Makitia Thompson's Blog, page 4

✨Three Affordable Workbooks to Guide Your Storytelling Journey

 

If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by the writing process—staring at a blank page, unsure where to start, or frustrated by tangled plotlines—you’re not alone. Every writer hits that wall, especially in the early stages of finding their unique voice. That’s exactly why I created three simple, affordable workbooks designed to make writing easier, more enjoyable, and more creatively fulfilling.

Whether you’re brand new to writing or have been dabbling in stories for years, these resources are crafted to guide you step-by-step through building better stories. And the best part? Each workbook is just $5 — because practical writing help shouldn’t break the bank. 💸

📚 Here’s What You’ll Find:✍️ Telling the Truth in Fiction

Learn how to write emotionally-driven fiction that connects with readers on a deeper level. This workbook focuses on creating stories that feel real—whether you’re writing a short story, novel, or anything in between. You’ll discover how to tap into personal truth, create relatable characters, and craft narratives that truly resonate. 💫

🕰️ The Historical Fiction Blueprint

Research doesn’t have to be intimidating. This workbook breaks down the process of writing historical fiction in a clear, manageable way. You’ll learn how to capture the essence of an era, avoid common mistakes, and build engaging characters who belong to their time. 🏺 Perfect for anyone wanting to blend fact with fiction—without getting lost in endless research rabbit holes.

💡 The Question-Led Narrative Blueprint

Stuck on plotting? This workbook uses a guided question format to help you build your story from the ground up. By answering targeted questions, you’ll naturally shape your plot, characters, and worldbuilding—without feeling restricted by rigid formulas. 🎨 This is ideal for writers who want freedom in their creativity but still crave a bit of structure.

🎁 Why These Workbooks Will Help You

Writing doesn’t have to be complicated. With these workbooks, you’ll get clear, direct guidance that helps you:
✅ Kickstart your story ideas faster
✅ Build more believable, emotionally engaging characters
✅ Avoid research burnout (especially for historical fiction)
✅ Learn to trust your own creative instincts
✅ Actually enjoy the process of writing again

These aren’t just worksheets—they’re confidence boosters and creative tools. They’ll remind you why you wanted to write in the first place while giving you practical steps to make it happen. 🚀

👉 Ready to take your writing to the next level?

Visit my Workbooks & Writing Guides for Writers page to explore each workbook in detail and grab yours for just $5 each.

Let’s make writing simple, exciting, and achievable—no more second-guessing your potential. ✨

#Makitiathompson #Mindsindesign #Themiduniverse #Themidnewsletter #Midcontent

🕰️Free Chapter From Until Time Remembers

 

🕰️ The Storyteller — A Flashback Chapter from Until Time Remembers

Before Beck uncovered the truth about Burrington… before she knew the weight of forgotten memories and fractured time… there were whispers.

There were moments like this—quiet, eerie, and unforgettable.

I’m sharing this flashback chapter from Until Time Remembers because it captures the atmosphere, emotion, and haunting history at the heart of the story—without giving away the full mystery.

If you feel a chill after reading, you can dive into the full book right here:
📖 Get Until Time Remembers on Amazon

Flashback: The Storyteller“Some stories are not meant to be told.
Some were never meant to happen at all.”

I wasn’t born in Burrington.
And I reckon I won’t die here either. Least not in a way that’ll stick.

Truth is, I don’t remember the name of the town I first came from. It might’ve been somewhere near Tennessee or maybe farther west, back when borders were little more than ideas and the rivers did the talking. I was just a boy when I first learned how to tell a story worth listening to. My audience? The wind. The fire. The dark.

You see, I wasn’t raised by kin. I drifted. From hand to hand, place to place. But I made friends of the ones who had none—children left behind, quiet-eyed girls and sharp-boned boys with soot on their cheeks and too many nights behind them. I told them stories not to teach them anything… just to remind them they still had ears to hear.

A tale can do that, you know.
It can pull you back from the edge.

Even as a child, I always knew more than I should’ve. Not from books, not from lessons. It came from the earth. I’d press my palm into the dirt and it would hum. Not in sound, but in story. The grass remembers. The wind remembers. And sometimes—if you listen hard enough—it’ll tell you things that haven’t happened yet.

That’s how I heard of Burrington.
Before it was Burrington.

Didn’t know the name. But I saw it. In flashes. Dreams. Dust-thick visions that stuck to me like smoke. Always a town swallowed by silence. Always a boy standing in the middle of it, watching time fall apart around him.

Didn’t meet him then.
Didn’t know his name was Elijah.
But I’d seen him.
And he’d seen me.

I wandered a long while before I got here. I’d sit in church basements and schoolhouses, whispering bedtime tales to children with hollow eyes. Sometimes they smiled. Sometimes they cried. But always, they listened. I spoke of things I didn’t understand. Stories that came from somewhere else—through me, not from me.

I reckon it was around the time I saw my own shadow vanish in broad daylight that I knew it was time to go where the earth was calling.
That place turned out to be Burrington.

No map led me. No man invited me. I just followed the quiet.

When I arrived, the sky was gray like ash, and the streets were empty save for the boy—Elijah. Standing still as a root, staring at me with those eyes that’d lived through too many years. He didn’t speak right away. Just tilted his head, like he recognized something in me.

“You’re late,” he said, voice like dry paper.

I asked what he meant.
But he just smiled. “You’ll see.”

Strange child. Kind, but strange. Always watching, always knowing. He led me through the town like a ghost guiding a guest. Showed me the square, the church, the library—though back then, the light didn’t shine quite so bright through its windows.

He became my aide, you could say. Sat with me during story hour. Brought the curious children, warned off the bitter adults. I’d tell them tales—some real, some less so. Never gave them everything. Just enough to leave a question behind.

That’s all a good story’s meant to do.

I remember the evening I first saw her.
Lavinia Hark.

She was arguing with the mayor.
It was foggy—so thick it wrapped around the buildings like a second skin. They didn’t see me. I was just a figure in the mist, listening as their voices cut through the hush.

“You said you’d protect me,” she hissed.

