​Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

Here we go, the last of the Dungeon Crawler Carl books that I’ve already listened to. The next one will be A Parade of Horribles, and I cannot wait!

But for now, This Inevitable Ruin. I’ve only listened to this one twice, maybe three times since it came out on audiobook in early 2025. The whole premise is complicated. Carl, Donut, and the crawlers have finally reached the ninth floor: Faction Wars. This is the dreaded floor where not only do the crawlers need to survive, but they’re in the middle of a war. Outside entities— players— are in the dungeon in the tens of thousands to play wargames. The only thing is, thanks to things Carl, Donut, the AI, and the game’s own NPCs have been doing, Faction Wars is no longer safe for the visitors. Just like the crawlers, they will now permanently die if killed within the game. 

It took me a while to really make a cohesive description of what I wanted to discuss about Dinniman’s writing here. Partly because I’m less familiar with this book than the others, and therefore was paying more attention as entertainment than with a wordsmith’s ear. Partly because this is book seven, and I’ve already discussed so many things about Dinniman.

This book really nails a whole humongous multi-book, multi-seed, multi-plotline payoff. He even did so while maintaining control over the narrative, seeding and advancing other plot threads, and twisting a lot of resolutions in ways no one could have foreseen.

The nature of this is going to make me have to speak in a lot of vagaries in order to avoid spoilers. So this probably won’t be terribly in-depth to help preserve my own sanity.

First off, this being seventh in the series means it has had a lot of time to build up expectation. Dinniman always knew this was a major destination within the grander narrative because we started hearing about it pretty early, in book 1. In fact, with the very first piece of equipment Donut got, we had a giant sign in the sky saying the ninth floor would require an in-game destruction of a family line.

So yeah, we’ve had this on the horizon for ages, with some notable events on that subject along the way.

Of course, the floor itself being just a giant war was a huge plot device, so we can’t forget that. This is where Carl and Donut’s efforts to break the game come to major fruition. They’ve been working at clearing this obstacle for a long time, both in ways the reader has seen and ways they haven’t seen.

We have the branches of minor plots that have led here one way or another. For some, this floor was always a “deadline” for action on the plot. For some, we literally only learned about it last minute. I’m talking “epilogue of the previous book” last minute. 

Then he draws in a lot of thin plot threads that are just sort of dangling every which way, gathers them up, and throws them into the ball of yarn. Or whatever this horrible metaphor is I’m not really maintaining well. But he absolutely does. We get a whole lot of resolution on some of the massive list of minor characters in this series. Dinniman doles out a schmear of closure on a lot of characters, which is sorely needed. 

This book turned out to be a great bottleneck, a place where the plot would condense and thin, go from a huge cable to a tight wire. Or like, we’ve peeled away the outer layer of setup that has been used, revealing the delicious banana of plot focus within.

He’s given himself more and less to work with from book eight on. I can’t help but think it’s by design. He may not have known how much he’d have to resolve when he got to this point, but he anticipated how much freedom he had with the initial scope of the dungeon to set up all kinds of plot devices. He made a pretty good open world for himself in the first couple books, all kinds of things and mechanics and character possibilities to play with. He had the freedom to pretty much set up any sort of character or background to suit his needs at any time, knowing that if he didn’t kill them before this, there would be an exit if he needed to get rid of them. If he set up a plot line and only found himself dragging it along behind him as an afterthought because he couldn’t find a place to resolve it, he had plenty of logical ways to tragically end it because WAR. 

And yet, he did so much of this in a satisfying way. He didn’t take the easy out on so much. He set himself up for success, and he delivered well beyond belief. There is definitely some value in planning for a ton of loss, of thinning the plot within itself. I’m frankly amazed at the planning process for this, even if Dinniman is mostly a pantser, as I believe I’ve heard. The foresight boggles me, but it’s totally worth applying to your own planning when doing a series.

What frightens me, though, is knowing that the events in this book are just stepping stones to the next big thing. Stakes are getting big, things are getting worse, and it’s getting hard not to get scared.

I believe I’ve touched on this subject a few times, but I wanted to make sure I actually went into it a little bit.

A lot of advice given to writers is to read. Read, read, read. Always be reading, along with writing. 

That’s good advice. But what the heck am I supposed to be reading? Fiction like what I’m writing? Stuff unlike it? Academic papers on psychology? Blog posts on writing?

The short answer is… well, yes. In everything you read, there is going to be at least a little something you can take from it that will make you a better writer.

