Before the world of The Crimson Legacy became a series—before the maps were drawn, before the characters had names or a journey to take—it began as nothing more than an ocean of words.
Not plotted. Not outlined. Not neatly typed in a single document.
But scribbled on scrap paper, scribbled napkins, and the backs of receipts.
Typed into my phone at 2 a.m.
Doodled beside grocery lists.
Anything to capture the wave of inspiration before it slipped back into the sea.
I didn’t know where I was going—only that I had to go.
There was no polished plan, no professional toolkit of outlines and scene structures. Just a deep, aching desire to tell a story. I opened my desktop computer one day, let the tide carry me, and the words began to flow. Freely. Wildly. Beautifully messy. It was like watching ink take on a life of its own, shaping myths and mysteries before my eyes.
I didn’t know I was writing a series. I didn’t even know I was writing a book.
But the characters did.
They emerged from the mist as if they had been waiting—Ambrose, barefoot and brave, walking the shore of a forgotten island. Pathfinder, veiled in riddles. Tarti, fierce and loyal. Flintlock, gruff yet grounded.
They whispered their secrets, nudged the compass, and refused to be quiet when I strayed from the course they knew was true.
I tried to take control, to tame the current. I attempted a structured version, tried to force the story into a neat little box. But every time I did, the characters broke through the boundaries. They reminded me: This isn’t a story to be caged. It’s a world to be discovered.
So I let them lead.
Bit by bit, this chaotic collection of scenes, ideas, and poetic scraps began to form something real. It wasn't just fantasy—it was legacy. And that’s when I knew: this wasn’t going to be a one-and-done adventure. This would be a series. A crimson tide of stories, stitched together by destiny, darkness, discovery, and heart.
And then something unexpected happened—something beautiful.
While working on the first draft, one of my patients—brilliant, vibrant, and full of quiet wisdom—asked if she could read what I had been writing. We were in a retirement home, a place where time sometimes hangs heavy, and stories can offer a bit of escape.
I said yes.
I admired her. Despite her own challenges, she had a spark in her spirit that I looked up to. I trusted her judgment more than she likely knew. After all, I had set out to write a book not knowing if it would ever amount to anything more than a tidal wave of words.
She read with joy, curiosity, and encouragement. Her belief in the story lit a flame in me. It was the first time I let someone else peek behind the curtain—and her response gave me the courage to keep going. To believe this story might reach beyond the walls of my imagination. To believe I could. She did offer me some guidance, a suggestion of sorts “While your description of the environment is lovely and so far what I have read is great… You are a pirate damn it so you need to be mean and fierce.”
That first draft? It changed everything. It gave me a voice I didn’t know I had. It made me fall in love with storytelling in its purest form—raw, unpolished, but undeniably powerful.
This isn’t a tale of formulas or flawless first attempts.
This is the tale of a writer trusting her wild heart.
And if you're reading this—maybe it’s your tale too.
With heart,
Ambrose Fider
Author of The Crimson Legacy Series