Mayor Burrington—tall, proud, dressed like a man who’d never once lost a thing—looked at her like she’d just torn open the sky.

“I can’t protect what you refuse to hide.”

That’s all I heard.

They vanished into the mist after that. And I didn’t follow. Some stories you’re meant to witness only halfway.

But I stayed.
I stayed because I knew someone would come.
Someone who’d need the stories.
Someone who’d need to remember what everyone else had tried to forget.

And now, she’s here.
She looks like Lavinia… but she ain’t Lavinia.
I feel it. The story’s bending again. The loop is tightening. Elijah watches her the way he watched me when I first came.

And I reckon it’s all about to begin again.
Only this time, maybe… just maybe… someone’ll finish the tale.

I’ve been in Burrington so long, the birds know not to sing near me.
Not sure what day it is anymore. That’s the funny thing—this town gave up on calendars long before the people stopped looking at clocks. Time don’t pass here, it wanders. And when it doubles back, it never knocks.

But I remember this night clear as any I’ve ever lived.

It was just after the harvest—what passed for one, anyway. The trees had begun to rot from the inside out. The soil, too damp in some places and too dry in others. The children were restless. Elijah more than most.

I’d promised them a story beneath the old oak tree—the one with bark split like ribs and branches

that curled like fingers grasping for something long lost.

They gathered around, their knees tucked close to their chests, eyes wide, hands dirty. Elijah sat cross-legged beside me, his expression blank but alert.

“Tell us the one about the girl who stole from the moon,” a little boy named Abram asked.

I smiled and began.
But something wasn’t right that night.

The sky had been quiet all day, but as my story curled into its third twist—just as the moon girl began to climb the sky—the clouds above shifted. Not just darkened. Shifted. Like something was writhing behind them.

Then came the sound.
Not thunder.
Not wind.
Not natural.

It was a groaning—deep and guttural, like the sky itself had been split open and the thing living inside it was finally stretching awake.

Elijah stood up first.
He turned to me and said, “They’re watching again.”

I didn’t ask who.
Just scooped the littlest girl under my arm and started ushering the children toward the church.

We didn’t run, not quite. But every step felt heavier, like something was pulling at our backs.

The doors of the church creaked open with a reluctant moan. No one had been inside in weeks, maybe longer. The candles had long melted down to stubs, the air thick with dust and leftover sorrow.

I lit a lantern and held it high.

The light spread across old pews and crumbling hymn books. Above the altar, someone had painted over a section of wall—sloppily. Like they were in a rush to hide something.

I could still see the outline beneath it. Two small silhouettes. Holding hands. Standing too still.

I didn’t say anything.
Neither did Elijah.

The children sat quietly in the pews, all of them instinctively bunching together. The girl in my arms tugged at my sleeve and asked, “Was that part of the story?”

I told her yes. I tell a lot of lies in the name of comfort.

That night, we slept in the church. The groaning never stopped. It came in waves, like the land itself was having trouble breathing. I sat in the back with Elijah. He didn’t sleep. Just watched the door, his head tilted again like he was listening to something no one else could hear.

When morning came, the sky looked clean again. Blue like porcelain. But the air felt off—too still. The kind of stillness you only get after something barely misses you.

That was the first time I truly knew:
Whatever watches this town ain’t finished yet.

Not long after, I overheard a conversation between two men at the general store—Bennett and Rulon. They spoke of me like I wasn’t there.

“He don’t eat much. Don’t sleep much neither.”

“He’s not from here. That’s why he can see it.”

“You think he wants to stay?”

“I think he already knows how it ends.”

They weren’t wrong.
I did know. In pieces. In whispers.
But I stayed anyway.

Because whoever was coming… whoever would need this place… would need me more.

I wasn’t the hero. Never was.
But someone has to keep the stories.
Someone has to remember the shape of the truth.
And I reckon that’s me.

There were days after that night when I’d go walking, just to listen to the ground.

I’d kneel by the stream near the edge of town, fingers pressed to the soil, and wait for something to speak. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t. But when it did, it never used words. It used memory.

And memory in Burrington don’t move in a straight line. It loops. Collapses. Swells like a bruise.

I saw the children’s faces age backward.
I saw the church door swing open with no one near it.
I saw Lavinia crying by the river, and Elias too proud to hold her hand.
I saw the same parade a dozen different ways, always ending in silence.

The town rewrote itself, over and over, like a frightened animal chewing off its own leg to escape a trap it didn’t know it built.

Still, I stayed.

Every time I thought of leaving, something stopped me. A word in the wind. A figure on the hill. A whisper in the rafters of the library that said, Not yet.

And then, one day… she came.

She drove in on four wheels and questions. Dressed in city denim and doubt. Eyes full of logic that would be no good here. She didn’t recognize the story. Didn’t believe she was part of it.

But I did.

Elijah was the first to see her, of course. That boy always did have a way of sensing what’s next.

And me? I was already in the library, dusting off the journals that had been waiting for her touch

Funny thing is—she still thinks this is about her getting lost.
But it ain’t.
It’s about remembering.
It’s always been about remembering.
Even when remembering hurts.

Sometimes, I see the end of things before they start.
Sometimes, I write the ending first and let the middle figure itself out.
But with her…
With Beck…
There’s something I ain’t quite figured yet.

I know she’s not Lavinia. Not really.
But I also know the land don’t care about names. It only cares about echoes.
And she echoes louder than most.

Elijah’s watching her now. Watching the way he used to watch me. That same quiet patience. That same hope stitched into the seams of fear.

And me? I’m sitting right here. In this chair. Telling stories like I always do.
Because sooner or later, she’ll come back through that door.
And when she does, she’ll want the truth.

But I won’t give it all to her.
Not at once.
Because the truth, like the land, must be taken slow.
Or else it’ll rot you from the inside out.

So I’ll keep telling tales.
Keep offering crumbs to lead her deeper into the woods.
Because the deeper she goes, the closer she gets to the fire.
And once the fire sees her…

Well.
That’ll be a tale worth telling.

💬 Thank You for Reading

Thank you for joining me in this glimpse into Burrington’s haunted history. Until Time Remembers is only the beginning—where time shatters, memories refuse to stay buried, and stories twist until they hurt.