Granted, everything isn’t going to have the same value for you, but there is always SOME value.
Read fiction that is like yours. I mean seriously. How are you going to write science fiction if you’ve never read anything science fiction before? What kinds of things will your space marines get up to that makes no sense if you haven’t gotten any sort of military experience, or at least gotten some idea what space marines do? How is your magic system going to stand up to scrutiny when you’ve never experienced one from another author? Or a dozen?

Oh no, but then I’ll be derivative of everything I’ve read! Yeah, that’s not how this works. You can always learn what you don’t like about other systems and writers, too. Just because you know how magic works in this world or that, or how space marines work in this universe, it doesn’t mean you have to copy them. There are no rules, but there can be precedents. You can strip layers and pieces off works that have come first, twist other things, completely replace some, and you have your own system. But I bet you may have also come across ideas and uses for resources (like magic or technology) that you never would have considered before. And that’s just scratching the surface.

Read stuff unlike your fiction, too! Seriously. Read histories if you write urban fantasy. Read romance if you write science fiction. Read horror if you write romance. There are tons of writing techniques, plot devices, all kinds of things you can learn from crossing genres. On the small, simple level, your fantasy might have some scary moments. Having read horror can help you on a meta level, knowing how to increase tension to instill dread and fear. Having read romance, your space marine commander can woo his love interest or seduce the enemy commander or alien overlord or whatever.

Academic papers? Yeah, read them! If they interest you, why not? But from a writing standpoint, they’ll definitely teach you specific vocabulary, how to emotionlessly get things across, and there’s always the use of subject matter. I recently did a post on writing what you know. This ties into it. Have interest in cell reproduction? I’m sure you can find ways to incorporate that into fiction somehow. It could be inspiration for an alien race, or a disease that affects magic users, or the basis for a monster. Your specific interests can help inform what you write.

There’s even value in reading very, VERY bad writing. I’ve slogged through more than a few stories and books that were horrible. Poorly edited, not at all fleshed out, just… bad. Sometimes there are lessons to learn in how not to write things. I’ve learned what kinds of things to look for as red flags in my writing mechanics themselves. I’ve seen great ideas executed so poorly it’s a real shame… and I’ve taken away lessons from them. Like how too much self-insertion turns into mental masturbation no one else will get anything from. How trying to hide self-insertion fantasy by making the subject of the book “You” rather than I or an actual main character is just as awful. I’ve read a romance where the majority of adjectives for anatomy are the same couple words… and I’ve learned how NOT to narrow my vocabulary that way. I’ve also read narratives where the author clearly used a thesaurus on far too many of their words in an attempt to sound smart. That backfires a lot. It becomes too much about the individual words then, rather than the whole sentence or paragraph.

Am I perfect? Far from it. I’m still learning. Always am. You should be, too. 
​
Read. Read widely. You may not get a whole lot for your horror novel by reading that study on window and door glass energy efficiency, but you might. 

I’ve had quite the privilege in my life, I think, to have always had access to a ton of books. From libraries to bookstores both physical and online, books have always been around me. As such, I’ve had the honor of ingesting books in multiple ways. 

Naturally, paper books were my first. It was sometime around 2012 when I got my hands on a kindle and was able to take in ebooks. That son of a gun really came in handy when I spent a lot of time on treadmills and ellipticals.

It was around the same time that I got into podcast serial novels (podiobooks) and from there, audiobooks in general.

I have a place for all of these in my life. Granted, these days, I’m most likely to take an audiobook over anything else. Mostly, it’s a way to ingest stories and information while doing other things: exercising, driving, cleaning, crafting.

I’d definitely say there are pros and cons to each form of consuming fiction. Audiobooks do let you split your focus. It allows a multi-use of the time it takes to get the story into your brain. However… it can also serve as a takeaway from the experience. You’re less physically focused on it. Not holding the book in your hands, not dedicating your sight to it… I’ve noticed some failings in my ability to actually sit and focus on reading since mostly switching to audiobooks. It’s damaged my attention span, while at the same time allowing me to be more productive. Sadly, as life itself has become more demanding, it’s necessitated audiobooks and that attention split. So while I’ve been able to spend less time on focused reading, it has kept my ties to fiction alive. I’m reading more… just through listening.

Reading physical books (or ebooks) are largely in the same vein for me. Yes there’s the whole paper vs tablet discourse. Both have their place. But the act of reading on either is the same. You’re holding the text and reading with your eyes. It does have some serious benefits over audiobooks. Since there’s not a voice delivering it, interpreting the words, you have much more control over your own experience with it. You can decide how names and places are pronounced (even if there’s a pronunciation guide. You can ignore it if you want!) however, it does demand time and attention in itself. And no small amount of it. 

