quiet curiosity became my lifeline.

Over the years, I’ve had to learn how to communicate with purpose. One of the tools that’s helped me most is The Lost Art of Listening — a book I’ve read at least seven or eight times. It shaped how I listen to real people, and it shaped how I listen to my characters.

Writing Runa’s past was where this mattered most. I knew that readers who’ve been through their own darkness would find her story — and they would feel it. I didn’t need to write every detail in a graphic way. In fact, I felt strongly that I shouldn’t.

Because if you’ve lived through your own kind of shadow, your mind will fill in those gaps with your history. And that makes the connection to her deeper, more personal.

The scene I’m most proud of in Moons and Shadows isn’t the flashiest or most cinematic. It’s a quiet moment where you understand — without me having to show you every scar — that Runa has endured more than she will ever fully say aloud.

It’s a moment where you also see Izayah, not as a hero who swoops in to fix everything, but as someone willing to stand in the silence with her. Someone willing to try to understand, even if he never fully can.

And for me, that’s everything.