If this chapter left you wondering, the full book is waiting for you:
📖 Get Until Time Remembers on Amazon

🖤 Want more from the world of Burrington?

Character studies, lore, and early reveals on the blog: https://mindsndesign.blogspot.com/

Exclusive deleted scenes, spoilers, and bonuses on Patreon: https://patreon.com/Makitia

Behind-the-scenes glimpses and writing updates on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/makitiathompson?igsh=MTJmZmg3NDI2dng4bQ==

💭 Tell me in the comments which part of the Storyteller’s memory stuck with you most—or who you’d like to see a flashback from next.
This isn’t just a story… it’s a whole world unraveling. Welcome to it. #Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Themiduniverse #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers

Because I Felt Everything; A poem from my collection

 

The Things I’ll Never Say

There are words

I’ve carried so long
they’ve fused with my spine.
Not because I’m hiding—
but because speaking them
might undo me.

Like:
I wish you had stayed.
Like:
I was never okay after that.
Like:
I loved you more than I should have,
and you knew.

These things—
they live in the pause
between my inhale and my answer.
In the way I text “I’m fine”
instead of “I’m falling apart.”
In the smile I paste on
when the room is too loud
to be honest.

I’ve written letters
I’ll never send.
Had conversations in my head
that ended with someone finally saying,
“I’m sorry.”
But silence is safer.
It doesn’t require forgiveness.
Only endurance.

There’s a version of me
that speaks it all—
every wound,
every wish,
every “I miss you”
I buried out of pride.
But she’s too brave
for this world.
She doesn’t survive
where people punish
vulnerability.

So I keep the words soft.
Swallowed.
Stacked like bricks
in the mouth of a well.
And if I’m quiet,
it’s not because I have nothing to say.
It’s because I’ve said it
too many times
to people who never listened.

The truth?
I’m full of language
I’ll never be fluent in.
And still,
I write.
Because some confessions
only make sense
when spoken to the page.

📘 Because I Felt Everything
Fifty poems for the over-feelers—the ones who carry too much and love too hard. This is not about fixing your pain. It’s about letting you know you were never broken.
👉 Read on Amazon

#Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Becauseifelteverything

☕The Book Was Better—and It Always Will Be

 

No, seriously. Stop trying to fight me on this.

Let me get this out of the way early:
I’m not here to be diplomatic. I’m not here to offer “balanced” perspectives about how the film industry does its best and how adaptations can be “just as powerful in a different medium.”
No.
I’m here to say what every emotionally devastated, paperback-clutching reader has whispered into their pillow after watching a beloved novel butchered on screen:

The book was better.
It’s always better.
It will always be better.
And deep down, you know I’m right.

📖 Reading Is a Full-Body, Full-Soul Experience

When I read a book—especially a good one—I’m not just watching events unfold. I’m inside them. I’m crawling through the mud of someone’s memories. I’m holding their secrets, their guilt, their heartbreak, their wonder. Reading invites me to feel everything.

Movies?
Movies invite me to watch.

Sure, I can get goosebumps at a killer score or cry during a powerful scene, but it’s never the same. Movies filter emotions through actors, scripts, and visual limitations. A book? A book plugs directly into your bloodstream and makes itself a part of your identity.

That’s not romanticism. That’s the difference between tasting chocolate… and eating a full, five-course meal made entirely out of it.

🎥 Hollywood, Meet My Rage

You know what movies love?
A formula.
A pretty face.
An ending that “tests well with audiences.”

You know what books love?
Chaos.
Depth.
Complexity.
A devastating final line that makes you stare at a wall for forty-five minutes and then question your purpose on this earth.

Movies are made for mass appeal. Books are written to devastate the people who needed them.
And if you’ve ever seen a screenwriter slap a happy ending on a story that was never supposed to have one, then you know exactly what I’m talking about.

🧠 Internal Monologue Will Always Beat Exposition

Let me paint a picture.
In the book, our protagonist is spiraling. She’s reflecting on childhood trauma, the way her mother’s voice always had a sharpness to it that felt like a punishment for being alive. She’s unraveling on the page, thought by thought.

The movie version?

A thirty-second silent stare while sad piano music plays in the background.

I’m sorry—no.
You don’t get to reduce a full mental breakdown to a slow zoom and a minor chord. Internal monologue isn’t just “extra fluff.” It’s the point.

And don’t even get me started on voiceovers. If I wanted someone to awkwardly summarize the plot while staring into the void, I’d read my own diary aloud in the dark.

✂️ What You Love Will Get Cut. Always.

That quiet chapter in the book where the protagonist takes a detour into a ruined building and finds a childhood relic that completely recontextualizes their grief? Gone. Not “adaptable.” Didn’t “move the plot forward.”

The side character with the devastating backstory and perfectly flawed arc? Reduced to comic relief. Or worse—merged into someone else “for time.”

I’m convinced entire adaptation teams are given a checklist that says:

Remove all nuance

Keep the brand name

Cast someone who doesn’t remotely match the character description

Throw in a meaningless romantic subplot just to spice things up

Add action sequence

Replace emotional weight with slow motion

It’s maddening. And predictable. And it happens every single time.

🎭 Casting Is the Ultimate Betrayal

Here’s a personal one:
I once read a book where the lead character was described as short, stocky, covered in scars, with a lopsided smile and a bad habit of lying through her teeth.

The movie cast her as a tall, runway-ready heartthrob with flawless skin and the emotional range of a spoon.

Was I furious?
Yes.
Was I surprised?
No.

Because movies don’t cast characters. They cast aesthetics. They cast Instagrammable moments. They cast mood boards. And if your favorite character doesn’t fit that mold, well—good luck.

🪞 The Book Is Your Vision. The Movie Is Someone Else’s

Here’s the most powerful argument I can make, and it’s deeply personal:
When you read a book, you build it yourself.

The voices.
The shadows.
The colors.
The pauses between thoughts.

It’s your private universe. You co-create it with the author. The intimacy of reading is unmatched.

