Story Secrets - Of Dragons and Bedsheets

I’m back in Glendalough, where the idea for my fantasy novel was born. A year ago, I was walking along the ancient pilgrim paths here, and my imagination just ran wild. What if the old stories about saints and miracles were all true? What if the forests hid elves, wild beasts, and unseen magic? That spark turned into the book I’m now finishing. Being here again, surrounded by lakes and monastic ruins, I feel why I wanted to write this story in the first place. Because stories have always been the oldest form of magic I know. They transform how we see the world, lift us out of our everyday struggles, and connect us to something bigger. In this episode, I share: The moment this book idea came to life. How the history and legends of Glendalough shaped my story. Why I think stories themselves are a form of real magic. If you’ve ever wondered where ideas come from or how places can feed your creativity, you’ll want to hear this one.

What started as a simple idea—a girl who could draw anything into existence—quickly turned into one of the most emotional and layered fairy tales I’ve written so far. Honestly, I didn’t know where it was going when I began. I just hit record and told the story aloud, like I often do. No plan. No outline. Just a girl in a garden, a magical feather, and the desire to create something beautiful. But as I kept telling it, the story took a turn. Suddenly it was about sisters. About envy and love, creativity and control. About what happens when we make things to share joy—versus when we try to create to fill some emptiness inside us. And near the end—something happened I didn’t expect. You’ll hear it. I just followed the thread, and the ending kind of wrote itself. So if you’ve got 20 minutes and want a cozy-but-powerful little parable with gardens, towers, feasts, and maybe even a miracle—hit play. Link to the final version of the tale: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/the-girl-who-drew-the-world

This story came to me in the shower this morning. No pen. No notebook. Just me, soaked and wide-eyed, scrambling to dry off, throw on some clothes, and hit record on my phone before it vanished. Writers, you know the drill—your brain ignores deadlines but delivers entire plots the second you’re unreachable and half-soapy. Of Dragons and Bedsheets is what spilled out. It’s about a cozy bookstore with a locked door, a girl who wants to read but ends up forced to write, and a bestselling romantasy novel that makes her question everything.Read the finished version (with lots of improvements) here: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/of-dragons-and-bedsheets

Ascension Day is one of those quiet feasts that slips by unnoticed for many—forty days after Easter, Christ returns to His Father, and we're left looking at the sky, wondering what comes next. That moment—of absence, silence, and waiting—has always fascinated me. It’s not the climax of the story. It’s the breath held between promise and fire. Today’s short story was born from that space. Set in a magical monastery tower where angels help scribes craft living stories, The Final Ascension follows three young story mages sent on an impossible mission: to speak a single story that everyone in a fractured world can understand. They try music. Food. Healing. All fall short. But what begins as failure becomes something more. A fire lights. Not just in a hearth, but in their hearts. This tale is for anyone who’s ever struggled to be understood. For anyone who’s waited in silence, wondering if their voice mattered. And for anyone who hopes that—somehow—what we give with love is never lost. Read the final version of the story on my Substack: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/the-ascent-of-the-scribe

This story began on a rainy walk with an umbrella in one hand and my recorder in the other. It’s about a young monk named Ciarán, a humble chicken feather gifted by his mother, and a growing hunger for something better—more elegant, more powerful, more admired. His journey takes him far beyond the monastery, chasing birdsong and shimmering promises. What he finds is both breathtaking and dangerous. And centuries later, in the ruins of the scriptorium, an old monk with trembling hands must face the same question: What do you want? This tale is for anyone who's ever longed for more, only to discover they might already have what they need. It’s a cozy fantasy wrapped in mystery, a parable about creativity, temptation, and grace—and maybe, just maybe, a story that loops back on itself in a way you won’t see coming. I hope it stays with you.

Today’s story is about a lamb. But not just any lamb. He kicked over jars. He chewed expensive sandals. He absolutely did not want to be a model. Until he met a quiet boy. A boy who carried him—not just for a statue, but through fear and darkness—until one day, in a moment no one expected, the lamb carried him. This story is inspired by an early Christian statue of the Good Shepherd found in the Roman catacombs. I wondered… what if that lamb on Jesus’ shoulders had a story of its own?

In this second and final part of my fantasy homage to The Empire Strikes Back, we return to the snowy peaks, haunted forests, and sacred ruins of a medieval Irish world where story itself is magic—and belief can shape reality. Our young squire Lucan journeys to Clonmacnoise to begin his training under a strange old hermit named Jonah, only to discover that the deeper the story goes, the more tangled it becomes. Meanwhile, Brother Hanric and Sister Lira flee through a living mountain, only to walk straight into the trap of the Dark Mage—who has plans not only for them, but for Lucan himself. 🔥 There’s an ancient duel atop a mountain. ❄️ A frozen sacrifice beneath the earth. 🕯️ And a master even darker than the Mage. If Part I was about wonder and revelation, Part II is about choice and consequence. It’s about courage, and what happens when you refuse to play the role the world hands you. I hope you enjoy this second part of The Dark Mage Strikes Back. If you haven't heard Part I yet, start here. And if this tale stirred something in you, let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear what you'd do next, if this world were yours.