I’ve been working on rebuilding my attention span for sitting and reading. It’s difficult, but it is very worth it. 
​
So tell me, do you have places in your life for ingesting stories? How do you take them in? Audio? Paper? Comic forms or serials?

We hear this advice a lot. Write what you know. But what is it supposed to mean? Are people who read modern fiction, set in the present day, doomed to only write the same sort of stories? Are those how enjoy memoirs only allowed to write their own memoir? Or is it something more stringent? You’re a straight white man, so your characters must only be the same? You have spent your career working fast food, so your settings have to be fast food joints?

Fuck that.

First of all, your average person is going to know a lot more than you (or perhaps even they) might realize. We all live in our own little worlds, and they are as varied as the people themselves are. None are the same, though the greater Venn diagrams are complex. My older brother and I had the same locational upbringing. We share a knowledge of the setting we grew up in. Many of the same people are in our shared world… but so much else is different. We both have some musical education, for example, some chemistry. But I pursued further musical education, and he’s a chemical engineer. Already, our “what you know” baskets have changed. He has a wife and children; I do not. That doesn’t stop me from writing characters who are married or who have children.

It goes on from there. But it is so much more complex. Were the two of us given the same sort of basic plot idea, our interests and experiences would have us interpret it differently, create the world of our novels differently.

So what the hell does “write what you know” mean?

It means you have so much at your disposal that no one can write what you can. It means that you have a special combination of knowledge that you can absolutely tap into for a good story.
I’m going to super simplify things here, but let’s put this in terms of something I often come across in my reading and writing: magic systems.

I, by dint of my musical education mentioned earlier, would have a pretty easy time centering a magic system around one of my interests/hobbies. Music. I’m also a chainmailer. I could build a system around that. The metals involved, the dynamics of the weave pattern, how the two mesh: metal and weave. 

Crap, I’m giving myself ideas.

But what inspired this post was another book I recently read for the second time: Babel by R. F. Kuang. Kuang’s magic system in Babel is deeply based in linguistics, specifically the imprecise nature of translation. That’s not something I would even slightly be able to pull off. I enjoy languages, but nowhere near the depth of what it would take to develop a novel like this was.

Once I started thinking about that, how that is a very good basis for “write what you know” it made me think about what wonders are really possible. Imagine a fashionista’s take on a clothing- or jewelry-based magic system. A sleight-of-hand enthusiast’s take on political machinations in a scheming peerage. What could a gourmet chef do with a sci-fi setting, and how would that differ from a line cook’s take, or a caterer’s or baker’s?

The varied interests and skills people have, those earned through curiosity or necessity, give every one of us a unique perspective that could do wonders in the written world. It doesn’t have to be limiting in the slightest; you don’t ONLY have to write what you know.

But your passions equip you to write your own story, one that only you can pull off. One piece of random, “useless” trivia you know has the potential to spawn the basis of a magnificent piece of writing.

Of course there will still be research to do. There is always more to know. But when you’re passionate about what you’re writing, it shows, and you can bring others along with you on it. 
​
So write what you know. Don’t hold back your excitement for it. Insects, candy making, agriculture, engineering, whatever it is that has your attention is worth a story.

Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it several times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

I actually went into my audiobook history and looked up book publication dates to see exactly when I first fell down the DCC rabbit hole before writing this. I wanted to see my own personal history, where I came into the series. I was fairly certain The Eye of the Bedlam Bride was the next DCC book to be released after I discovered the series. I was correct, but only barely. I purchased the first audiobook on May 27, 2022. The audiobook for book 5 literally released the day before that. In short, I was correct that book 5 was already released before I fell into the series, so this, book 6, was the first one I actually had to wait for.

I’ll say up front it didn’t disappoint. I just finished yet another relisten (since book 8 is coming out in a few months) and to do these reviews, so naturally it’s fresh in my mind. I was listening to it in part with the mindset to write a review about it, but I’ll admit I had trouble the whole time trying to figure out what aspect of writing really struck me. I’m really trying to put myself in a wordcrafting mindset, and less of the technical stuff. I’m trying to discuss plotting, character development, that sort of thing.

So what the heck can I talk about in The Eye of the Bedlam Bride that I haven’t already discussed?

I finally figured it out. Sure, this is something that’s been touched on in the other books, something I could absolutely have talked about for any of them. But it really comes to a big head here.

In this book, we really see the characters flirting with losing everything. We see loss teased and toed. Dinniman rides the edge of complete destruction and collapse of his story and yet… we go on. 

