Five Reasons Why Writing Endless was Awesome

My newest book Endless is now out, and I thought I’d share a few reasons about why I totally enjoyed writing it.

1) It wrote easily.

The only book I finished before Endless was an epic fantasy that challenged me on almost every single word I wrote down. In comparison, Endless all but wrote itself once I had the concept figured out.

I rough drafted it in sixteen days, which until late last year was a personal record.

2) It was the first book where I started with a concept and it built into an awesome story with amazing characters.

Usually, characters come to me first and I have to figure out the story afterwards. With Endless, I had the idea of wanting to write a story about an immortal with memory loss. It took the better part of two years before the story actually fell into place for me.

3) Nick and Vince.

Both of these guys came out of nowhere for me when I wrote Endless. Originally, it was supposed to only be about Aleria and Ryan, but then one of the FBI agents insisted on putting in his two cents.

And interestingly enough Nick is the one everyone loves.

Vince also came out of nowhere. When I started writing, I intended for Endless to be set in a world where vampires and werewolves existed, but without the story really featuring any of them. But then Vince came along and his snark just made his dialogue pop so much that I couldn’t let him go.

4) Banter between Nick and Vince.

Nick and Vince scenes tend to be my favorite. Nick is a smart Alec. Vince is heavy on snark. So their conversations tend to be a no-holds barred snark-fest that always makes me smile.

5) Chemistry.

Aleria and Ryan, Nick and Aleria, Nick and Ryan, Nick and Vince, Vince and Ryan… There’s no real pairing that doesn’t have fire-works of some sort, and I love it.

So now I’ve shared what made me like my story, what makes you enjoy reading one? If you're wondering whether you'd like Endless, read on for a few pages from the book.  


This had to be what dying felt like. Floating outside my body, waiting for that final link to my life to be severed, only vaguely aware of indescribable pain. More screams than I could count rose up around me. Hundreds of footsteps beat against tiles. I couldn’t open my eyes if I wanted to. Not when it was easier to listen and wait. People shouted for a doctor or an IV, or a thousand other things that made no sense. I listened to all the chaos, trying to untangle it in my thoughts.

Soon, I could go. The peace around me was so relaxing, completely out of place in the clamor I heard. I wanted it. To rest forever in that peace. Why not? There was a very good reason, but I couldn’t call it to mind.

A numb buzz shot through my body and shattered my serenity.

It happened again. Only this time was more of a sharp pulse. The third time jolted like lightning. The fourth…Hell. Suddenly, the screams were coming from me. My heart’s relentless thundering added to my torment.



My chest burned like fire. It hurt to breathe. Cold air drove down my throat and into my lungs, amplifying the inferno in my chest. My skin felt scorched. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t right.

I had to see. I had to understand why pain dominated my existence like this. My eyes were fused shut. My breaths grew shallow, trying to draw air when there was none. I tried to clench my teeth. I bit hard plastic. A pipe. Cold air suddenly forced back into my lungs, out of time with my own breathing. This was wrong. It wasn’t safe. I had to see. The best I got was a little fluttering of my lashes.

A high-pitched beep shot through my head. It repeated again and again. I wanted to reach over and slam my fist into its source. My arm wouldn’t lift. Something kept it trapped. A scream rose up from the depths of my soul, but the pipe jammed inside my throat stifled the sound. I only managed a whimper, trying my best not to gag. More air blasted into my lungs against my will. What was going on? I was trapped in my own body, but why?

I needed to move. I had to move. Now. Before… Even… Even though… Panic gripped me. The beeps increased at a frenetic pace. I needed to move. To be gone. Didn’t matter where. Just not here. Not defenseless. Not trapped.

The air sucked out of my lungs. I gasped, choking on nothing, strangled by invisible fingers. I tried to convulse my body. To twist myself free of what’s holding me.


The air rushed back in a cold flood. Seconds later it left, only to return in the same amount of time.

There was a rhythm to the air. In… out... in… out… The breaths were slow—sleep-like. I concentrated on this rhythm, striving to clear my head. If I wanted out, I needed to think. Calmly. Clearly. Eventually, those irritating beeps slowed. I tried to focus past the sound.

Voices buzzed about me, adding to my need to see, to do something to protect myself. No one seemed to pay attention to me. Good. I could use that to my advantage.

I centered my every thought on moving my little finger. It finally jerked, but collided against something solid. So the thing trapping my arm was physical and too heavy for me to lift. It was better to be trapped than paralyzed. With luck I could escape my restraints. I tried my other hand, but it was cemented stuck as well. Right leg. Left leg. Damn it! Both trapped. I had to move!


No, I needed to stay calm. I tried to make larger movements, biting the pipe in my mouth against the urge to scream in pain. There was no wiggle room.

Fearing that I might be blindfolded, I focused on blinking. It worked. My eyes opened and the blur faded, revealing ceiling tiles. Why would there be tiles? Where was the canvas of hospital tents? The distant sounds of bombs dropping? The power of their explosions rushing through my blood?

No. That wasn’t right. I wasn’t there.

Where was I, then?

First, do no harm.” Blake Ryan swore that oath to become a doctor. Ironic, given that he spent most of his thousand year life sucking souls out of other immortals.

Things are different now. Using regular shots of morphine to keep his inner monster at bay, Ryan has led a quiet life since the Second World War. His thrills now come from saving lives, not taking them.

Until a plane crash brings Aleria into his hospital. Her life is vibrant. Crack to predators like him. She’s the exact sort of person they would hunt, and thanks to a severe case of amnesia, she’s all but defenseless.

Leaving Aleria vulnerable isn’t an option, but protecting her means unleashing his own inner monster. Which is a problem, because his inner monster wants her dead most of all.


  1. That's awesome! I love it when writing a story is that much fun. :) Great excerpt.

  2. Congratulations Misha! If you loved writing it, I'm sure readers would love reading!

    1. Thanks! I definitely hope that's the case. :-)

  3. Sounds like this story was made to be told. Congratulations, Misha.

  4. Congrats! I have that book waiting on my kindle, but I have to finish Stardust first.

    1. Awesome! I hope you enjoy it. (Although geesh. No pressure having to follow in Stardust's footsteps.)

  5. I agree that starting with a high concept can be the way to go. It certainly insures that your "big question" is positioned front and center. And it provides a tight structure from which to then go and play in.

    1. Yeah it definitely helped me to have some sort of frame-work onto which I could built.


What's happening in your dimension?