A movie, no matter how well-intentioned, will always be someone else’s interpretation of a thing that lived entirely in your head.
And that’s the most brutal kind of loss—watching something that once felt infinite become fixed, small, defined.

I don’t care how “visually stunning” it is.
It’s still someone else’s version of my memory.
And I don’t want that.

🕳️ But Wait—What About the “Good” Adaptations?

Sure, there are watchable adaptations. Some even do justice to the idea of the book.

The Hunger Games? Good effort.
The Lord of the Rings? Beautiful, even if Tom Bombadil was erased from existence.
The Book Thief? It tried.
Coraline? Maybe. Maybe.
Annihilation? Actually kind of haunting in its own right.

But even the “best” adaptations—still not better.

Not deeper.
Not more memorable.
Not more transformative.

The books still hold the crown. Every time.

💬 So Why Do People Keep Saying the Movie Was Better?

Because they didn’t read the book.

Or they read it five years ago, barely remember it, and just saw the movie yesterday while eating takeout.

Or—and this is the one that really kills me—they didn’t get the book.
They needed it to be more literal. More exciting. Less sad. More… digestible.

The movie simplified the pain. Glossed over the trauma. Sped up the redemption. Tied everything in a neat little bow.

And that’s the version they liked more?

Of course it is.
It’s easier.
It asks less of you.

Books ask more.
Books demand your presence.
Books hurt you on purpose.

And that’s exactly why they’re better.

🔥 Let Me Be Clear

This isn’t just about preference.
This is about the fact that books allow for emotional complexity that movies can’t replicate.
It’s about the fact that the written word—when wielded with intention—becomes your memory.
And that can’t be adapted.

No actor can deliver a line the way it echoed in your head when you first read it.
No soundtrack can replace the silence between two sentences that changed you.

🎤 Final Thought (And Yes, It’s a Challenge)

Go ahead. Watch the movie first.
Tell me it was “good.”
Tell me you cried.

Then read the book.
Really read it.
Let it sit with you. Let it bruise you.

Then come back and try to tell me the movie was better.
I’ll wait.

☕ Let’s Argue

Agree? Disagree?
What book-to-movie adaptation made you want to throw your popcorn at the screen?
What scenes should never have been cut?

Drop your hot takes in the comments. Let’s talk.

#Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Untiltimeremembers

🕰️ It's Time.

 

Until Time Remembers is Here.

Surprise. I’ve been quiet for a reason.
Because behind the scenes, I’ve been working overtime—rewriting, polishing, breathing life into something massive.

It’s official: the debut novel of the Where Time Can’t Exist series, Until Time Remembers, is now available.
📖 557 pages of historical fiction, fantasy, sci-fi thriller, and emotional unraveling—all wound around one cursed town you won’t forget.

I didn’t want to talk about it until it was ready. And now it is.
Ready to haunt you.
Ready to twist what you believe about time, memory, and guilt.
Ready to start something much, much bigger.

🔍 What is Until Time Remembers?

A young woman.
A forgotten town.
A curse that bends time itself.

Set in the ghost-ridden town of Burrington, Until Time Remembers follows Beck, a girl whose search for answers pulls her into a story far older than she is—and far more dangerous. Reality slips. History bleeds through. The line between past and present breaks.

What starts as a documentary project turns into a race against time, against grief, and against the kind of truth that doesn’t want to be remembered.

It’s one part haunting historical drama, one part time-warp thriller, and fully soaked in emotion.

✨ Who is this for?

If you love:

Stories where time is broken and memory can’t be trusted

Characters who are messy, real, and reckoning with trauma

Historical settings layered with mystery, ghosts, and forgotten truths

Books that feel cinematic and emotionally charged

Then this book is for you.

📚 What comes next?

This is just the beginning of the Where Time Can’t Exist series.
The next books are already in the works—and every detail in this story matters.
This world is layered, alive, and waiting to be pieced back together.
But it starts with Beck. It starts with Burrington.
It starts… with remembering.

📖 Get your copy of Until Time Remembers:

🇺🇸 Amazon US: https://a.co/d/28cNbo6

🇨🇦 Amazon Canada: https://a.co/d/cuQYlRf

🇬🇧 Amazon UK: https://amzn.eu/d/el1IvKU

🇦🇺 Amazon Australia: https://amzn.asia/d/ezacj66

🇳🇱 Amazon Netherlands: https://amzn.eu/d/3tWkVPq

🌍 Available in additional regions via your local Amazon storefront.

🎥 Watch this space for behind-the-scenes content, alternate endings, and deeper dives into Burrington’s haunted past.

To my Kickstarter backers—this book exists because of your belief in layered, emotionally powerful storytelling.
To new readers—welcome to the story that time tried to erase.
You’ve found the place where time can’t exist.

✨ Don't Miss the M.I.D. July Book Sale! (July 10–17)

 

Four gripping stories. One unforgettable week. And a price you won’t believe.

From July 10–17, you can get four of my most talked-about titles for just $0.99 USD / £0.99 GBP. Whether you’re diving in for the first time or returning to a haunting favorite, this is your chance to fill your summer with suspense, mystery, and emotion—without breaking the bank.

📚 What’s on sale?

Dying in the Spotlight ✨
Fame. Secrets. A spotlight that reveals more than it hides.
Read on Amazon →

Criminal Plague ⚖️
Justice is sick—and someone’s profiting from the infection.
Read on Amazon →

Caged Pride 🌈
A hidden life. A dangerous truth. And a love that might survive both.
Read on Amazon →

The Hidden Director’s Cut 🎥
A buried film. A twisted past. What would you give to rewrite the ending?
Read on Amazon →

🚨 76% OFF on Amazon.com • 67% OFF on Amazon.co.uk
This discount only lasts until July 17, and then it vanishes like a plot twist you didn’t see coming.

💬 Why now?

If you've been waiting for a sign to finally read my work, this is it. I write for the readers who crave depth, who appreciate broken characters and layered truths. These aren’t just stories—they’re emotional journeys. Your journey might start with one click.

📆 Mark your calendar.
📥 Tell a friend.
📖 Start a story you won’t forget.

#Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Untiltimeremembers

💌 A Letter While You Wait for the Clock to Move Again...

 

Dear reader,

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the quiet spaces in between stories—the weeks before a release, when characters stir behind closed covers, and the world I've written is so close you can almost reach through the page.

Until Time Remembers is just a few short weeks away. It’s the kind of story that took everything in me to write—grief, memory, ghosts, healing, and the echo of time itself. And while the clock ticks slowly toward its arrival, I didn’t want to leave you waiting in silence.

If you’re new here, or simply searching for something to hold while you wait, I hope you’ll explore some of the stories I’ve already told. Each one was written to be immersive and emotional—books where the central character becomes the heartbeat, and where you’re invited to not just read their story, but to feel it.

Here are a few you might want to hold in your hands while time catches up:

📘 The Killer Across the Street
What if the man waving from across the lawn was hiding a body count? Gregg Thorton’s story is a chilling reminder that some monsters live in plain sight.
👉 Read on Amazon

📘 Criminal Plague
Michelle Hartmann wasn’t just a lawyer—she was the architect of injustice. This is her confession. Not for forgiveness. For power.
👉 Read on Amazon

📘 The Cannister Trials
She was trusted with children’s lives—and she took them. In this devastating psychological interview, a killer explains herself. But can the truth ever be enough?
👉 Read on Amazon

📘 The Hidden Director’s Cut
Simon Pines says he’s not a predator—just misunderstood. Cole King came to challenge that. This is Hollywood’s reckoning, told one brutal truth at a time.
👉 Read on Amazon

📘 Caged Pride
Jerome Clarkson lived two decades in silence, hiding who he truly was. This is his story of shame, survival, and the courage it takes to be seen.
👉 Read on Amazon

📘 Because I Felt Everything
Fifty poems for the over-feelers—the ones who carry too much and love too hard. This is not about fixing your pain. It’s about letting you know you were never broken.
👉 Read on Amazon

No matter which one you choose, I promise you this: you'll be pulled into the world of someone unforgettable. Their voice. Their pain. Their quiet strength. Their unravelling. You'll understand them—even if you don’t always agree with them. And maybe, in pieces and echoes, you’ll understand something deeper about yourself, too.

Thank you for being here. For reading. For remembering. I can’t wait to share Until Time Remembers with you soon. But until then… these pages are waiting.

With love and story,
Makitia

🕰️The Clock Between Worlds | Issue #1

 

The Official Newsletter for the Where Time Can’t Exist Series

“Before the story begins, time stirs beneath the ground.

✨ Welcome to the Clock Between Worlds

Dear Reader,

There are places that hide themselves—towns that slip between map folds, stories that vanish before they’re told.
Burrington is one of them.
And you are standing at its threshold.

Welcome to The Clock Between Worlds, the official newsletter for my upcoming book series, Where Time Can’t Exist—a haunted, emotionally charged exploration of grief, memory, and the strange mechanics of time in a town that refuses to move forward.

The first novel, Until Time Remembers, releases in late July 2025, and this newsletter is your invitation into the world before the story begins.

This is not a recap space.
This is not a fan club.
This is a liminal place—a clock half-turned, a town half-remembered, a story waiting to unfold.

If you love eerie atmosphere, emotional storytelling, mysterious timelines, and characters who ache as deeply as they hope… you’re in the right place.

Future issues will include letters from the town, behind-the-scenes secrets, character studies, and whispers from the woods. But today’s issue? It’s your key to the door.

📖 About the Series: Where Time Can’t Exist

At its heart, this series is about what happens when a place refuses to let go of the past.

It’s not horror.
It’s not quite fantasy.
It’s not historical fiction either.

It’s memory-driven fiction—a series of interwoven stories told through fractured time, emotional echoes, and the deep, haunting ache of people who were never meant to disappear.

Series Structure:

Until Time Remembers ( Coming Late July)
— A fractured past. A forgotten healer. A grieving child.

Trilogy (Books 1–3) — Following a girl named Beck and a town looping through a cursed day.

Short Story Collection (Post-trilogy) — Standalone echoes, emotional portraits, and letters never sent.

You’ll meet townspeople stuck in rituals they didn’t choose. A girl who keeps waking up in the same motel room. Children who vanish without ageing. A library that remembers what you forget. And a boy named Elijah who might already know you.

The story begins when time breaks.
But what truly haunts the town happened long before that.

🕯️ Echoes from Burrington

“We buried the day but not the memory.
Now it comes back, dressed like us, speaking in borrowed voices.”
—Found on a crumpled note beneath the town’s sundial

🪵 What Is Burrington?

Burrington isn’t on a map.

It’s a town built on secrets—shaped by what it lost.
Some say it was founded on stolen land.
Some say a child was taken.
Others say the town simply forgot to die.

You might call it haunted, but it’s more accurate to say it’s mourning.
It mourns the moments it can’t undo.
It mourns the people it couldn’t save.
It mourns itself.

And it’s always watching.

Burrington exists in the space where grief becomes ritual—a town where time loops, but emotions deepen. It’s not the kind of place you leave. It’s the kind of place you become.

👁️ Character Glimpse: Elijah

He’s not the main character. But he may be the town’s heart.

Elijah is the boy who waits beneath stained glass.
He knows things no child should.
He remembers people he’s never met.
And when the town begins to break, he’s the first one who doesn’t run.

He doesn’t speak much. But he listens.
And if you listen closely to him…
You might start remembering things you never lived.

🕯️ A Letter That Never Arrived

To My Sister (Wherever You Ended Up)

You said you’d come back before the hourglass emptied.
But the sand never moved again.

They forgot your name.
They filled your room with someone else’s laughter.

But I kept the stone from the hill where you vanished.
I kept the scarf they said was ruined.
I kept the echo of your voice in the way I say “goodnight.”

And one day, when time remembers again,
you’ll find me waiting on the porch.

I promise.

—N.S.

🗝️ The Clockmaker’s Notes: Why I Wrote a Town Like This

The question I get most often is:
“Where did Burrington come from?”