He really puts the reader and characters in serious danger, and while it’s very easy to fall into the safe mental place of assuming the main characters have plot armor, this book really drives home that no one is safe. Dinniman takes a good number of secondary characters, ones that we’ve become very fond of over the last few books, and threatens them in ways that really seem unsolvable. At the tail end of the last book, the reader learns that one character in particular is going to be a major threat on floor 9, just one book away. But in this book, the characters learn it in general, and it needs to be dealt with. We lost friends in the last book, and… we lose more in this one. Dinniman truly spares no one from the punches he pulls. It’s par for the attitude of the powers that be within the narrative, but the struggle simply continues to ramp up at a good pace. The way Dinniman manages keeping the threats in check, keeping things from spiraling out of his own control, is amazing to me. I don’t think I have the skill to do such a thing.

Not yet, anyway. That’s part of why I’m doing these reviews: to critically think and identify skills and techniques I haven’t necessarily considered before, and to get them on my radar.

Dinniman is far from afraid of threatening his characters, and that goes for every single one of them. Carl and Donut have dire concerns over all kinds of things, but they stay true to themselves, and dear god how they utilize things from previous books to manage present problems. This whole series is an epic feat I can’t help but admire. There’s just straight up a lot to learn from the writing and plot/detail development here.

There’s so much nonlethal loss in this book, for so many characters. People we don’t necessarily “care” about as good guys still experience something being taken. And it’s not universal. Losing the self is addressed in multiple ways and to multiple degrees. Everything from body part loss to grief over lost loved ones to mourning things you didn’t know you had until it was taken away happen here. We see loss of control and autonomy, even briefly. The possibilities of how we can be hurt are not shrunken from. Dinniman really takes out the safety net, or the feeling of it, at least. Nothing is safe. No one is safe.

That’s a big lesson to take as a writer. You hear the saying “kill your darlings” but we seriously have a much deeper and more apt example than just those words in this book. Maim your darlings would almost be more apt a description, but… the point is there. 

I need to be less gentle with my characters. 

Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

We’re working our way through the series, aren’t we? Going to be interesting when we get to the latest book, because that’s going to be a first impression. Comes out in May, so by the time we get to its release, timing-wise, I should be able to get it, listen to it, and write my review before it needs to be up here. 

Anyway, for now, we’re on book 5, The Butcher’s Masquerade. I was nearing the end before I finally figured out what aspect of writing and storytelling I wanted to focus on for it, but it jumped out at me pretty suddenly when I started thinking about it. For this book, it’s a matter of meta-storytelling, what exactly happens in this book that made me want to have a discussion. 

This is a major turning point in the series. The Butcher’s Masquerade is the book where our protagonist, Carl, finally makes the switch from reactive to proactive.

In simpler terms, this is when Carl stops being recipient to events and starts taking action to create events. This is the book where Carl takes the future into his own hands and starts directing the narrative himself, as much as he can. More than anything, it’s when he begins rebelling against the system in earnest, taking direct action and having a plan in place, rather than taking opportunities as he sees them. Carl has finally gotten to a point he cannot just sit and accept unfairness anymore. 

I’m going to try to avoid detailed spoilers, but no promises. So proceed with caution.

This book is the one where he starts exploiting his position, most notably his audience. The advantages his new adversaries on this floor, the Hunters, have is something he calls out right away. Knowing he’s being watched (and knowing the Hunters can communicate with the audience to get inside information on locations, skills, equipment, etc), Carl makes a quick point of complaining loudly about his opponents cheating. 

Even more shocking, he has plans from the very beginning to upset the “natural order” of how the game progresses on this floor. The Hunting Grounds is where real people from the galaxy outside the dungeon come to gather equipment and experience for the future game coming in a few floors. These “guests” can actually die here, but a big part of their goal is to slay the crawlers like Carl and his friends. They won’t be released until the first day or so has passed, but that’s not stopping Carl. He refuses to run and hide like the crawlers pretty much always have to. Instead, he takes advantage of their laziness and false sense of secure superiority and attacks the outright, taking out a shocking number. 

It only grows from there. This is the book where Carl’s true goals start to show themselves. He wants the “natural order” of things disrupted in every way possible. And he’s not just thinking of now, either. He’s looking at the long-term, the endgame. He’s working to break the crawl altogether, and Dinniman works to really tie a lot of threads together into a cable that does some serious emotional damage this book. Along with Carl’s anger and action ramping up, the harsh truth is it’s getting to the point damage done to Carl and the characters we’ve come to love up until now is also getting worse. We can’t help but lose people and even things we love. 

