Finding My Way Home: Growing and Changing as an Author

Finding My Way Home: Growing and Changing as an Author

There is a strange expectation that once you become known for something, you are supposed to remain there forever. You pick a genre. You build a brand. You find your voice. And then, apparently, you are expected to keep writing the same kinds of stories for the rest of your life.

But I don't think that's how creativity works. Actually, I don't think that's how people work.

We grow. We change. The things that once fascinated us don't always hold the same fascination forever. Our beliefs evolve. Our priorities shift. We discover new things about ourselves. Sometimes the person sitting down to write today simply isn't the same person who sat down at that keyboard several years ago. And lately, I've realized that I'm changing as an author. More importantly, I think I'm finally figuring out who I want to be as one.

The Stories That Got Me Here

For a long time, horror was a huge part of my identity as a writer. I loved haunted places, monsters, supernatural mysteries, psychological darkness, and the wonderfully strange. I wrote stories that weren't afraid to get disturbing, violent, bloody, gross, or uncomfortable.

And I'm proud of those books.

I'm not going to pretend they don't exist or suddenly become embarrassed by them simply because I'm moving in another direction. Every book I've written represents the person and writer I was when I created it. Those stories taught me how to build worlds, create characters, finish novels, take criticism, make mistakes, and keep going. They got me here. But I've also started realizing that where you've been doesn't have to dictate where you're going.

The darker parts of horror simply don't interest me the way they once did.

I don't find myself wanting to sit down and figure out how to make something gorier. I don't particularly want to shock someone with how gruesome I can make a scene. I'm less interested in creating things that leave readers disturbed and increasingly interested in creating things that leave them feeling good.

Some of that comes from changes in my personal beliefs. Some comes from changes in my interests. And some of it is probably just getting older and discovering that what feeds me creatively has changed.

Whatever the reason, I've decided to listen to it.

I'm Not Running Away. I'm Moving Toward Something.

There's an important difference. I'm not leaving horror because something went wrong. I'm not disowning my previous books or declaring that darker fiction is somehow lesser than what I'm writing now. I'm simply discovering that another kind of storytelling makes me happier. I want warmth. I want little towns where everybody knows everybody else's business. I want old houses that are charming instead of terrifying. I want autumn leaves crunching beneath someone's shoes, coffee shops with ridiculous seasonal drinks, bookstores tucked between old buildings, Christmas lights strung across Main Street, family dinners, traditions, friendships, romance, and people who desperately need a second chance getting one. I still want a little magic. Actually, probably quite a lot of it. I'm still me, after all.

There can be folklore and superstition. There can be witches and strange happenings. There can be mysteries, old legends, things we can't quite explain, and perhaps something unusual hiding beyond the trees.

I just don't necessarily need whatever is hiding beyond the trees to disembowel anyone anymore.

Growth. I needed it and I've

Maybe Cozy Wasn't Such a Strange Destination

The more I've thought about this change, the more I've realized that the stories I love aren't really about a particular genre. They're about feeling.

I've always loved Halloween. I love autumn. I love Christmas. I love nostalgia, traditions, and places that feel like they have histories of their own. I love stories about ordinary people encountering something extraordinary. And I love the feeling of home. Not necessarily a literal house, either.

Home can be another person. A town. A family you were born into or one you stumbled into along the way. It can be rediscovering somewhere you left years ago. Sometimes, home is simply becoming comfortable with the person you've grown into.

Those are the stories I'm finding myself wanting to tell. Cozy stories. Feel-good stories. Romance. Friendship. Family. Second chances. Seasonal stories. A little humor. A little magic. Characters finding one another, finding themselves, and finding their way home.

Maybe occasionally I'll make you cry. I'm not becoming that nice.

Giving Myself Permission to Change

I think this has been the hardest part. As an indie author, you're constantly told to establish your brand. Pick your genre. Know your audience. Make everything recognizable. Teach readers exactly what they'll get when they see your name. That's sensible advice. It's also very easy to accidentally build yourself a cage.

I've had to remind myself that Damon Robi is the brand—not horror. I'm allowed to change. I'm allowed to look at something I once loved writing and say, That was me then. This is me now. I'm allowed to discover something new at this point in my writing career. And if five years from now I discover something else? I'm allowed to change again.

There shouldn't be shame in that. Growth requires movement. Sometimes becoming more yourself means letting go of the version of yourself you thought you were supposed to remain.

So, What's Next?

You'll probably notice some changes around here. My author branding is becoming warmer, simpler, and more reflective of the stories I want to tell going forward. My future books will increasingly lean toward cozy, heartfelt, uplifting fiction rather than traditional horror. There will still be traces of me in everything I write.

A little weirdness.

A little magic.

Probably an unhealthy obsession with autumn and Christmas.

Definitely coffee.

But I want you to close one of my books and feel like you've spent a few hours somewhere you didn't quite want to leave. I want to create towns you'd secretly Google afterward just to make sure they aren't real. I want characters you miss after you've finished the final chapter. I want romances worth rooting for, friendships that matter, families that aren't always perfect, and moments that remind us that ordinary life can still contain extraordinary things.

Most of all, I want to write books that make the world feel a little warmer for a while.

There is enough darkness outside the pages.

Maybe I've spent enough time writing about it.

I'm ready to turn on a few lights.

And I can't wait to see where the story takes me next.