The honest answer: I don’t fully know.
It came in pieces—a shadow here, a sound there, a feeling I couldn’t place.
A church bell ringing at the wrong time. A child’s laugh in an abandoned building.
A motel hallway that felt just slightly… off.

But emotionally? Burrington came from grief.

Not dramatic grief. Quiet grief. The kind that doesn't get headlines.
The kind that lives in your throat and makes you pause before saying someone’s name.
The kind that alters how you walk through a room you used to share with someone.

I didn’t want to write about monsters.
I wanted to write about what it means to remember when no one else does.
To feel loss so deep that it distorts reality.
To keep living anyway.

That’s where the series lives. That’s where Burrington began.

And maybe, that’s where you’ll find something of your own.

🔍 Frequently Whispered Questions

Q: Do I need to read anything before the first book?
Nope! Until Time Remembers is the beginning. But every book contains echoes that deepen the experience, so future rereads may feel like new stories entirely.

Q: Will the newsletter spoil anything?
Never directly. Everything is written emotionally, not literally. No endings, no twists revealed—just reflections, emotions, letters, and glimpses behind the curtain.

Q: How often will this newsletter arrive?
Expect 1–2 issues a month. A new issue will release shortly after Until Time Remembers is published in late July 2025.

Q: Is this horror?
Not quite. Think grief-lit, mystery, magical realism, and memory fiction. If The Haunting of Hill House, Station Eleven, or The Book Thief had a quiet cousin in a forgotten town—you’d be close

📖 Coming Soon: Until Time Remembers

Release Date: Late July 2025
Formats: Paperback, Ebook, Audiobook, Hardcover
Length: 400+ pages

A town grieving the same day. A healer who was stolen.
A boy who died protecting children. And a girl named Beck who might hold the key to remembering it all.

You’ll learn about the girl once named Tama'ren,
the child who sees the past in broken reflections,
and the day the town tried to bury… but never truly did.

Until Then…

The clocks are still ticking,
The woods are still whispering,
And the town of Burrington is holding its breath.

Until Time Remembers arrives in late July 2025—
A story of memory, mourning, and the lives caught between forgotten days.
The first time you read it, you may feel like you’ve been there before.
That’s not an accident.

In just a few weeks, another letter will arrive.
It will come after the story begins, when the first candle has been lit,
and when you’ve taken your first steps into the day that never truly ended.

Until then,
Watch the shadows.
And don’t forget…
Some memories find you before the book ever does.

With gratitude,
—Makitia Thompson

#Mindsindesign # Makitiathompson #Wheretimecantexist

😈Let the Villain Win (For Once)

 

A hot take on heroes, losers, and the book characters we keep writing into cliché oblivion

By Makitia Thompson

Let’s talk about something that might make some of you clutch your bookmarks and dramatically gasp over your annotated paperbacks:

The villain should win more often.
Yes, I said it. And no, I’m not sorry.

I’m not just talking about the misunderstood antihero with a redemption arc and a Pinterest-worthy backstory. I’m talking about the straight-up villain. The unapologetic, sharp-tongued, power-hungry force of chaos who just might have a point. The one who never gets to win—not because they didn’t deserve to win, but because the plot was rigged against them from the start.

In far too many books, the villain exists simply to lose. To teach the protagonist a lesson. To suffer a humiliating downfall, give a monologue, or—if they’re lucky—die poetically. And honestly?

I’m tired.

✋ Can We Stop Pretending Good Always Deserves to Win?

Let’s be real: being “good” is not a personality. It’s not even an interesting narrative trait. Half the time, these “heroes” are self-righteous, oblivious, and stubborn in the most infuriating way.

You know the type.
The bland main character with a chosen destiny and the emotional range of a paper napkin. The one who “fights for justice” but can’t hold a conversation without tripping over their moral compass. They stumble through conflict, protected by plot armor, while the villain—clever, calculating, and consistent—gets outwitted by a last-minute twist and a flashback to “something their mom once said.”

I’m sorry… what?

Justice isn’t always compelling. Survival is. Revenge is. Control is.
Let’s stop acting like good deserves to win just because it’s good. If we’re writing stories rooted in reality, we have to admit: sometimes the wrong people win. And that’s what makes it hurt. That’s what makes it real.

🎭 The Villain Is Often the Most Interesting Character

You know how you can tell when a villain is better written than the protagonist?
When you catch yourself thinking, Wait… do they actually have a point?

The villain usually has the clearest motivation in the book. They’re direct. They don’t trip over themselves with doubt. They don’t need five chapters of internal dialogue to justify wanting what they want.

They’re focused.
They’re bold.
They’re fun to watch.

They do what the protagonist refuses to do: take action.

So why do we keep forcing them to lose?

🙄 Let’s Talk About the “Mean Girl” Trope

While we’re here, can we stop punishing the “mean girl” character just because she speaks her mind and wears lip gloss?

In far too many stories, the girl with confidence, intelligence, or ambition is automatically villain-coded. She’s portrayed as cold. Selfish. In need of takedown. Meanwhile, the soft-spoken, insecure, obliviously good-natured main character gets handed the win by default.

I hate to break it to you, but confidence doesn’t make someone evil. Neither does ambition. Neither does a biting sense of humor or great fashion. Sometimes the “mean girl” isn’t mean—she’s just honest. And if we’re being honest, she usually carries the entire story on her back.

Let her win, too.

🥱 Predictability Is the Real Villain

Let’s be honest: in too many books, the moment a morally questionable character enters the scene, their fate is already sealed. They’re going to lose. They’re going to get punished. They’re going to say one final, sarcastic line and disappear from the plot like they were never really that important.

It’s predictable. And you know what predictable equals?

Boring.

Books should be brave. Surprising. Uncomfortable, even. But what’s not uncomfortable anymore is watching the “good guy” win yet again while the antagonist—who may have had a more compelling reason for fighting in the first place—gets tossed aside because the reader “needed closure.”

Guess what?
Closure is overrated.
Give me chaos. Give me questions. Give me stories that leave scars, not just warm fuzzy lessons.

💔 The “Popular Character Who Always Loses” Syndrome

You know who else I’m sick of seeing get screwed over?