That’s really all I’ll say at this point. The last section of this book hurts. Stab after stab comes, and it’s a lot to endure. There’s a particular question from Donut that breaks me every time I read/hear it. I’ve felt that way, and I haven’t even been through a fraction of the shit Donut has to this point in the series. It’s so real, such raw emotion that I can’t imagine any sane person not choking up at what these characters are going through.

The transformation from reactive to proactive happens so gradually over the course of the previous book (The Gate of the Feral Gods) and into this one that I hadn’t really thought about it before now. But I’m glad I did. Carl’s conviction is really what solidifies, and the biggest moment I can think of to illustrate the difference comes from a moment in the previous book. SPOILERS FROM HERE, so be aware these will not be avoided.

I’m talking about Loita’s death. In the previous book, Carl didn’t decide until the pretty literal last minute to go through with his plan to try and off her. There was no hesitation about the attack on Zochau, which also killed real people. And a lot of them.

In short, this is where Carl’s agency finally makes that switch from responding to the world around him to fully taking charge and trying to make things different his way, rather than playing by the rules. It’s, like I said, almost so subtle a change that it’s hard to pinpoint. But it’s easy to accept because it’s so very… Carl. If anything, I’d say a lot of the shock comes from finding out exactly how alike Donut is, how she’s been doing things Carl doesn’t know about. Things along the same vein, but in a very Donut way.

Vive la révolution.

Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

Already up to book 4 of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, and it wasn’t until a good halfway through that I figured out just what I wanted to discuss from a writerly standpoint on this novel.
Time skips. Missing out.

So, one of the big points of stories is to put the consumer in the middle of the action. We want immersion, to be the hero or villain as the mood strikes us, to feel the emotions, hear the sounds, experience the action. We want to be in the story, to know every bit of activity that's going on in the world around us.

That's why when something is left unknown, it's either a huge thorn in our sides, a tease, or a crime. It's why we see movie scenes where the villain tells his master plan, even just to a minion. It's why we get the cheap "We all know that" exposition dumps to put things into context, and it's why we as the consumer get to know things the protagonist might not know.

It's also why it's such a great tool to use to build tension and stress in your readers (or viewers or listeners). Having your readers not having all the information can be priceless, but it's a very fine line to cross. My mind goes to Sherlock Holmes, where there are tons of details the reader simply cannot know, but the characters (Holmes, in particular) do know. Part of the charm of Holmes stories is in the role the reader plays. We're the Watson, the observer, and we get to experience the same wonder at deduction as those around the detective. It's heavy handed missing out there, but it's for a purpose, and one that suits the genre.

Doing something like that in a fantasy story, banking on the reader's being woefully ignorant of crucial information, can be more harming than anything. So missing out is a tool to be used skillfully and sparingly, at least in general.

But when you miss out on events, when you're reading a book through the eyes of a character who has a finger in every pie... well, that's a situation where our own immersion works against us.

In The Gate of the Feral Gods, we have a big time skip. In the series, each floor of the dungeon only exists for a certain number of days. Because of that, every day is critical. Every hour is, even. It's time to figure out the first priority: getting down to the next floor. After that, it's crucial time to train, to grind, to work on bigger problems like keeping as many other humans alive as possible and breaking the system from within. You know, all that stuff.

So losing FIVE DAYS is a humongous blow. When a floor is only open for fifteen days, losing five of them is literally stealing a third of your time there. There's no way to get them back and no way to know exactly what happened in those hours. Sure, we hear bits and pieces of what happened, but it's literal time lost with no recovering. Just dealing with the loss and moving on.
The first time I listened to the book, I was talking about the loss with the friend who introduced me to the books. At the time, from an author standpoint, I wondered if the reason for such a theft of time was for a couple reasons:

1. The book was getting too long and needed trimming management

2. The actual content planned was thin and would have needed a lot of somewhat useless fluff to flesh out to the usual standard

3. The author had written himself into a corner on the plot points involved there and this was an easy out

That's meta-thinking there, like I said, from an author standpoint. What I neglected to think about at the time were the real stakes. I missed the trees because I was looking at the forest. The gaps Dinniman put there did a number of great things plotwise on several levels. It advanced the agency of many supporting characters. It upped the tension and urgency of Carl and Donut, who lost the time directly. The loss is reacted to and felt so suddenly, because it feels like no time passed. Like a coma or blackout. The time is just gone, for the reader, as well. Time becomes a commodity that can be stolen, just like anything else.

You know where else time becomes a rationed commodity this way? Interstellar.

