Second Book Syndrome... APRIL 2026

Shit... writing a second book is hard.

Before I published my debut novel Road Trip Z in 2019, I had a fairly neat set of publishing plans worked out. I mapped out release windows years in advance like I was running a very small, very fragile publishing empire of one. Book two would land in 2023, book three not long after, momentum would carry me forward neatly in a straight line.

And, if I’m honest, I was a bit overconfident about it. I’d cracked the big time—at least that’s how it felt. I’d published my first book, and it did fine. Sales were good, but nothing outrageous. I wasn’t about to retire on a yacht or anything. Still, in my head, it all looked like the start of something that would just keep moving.

It didn’t.

Writing the second book turned out to be exactly as difficult as people say it is—second album syndrome. I understood the idea of it in theory, but theory and lived experience are different beasts entirely.

After Road Trip Z came out, I also wasn’t prepared for how much space it would take up in my head. Reviews mattered—needed, even—but I never really had the reach or audience that makes them come in steadily. Still, I persisted. You have to. Even when it feels like you’re shouting into a fairly empty field.

By the time I reached 2023 and what was meant to be book two, I had multiple manuscripts on the go, all half-speaking to each other, none quite committing to being finished. Everything felt like it was in motion, but nothing was actually arriving.

Eventually, I got stuck in that strange creative holding pattern where you’re always writing but not really landing anything.

What pulled me out wasn’t forcing another big novel—it was short fiction. Smaller pieces, tighter turns, things I could actually finish. Somewhere in that process, the inspiration came back. A bit battered, maybe, but enough to feel like a second lease of life. Enough to realize there is another novel coming.

And this one… it’s darker. More twists, more blood, characters you’ll either love or hate—and sometimes both. You never quite know who’s safe, or who’s going to make it to the next chapter. Hell, even they don’t know.

What I’m trying to say is this: persist. Try something different. Pull yourself out from under that comfort blanket, even if it feels easier to stay there.

Because sometimes the thing you haven’t tried yet is exactly the thing that unlocks everything else. And you never really know—until you do it—what’s actually going to work.