The popular, charming, mysterious, clearly-more-interesting side character who always loses to the most bland love interest in literary history. This is a global epidemic.

You know the ones I’m talking about. They’re witty. They’ve got tension with the protagonist. Maybe even chemistry. But they’re written to lose. The author forces them to bow out so that the MC can end up with someone “safe” and “good” and “perfect.”

STOP IT.

Let them win.
Let the love triangle end with the unexpected choice. Let the brooding bookshop owner or chaotic villain love interest get the happy ending for once. Readers deserve better. Characters deserve better. And honestly, the story deserves better.

📖 What I Write (and Why I Break This Rule)

As an author, I’m constantly thinking about realism, emotion, and impact. I want my stories to hurt in the best way. I want readers to question things—especially themselves.

So no, I don’t always let the “good guys” win. I’ve written messy endings. I’ve let the pain linger. I’ve walked away from stories that made even me uncomfortable.

Because comfort doesn’t spark growth. Truth does.

In my books, you’ll find characters who don’t follow the rules. Some get redemption. Some don’t. Some are monsters. Some are just broken people trying to find peace. But I’ll never write a villain just to lose. If they fall, it’ll mean something. If they win… it’ll mean even more.

👑 In Defense of the Villain

Here’s what I think the heart of it all really is:

We’re scared of seeing ourselves in the villain.
That’s why we want them to lose.
Because deep down, we know how tempting it is to cross the line. To do the wrong thing for the right reasons. To want something badly enough to break the rules.

Villains reflect our shadows. Our secrets. Our unspoken thoughts.
That’s why they’re powerful.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s why they deserve a win every now and then. Not because it’s morally right, but because it’s human.

🗣 Let’s Talk About It…

So what do you think?

Should villains get to win sometimes?

Have you ever rooted for the “wrong” character on purpose?

Do you actually like the main character in your favorite book—or were you just forced to accept them?

Let me know in the comments—or better yet, write your own story where the rules break and the villain rises. 😈

Because sometimes, the most honest ending is the one where the hero doesn’t win.

— Makitia Thompson
✨ Writer. Creator. Plot Twister.
✍️ [Minds In Design]

#Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #MIDproductions 

❤️A Day in the Life of an Author: Makitia Thompson

 

Writing, Creating, and Living in the In-Between

Part One: Writing Life

People always ask me what my writing routine looks like. And the honest answer?

It doesn’t exist.

From Monday to Wednesday, I can be on fire—writing all day long, finishing entire chapters in one sitting, and plotting two or three new stories while still emotionally tangled in the one I’m drafting. But then Thursday rolls around... and it’s like I hit a wall. The words slow. Sometimes they stop altogether. From Thursday to Sunday, I might not write at all.

It used to frustrate me. I thought, Am I doing something wrong? Shouldn’t I be more consistent?

But I’ve come to realize that this is just how my creativity flows. It’s not tied to a calendar. It’s tied to the energy of the story itself. I don’t force it. I let the work speak to me when it’s ready. When a story wants to be written, it lets me know.

There’s a kind of rhythm in the chaos—one that works for me. It’s unpredictable, but deeply intuitive. And as a fairly new author, I’ve learned to trust that rhythm.

I Need a Map

One thing I’ve tried—many times—is writing without an outline. Just opening a document and letting the story come to me on the spot.

And every single time? I’ve failed.

It fascinates me that some authors can write 400 pages from a single thought without mapping a thing out. I admire it deeply. But that’s just not my process.

I outline everything. From beginning to end. I want to see the full lives of my characters—main and supporting—before I ever write the first scene. Plotting helps me connect to the world I’m building. It lets me become the character as I write.

I don’t do first, second, or third drafts. I write one continuous document until the story is finished. Then I spend a week to three weeks editing that single file. That’s it.

I know that might sound intense. But I’ve found that challenging myself to write as if it’s the final draft on the first try gives the story a raw, unfiltered emotional core. It doesn’t feel overly processed—it feels real. And real is what I’m always aiming for.

Falling in Love With My Own Story

My favorite part of writing? It’s that moment, maybe ten or fifteen chapters in, when I catch myself getting anxious to read what happens next—even though I’m the one writing it.

It’s the moment when the story grips me. When I’m no longer just creating it—I’m invested. Obsessed. In love.

There’s something powerful about surprising yourself with your own story. It’s like confirmation that you’re doing something right. That what you’re building has meaning, even to you.

When I’m Stuck, I Game

Here’s where I might throw you a curveball: when I hit a creative wall, I play The Sims 4.

Yes, really.

It might sound strange, but it works. The Sims is a limitless game. You can create lives, destroy them, start over, build entire legacies from scratch. When I’m stuck on a plot point, I sometimes recreate my characters in the game. I let them live. Make choices. Break things. Fall in love.

Watching those simulated lives unfold often sparks something in me. Suddenly I see where the real story should go. The Sims helps me reconnect to the human part of storytelling—the messiness, the unpredictability, the possibility. It’s more than a distraction. It’s an imaginative reset.

The Truth Always Finds Its Way In

Let me share something personal with you.

I’ll be 21 years old this August, and for every single one of those years, my father has been absent. I’ve told myself I’m fine without him—that I’ve never needed him—and I meant it. I’ve had an amazing mother. A whole life built around love, resilience, and strength.

But something shifted when I started writing character studies.

At first, I didn’t realize it. I was just exploring how abandonment affects people—how it reshapes their self-worth, their ability to trust, their quiet moments. I didn’t know I was writing about myself.

It hit me during one particular character breakdown: this is me. This is how I’ve been feeling. This is pain I hadn’t faced out loud. My stories—without my permission—began helping me confront it.

And now I see that part of why I gravitate toward deep, emotional narratives is because I’m still learning how to navigate my own. My characters are vessels for the parts of me I don’t always know how to say out loud. The writing becomes healing.

So when people ask if my personal life influences my work, the answer is: always. Even when I don’t know it’s happening.

Part Two: Personal Life + Balance

People often assume writing happens in a vacuum. That once you have “the calling,” the stories just appear and life pauses so you can write them in peace. I wish.