It's the ticking clock, the looming deadline, and that's what Dinniman really ramps up in this book: that ticking clock. And he does it with a gut punch.

Don't be afraid to steal time from your readers or make them miss out. It can be useful just like any other technique. Practice at it. Make it hurt... but don't make it destroy too much.

I haven’t been to any writing conferences, but I’ve been to conventions where one of the things I was focused on was writing. For something like 7 years, I was a regular attendee of Balticon. During these years, I became very involved in the New Media track, which was a lot of indie authors, podcasters, and voice actors.

For a number of reasons, I haven’t attended a Balticon since 2019. I miss it very much, but there has been a great shift in my life’s focus since then, and it’s simply not in the cards for me anymore. One of the main reasons is that I no longer run The Melting Potcast, the podcast I did for 5 years with my best friends. It was a writing variety show and still exists out in the aether. Go give it a listen if you’re so inclined.

At this point, it’s been almost seven years since I’ve been to a Balticon, since I’ve so thoroughly surrounded myself with other authors for any significant period of time. I don’t remember a whole lot of details about any specific interactions. I do remember highlights, so I think I’ll dedicate the rest of this post to some of the lasting things I picked up or remember from my author friends and from doing The Potcast. This may be a bit disjointed, but let’s go with the sort of stream of consciousness stuff, shall we?

• If you’re writing genre fiction, or if you’re doing any sort of worldbuilding, consider trade routes and food sources. I attended a fantastic seminar one year about cooking in fantasy, but from the point of view of the actual cooks. Where do your ingredients come from? Would a cold, mountainous region have easy access to honey (not likely) or would they have to import it? Your desert people wouldn’t eat a lot of fish, would they? I think my favorite part of the seminar was when the speaker challenged authors in the audience to come up with a modern recipe, something simple like spaghetti and meatballs, and figure out how one of your cultures would make it. Even down to the water the pasta was boiled in. People really got creative with how they would modify the recipe to suit the available foodstuffs, like yak’s milk or unusual sources for things like starches and vegetables.
• There is a wild amount of value in reading your work aloud. It’s a powerful tool to use in editing, especially when it’s a mechanical/technique edit. It helps find words and phrases that don’t flow well or read awkwardly. You can identify sentences and thoughts that carry on for too long. Hell, reading aloud even helps pick out typos, if you want to use it for that, as well.
• Even the author with the smallest library can have a die-hard fan. 
• Some of the most amazing bits of advice come from random discussions around a fire.
• Give 30 people the same writing idea, and you’ll get at least 30 completely different stories. This was actually one of the founding ideas behind The Melting Potcast. We offered writing prompts and accepted flash fiction submissions based on them. Then we’d showcase 2-3 stories for the same prompt in an episode. A few different interpretations of the same idea. It was truly amazing to experience while doing it.
• Some mistakes are great ideas in disguise. Or at least they can be mildly amusing.

​I’ve kind of talked about this in the past, but I think it’s largely been in other media, so let’s go ahead and discuss it here.

For me, there are two forms of writer’s block: the plot-block, and functional.

The plot-block has been the hardest for me to find ways to overcome. Sadly, it’s also the form I have the most history with. I’ve spoken in the past about the differences in my productivity before and after 2009, when I finally started outlining things. In short, outlining has made it a lot more likely that I’ll finish a project as opposed to starting it and then just… not finishing. Outlining lets me find all the major and medium snags in story prep and planning. I don’t get into serious small details, but anything that might derail the major plot or some medium subplots and all, I can confront in this planning stage rather than writing myself into a corner.

But… just because I’m outlining doesn’t mean these snags don’t crop up. Of course they do. Discovering them in the outlining phase rather than while actively engaged in writing really helps make problems like these more manageable. I’m not losing writing time by struggling to think where to go next. I don’t fall out of the zone or vibe or rhythm of writing because I lack signposts. The outlining gives me signposts, a map to follow. 

So what do I do when developing that map and coming across a plot snag?

My favorite technique is one I read about some years ago randomly online. I wish I could reference the original article, but the fact is I haven’t been able to find it. In short, it was a (current or former) Pixar writer who gave me this tool:

When you can’t figure out what happens, figure out what doesn’t happen instead.

Here’s how it works for me. I get pencil and paper or open another blank text document. The format doesn’t matter, but for me, I need there to be a visual representation to help mark the productivity. If you don’t need it, great. But for me, it’s necessary. This new document is going to be a mental declutter list. 

When I say figure out what doesn’t happen, I mean anything and everything. Say the plot you’re stuck in is about how a trapped character escapes their captivity. But now you’re stuck, almost paralyzed trying to figure out how to dig yourself and your character out of the problem you’ve put them in. 

