Writing this story taught me how powerful it is to center ritual over plot. Nothing “happens” in the traditional sense. There’s no antagonist. No conflict in need of resolution. There’s just expectation, memory, and the moment when something quietly shifts.

I learned how much a setting can carry when the narrative doesn’t want to move quickly. The village had to feel lived-in—weathered, specific, full of echoes. The tide schedule mattered. The shape of the sand mattered. The way people watched each other in silence during the procession—that mattered more than any line of dialogue.

I also leaned hard into ambiguity. Not everything needs an answer. The reader doesn’t need to know how the saint chooses. They just need to feel the weight of being chosen.

Most of all, I realized how potent it is to explore grace as a disturbance. We talk about miracles as if they solve something. But often, they just make the next moment harder to bear.

Writing Challenge

Write a story where something extraordinary happens—something supernatural, impossible, or holy—but no one reacts with surprise. Build a world where the miracle is ordinary, and the emotional disturbance lies in what it forces people to feel, not what it breaks.

Questions for Reflection

What rituals do your characters perform because they’re afraid to stop?

Is your magic system built to explain—or to evoke?

What if a miracle isn’t a solution, but a question no one wanted to ask?