The truth is, I’m juggling life just like everyone else. I don’t write in a quiet cabin with no distractions. I write in the in-between. The before work, after chores, between tea breaks and real life kind of moments.

But one thing I do every single day—no matter what—is listen to music.

Music clears the fog. Whether it’s upbeat or slow, loud or soft, it helps me reset. On days when my mind has been going nonstop and the noise of the world is still ringing in my ears, I put in my headphones and let the music empty the day out of me.

That’s when my stories can come through—when the real world quiets just enough for my fictional one to speak.

Balancing Art and a Day Job

Right now, I’m a part-time call center agent—or “market researcher,” depending on how fancy you want to make it sound. I started writing professionally in September of 2023, and by November, I landed my first job.

It’s a balance. And I won't lie—it’s not always easy.

Of course, my dream is to write full-time. To make storytelling my career. To wake up and dive into my books without worrying about shifts or bills. I’d love to retire my mother early and give back all the peace and strength she’s given me.

But until then, I work.

Because I have to. Because this is what building something from the ground up looks like.

Working part-time helps because it gives me some freedom, but there are moments where it hurts. Like when a burst of inspiration hits right before my shift starts, and I have to walk away from my notebooks and let the spark fade. Those moments are tough.

Still, I try to remind myself—it’s all for the good of my future. The sacrifices I make today are helping pave the road toward the life I’m building.

And while I try to take care of myself, I’ll be honest: sometimes I get caught in a writing spiral and forget to check in with my own well-being. So yes, I’m still learning how to balance writing, work, and myself. But I’m learning. And I’m trying.

What Does a Perfect Creative Day Look Like?

If I had to describe my ideal creative day... well, it kind of depends on the day itself.

Some mornings, I wake up refreshed instead of tired. I shower, brush my teeth, skip breakfast (I’m not a morning eater), and sip a cup of tea while watching something on my phone. I don’t open my laptop right away. I give myself a few hours to exist outside of writing—just to breathe and settle into the day.

After that, I’ll open the document of whatever I’m working on, re-read the last few paragraphs, and if the words start to flow, I write. If they don’t, I leave the document open and go about my day, waiting for a spark.

Rainy days affect me. If it’s pouring heavily, I struggle to focus. But if it’s a light rain or a sunlit afternoon, I can write for hours. Sometimes until my wrist aches. So really, my creativity doesn’t follow a clock. It follows the weather, my emotions, the mood of the day itself.

Family and Support

I let my family read my work if they want to. They’re always excited to. But when it comes to critiquing my writing? I’m careful.

It’s not that I don’t trust them. It’s just that they’re family, and sometimes love clouds judgment. I want feedback that’s honest, objective, and unfiltered. That doesn’t mean I don’t value their thoughts—it just means I need different eyes when it’s time to polish the final draft.

That said, my family is always there to support me.

They’re usually the first people to buy my books. They help me promote, share my work online, and celebrate every little milestone. My mother and my stepfather (who I just call “Dad”) have been especially incredible. Always beside me. Always cheering me on.

That support matters. More than I can probably express in words.

Part Three: Final Touches + A Few Surprises

If someone followed me around for a day, they’d probably be shocked by how little I actually write. They might catch me on one of those slow days where I struggle to get even 100 words down—which, believe it or not, happens at least twice a week. 😅

And honestly? They’d probably start wondering how I’ve written full books at all.

But here’s the thing—after days of silence, I usually come back swinging. Sometimes I’ll go from zero words to 5,000 in just a few hours. My creative process doesn’t move in straight lines. It’s bursts, pauses, storms, and stillness. And yet, somehow, the books always get written. 🌊✍️

A Message to the Writer I Was

If I could go back to the version of me writing her very first book, I’d be brutally honest.

I’d say, “This book is going to be terrible. You’re going to hate it. You’re going to wonder why you ever thought you could be a writer.” But I’d also say, “Write it anyway.”

Because that book? It would be the one to pull me back into storytelling. It would reignite my love for creating. That messy, flawed project helped shape the voice I have now—and without it, some of my best work wouldn’t exist. ❤️

Growth doesn’t always look beautiful. But it always matters.

That Book Cover Feeling

You know what still gives me butterflies? 🦋

Book covers.

There’s something magical about finishing a story you poured your heart into and then seeing it dressed in its final skin. That cover is the cherry on top—the moment when everything clicks into place. The words, the emotions, the effort... all wrapped in a piece of visual art that says, this is real now.

I get anxious, excited, and borderline obsessed whenever a new cover comes together. And if I made it myself? Even better. There’s something so fulfilling about crafting the inside and outside of a story. It reminds me that I’m not just writing—I’m building worlds, piece by piece.

If Nothing Stood In My Way...

If absolutely nothing stood in my way—no financial limitations, no time blocks, no external stress—I’d be a bestseller. 📚✨

Not because of the money or even the career security (though yes, I’d love to write full-time and retire my mom). But because being a bestseller means something deeper: it means that a massive number of people found joy, comfort, escape, or connection in the words I wrote.

I don’t just want to entertain—I want to speak to people’s souls. I want to write the kind of story that wraps around someone on a hard day and makes them feel seen.

And if one of my books was ever adapted into a film? I think I’d cry in disbelief. Watching something I wrote come to life on screen would be the ultimate gift. 🎬💭

Because the words on the page already feel magical… but seeing those words move, breathe, exist in a new form? That would be storytelling in its most vivid form.

💬 In Closing...

If you take anything from this post, let it be this: there is no perfect routine, no flawless system, no straight path.

I’m a fairly new author. I’ve only been writing professionally since 2023. I work a part-time job. I get writer’s block. I burn out. And still—I keep going. Because this is what I was made to do.

Whether you're just starting your first page or publishing your fifth book, know this: you're not behind. You're building something. And it's okay to grow slowly.

We’re all on this journey together.

So keep writing. Keep learning. Keep showing up—even on the days you can’t write a single word. The story is still unfolding.

And it’s going to be beautiful. 💫

— Makitia Thompson
✍️ Minds In Design

#Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #MID