I just start listing things. They don’t even have to make sense. But list anything that comes to mind and discard it as “not gonna happen.” Aliens don’t come and break him out. He doesn’t find a magical sword to cut his bonds. His god doesn’t appear to him. The magic gem he has doesn’t summon a genie…

Wait… he had a magic gem?! That’s right, maybe I can find a way to use that! Maybe it DOES summon a genie!

I’ve had the answer come that quickly before. I’ve had times where I’m writing random shit down for the better part of an hour, and then something just clicks. Thing is, I have yet to have this not work when I’m in a bind. 

What’s happening (at least for me) is what I’ve said before: decluttering. By actually writing down what doesn’t happen, I’m thinking of ideas but actually removing them from my head through the act of writing/typing them out. This way, those random fragments of ideas that don’t work aren’t just bouncing around in my brain anymore. The cleared space makes room for new ideas to form. But by doing random not-important creativity, I’m activating that portion of the brain, putting it to work to come up with bad ideas. And they inevitably make way for the right ideas to start happening. Sometimes, I’ll remember a detail from earlier planning that just seems to fit (like the gem/genie idea I made up) or I’ll just come up with something else entirely that can solve the problem… but then I realize that just came out of nowhere. But this ties back into outlining. Now that I know I’ll need that solution, I can much more easily backtrack in the outline and seed this new resolution, rather than going back and rewriting a first draft. I haven’t even written any of that yet. So easy to note [DETAILS NEEDED ABOUT THIS ITEM] or whatever the result is.

Give it a try next time you’re stuck or just want to find something unusual to get out of a situation. It helps come up with different options, even when you’re not stuck or blocked.

Functional block is the more frustrating one. And I’m really using that as a sort of blanket term to cover all the sort of normal perceptions of writer’s block, anything that keeps you in a state of just not being able to get words onto the page. I’ll also include burnout in this category, but I’ll talk about that kind of separately.

Functional writer’s block in general I can usually combat by just working on a different project than whichever one I’m stuck on. I bust out a writing exercise, a short story, or something else that activates the same portion of my brain, but maybe uses a different track of it. Like… think of the brain as one of those soda fountains with different flavors that all use the same spigot. Yeah, I need Mountain Dew, but that’s out of syrup. Doesn’t mean I can’t get the strawberry Sprite to pour! It can be stream of consciousness, a writing prompt, an exercise, another project, anything! Heck, sometimes I even resort to a different craft: making something with my hands, dancing in my kitchen, whatever.

Usually, that’s enough for me. Spend enough time on other things, but still creatively, and the urge, drive, or inspiration to get back to that “main” project usually comes back along. If not… well, sometimes you do need to abandon projects. At least I’ve still been productive on other things in the meantime. 

If that doesn’t work, then we go to our last tool (that I have currently). Sadly, this is also the only tool I’ve found that will always defeat burnout in the end. 

That activity is… give it time. 

As much as I spend my life waiting, sometimes that’s literally all there is to do when something is causing you to struggle. I’ve talked before about my own burnout. Still, here’s the story and how time was all I could make work for me.

I spent three or four years mired in a self-imposed schedule to get the entire Deadly Studies series of novellas off the ground. Originally, it was planned to be 7 novellas, but it turned into 10 due to plot expansions to tie it in with its parent series, The Statford Chronicle. I pushed myself hard for those few years, planning the series and then writing, editing, and releasing each novella rapidly. I was basically releasing one every 3-4 months for a few years until they were finished.

The last one came out in September 2019. The final volume, containing novellas 6-10, came out in January 2020.

And I couldn’t write shit after that. I let myself take a break because I was exhausted, but… once COVID-19 hit and I suddenly had a lot more time to do things due to quarantine, I couldn’t make writing happen again. I tried editing some short stories to fit them together into a more cohesive collection so I could release an anthology, and it seemed to be going well. Until I realized I needed to write a few more stories to tie everything together, and the idea just kind of fizzled after a few paragraphs. 

I gave myself more time. By mid 2021 I was working on editing/updating a sci-fi trilogy I already had written. I even got through the first book (this was my fourth draft that needed serious restructure) and it was fine. But book 2, ready for its third draft and restructure, never quite got off the ground. And I haven’t even looked at book 3, which is still in its first draft state. By 2022, I’d sort of let that peter out. I hadn’t written anything new in 2 years and… at this point, I’d already gone through a lot of existential crisis thoughts about maybe I’d completely burned myself out. Maybe The Deadly Studies was it for me, and I’d ruined my writing brain. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d overworked myself into destruction. I don’t compose or play music anymore because I burned myself outt oo hard in college. 

By the end of 2022, I had finally made peace with the possibility of never writing again. 2023 came and went, and 2024 started.

A few months into 2024, an idea came to me out of nowhere, and I started writing an outline. It was easy, and the ideas were good. Better than anything I remembered doing before the burnout. I found myself in tears more than once, relieved that after basically 5 years of not really writing (at best, proofing, revising), I was suddenly creating from nothing again.

Enter 2025 and… well, this website blog and my Patreon stand as proof that I’m writing again. I’m still writing. I tried forcing my way through the burnout, but it was not rewarding. 

I might never have come back to writing. Like I said, I made peace with the possibility of never writing again, but it was a good three years before I even got to that point. Three years of mourning what I’d been able to do so recently, not knowing if I’d be able to repeat what I’ve done before. And then at least another year of it basically falling off my radar. Writing became something I’d done and that I hoped to do again one day, but… I no longer felt like I was less for not being able to do it in the moment. It was a struggle, but not one I couldn’t live with.

It was a magnificent day when the block finally eroded and let my brainriver flow again.

But in short, I have not found any way to force-overcome writer’s block. In any form. You can work around it sometimes, but sometimes the only cure is to wait it out. Patience is a virtue, and sometimes it’s the most powerful tool we have. 

​Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

So, DCC book 3, The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook. 
This is by far one of the most confusing books I’ve ever read, but the amazing thing is, I don’t care. I’ve listened to this book probably going on 10 times at this point, and I still only maybe halfway understand the mechanics of it.
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But that’s kind of the point, and it’s what I’m going to focus on for this review.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. They say art is amazing because everyone experiences and interprets it differently. Those sayings could not be more true that when you inspect the Iron Tangle. So, a little context, without getting spoilery. This floor of the dungeon has its own unique theme, one that in story context they say is ambitious and unlike anything done before. 

Trains. A massive network of trains and train stations. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Well, if you’ve ever navigated a metropolitan mass transit system, you’re maybe prepared for like 10% of what this floor has to offer. The Tangle is exactly what it is named: a tangle. There are hundreds (if not thousands) of train lines and a ridiculous number of train stations. Monsters ride the rails. Some trains only go on one-way trips. Some are on looped tracks. The characters have a whole thing going on most of the book trying to figure out where they want to go and then how to even get to where they want to be. It’s a total mindfuck to try and sort out and… Dinniman doesn’t care, in the best way.

He’s managed to write an entire book set in a place no one really understands. At least, no reader does. The point of a lot of the setup is that the layout makes sense to people in the DCC greater universe because it’s based on the context of things they’re familiar with but we simple Earthlings aren’t. We haven’t been exposed to a lot of the everyday technology, culture, and possibilities of the universe in the book series. We literally lack the context needed to interpret the art of this floor of the dungeon.

And that is what makes me, as a writer, admire what Dinniman has done. Not only has he created something completely alien, he has gotten across that it makes sense to aliens but not to us. The book actually has a disclaimer saying it’s really best not to try to understand the Iron Tangle.

It’s like a masterclass in bullshitting, when you get right down and think about it. I mean, to be totally honest, fiction writers/storytellers are nothing but professional bullshitters. I say that as a novelist and collaborative storyteller (read: tabletop RPG Game Master.) The whole job is to make up entertaining or poignant bullshit and make it look intentional. 

I don’t know if that’s something Dinniman really set out to do, or if he lucked into it, or what. Whatever the reason for the Iron Tangle being the affront to Earth logic the way it is, he did a great job bringing the characters along to understand their surroundings while still making it a challenge for the reader to make much sense out of it. It doesn’t help we pretty much cannot have a visual representation of it, mostly due to scale and a piece of huge context we get about it late in the book. The key to cracking it, so to speak. I’m sure someone, somewhere could make a real valid visual of it, but I absolutely would never take that kind of thing on myself.

This is a book where you really do just sort of need to let the setting wash over you. Everything else Dinniman has established so far in the series is still present and still at the forefront. The people are first and foremost. Their relationships, arcs, their fallings out, it’s all there. A lot of great interpersonal drama happens this book, and not always involving the characters you think will be involved.

It’s not even my least favorite DCC book, despite the confusion inherent in the level itself. Maybe it’s my inability to actually visualize stuff in my mind anyway that lets me brush off the frustration of trying to imagine the Tangle. Maybe not. Either way, always a good read or listen, this one.