What do you do when the first book is finished? As a reader, you wait for the next one. As an author, you try to carry the momentum and start the second one straight away.

In the background, the first new characters are already scratching at the door, but they have to wait their turn. First, the established cast needs to regroup and settle back into everyday life. One needs to get back in shape, while the other is currently astonishing everyone. Together, they’ve received new assignments—some small and on the side, others life-changing. But they do it all willingly, either because it’s necessary or because it’s their absolute dream.

Yeah, I’m an early bird. Usually, I’m up by 5:30, no alarm needed. But our cat had other plans today. Apparently, 4:00 AM is the perfect time for a morning workout—discipline: the hurdle sprint involving moving furniture.

He’s currently loudly redecorating the living room. Every lap of his attempt to set a new Olympic record is accompanied by a loud meow. And then: crash. He’s knocking things over—after all, they were in his way. No idea what that was, but it sounded expensive.

A post about heart, mind, rage, and structure.

It’s time to unlock the doors. Not just to the finished stories, but to the construction site behind them. I’ve realized something: The finished book is the goal, sure, but the path to get there is the actual adventure. That includes the painful art of “killing your darlings.” Characters pop up out of nowhere but never make it into the final draft. Not because they’re boring, but because they steer the story in the wrong direction. Deleting entire chapters feels a lot like code refactoring: It stings for a moment, but the system runs much smoother afterwards.

There’s that little, nervous blinking on the monitor. It waits. It demands. As a computer scientist, I feed it logic. As an author, I feed it stories. The problem is the same in both cases: Sometimes you stare back, and your head is as empty as the text field.

You ask yourself: Are the cryptic characters I’m typing here brilliant or total nonsense? Does the syntax fit? Is the tone right? The truth is: You won’t know until it’s there. The cursor has no patience, and I’ve decided not to have any either. No more hesitating. I’ll just type away. Fixing errors—whether bugs or plot holes—is something that can always be done later.

Things rarely go according to plan. Neither in life nor in novels. Right now, my protagonists Severin and Bernd are pinned down in a pretty tight spot: an old factory hall, nervous security forces outside, and inside, the people the system has chewed up and spat out.

I know exactly what needs to happen next: Severin has to get back to the Zone, to his laptop, to publish the truth about the Insolvency Administrator. The “What” is crystal clear. The “How,” however, is my major glitch. I’m staring at the screen, suffering from a classic plot blackout.

Max is the star of the soccer team. But a secret training session takes its toll—forcing him into a decision that draws the attention of the entire schoolyard…

Note: The following excerpt is currently available in the original German manuscript only. An English translation is in the works and will be added here soon.

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Der Muskelkater war brutal. Jeder Schritt fühlte sich an, als wären seine Gelenke durch rostiges Metall ersetzt worden. Max versuchte, seinen Gang normal aussehen zu lassen, als er in der Pause über den Schulhof auf die Gruppe der Fußballer zusteuerte, aber er wusste, dass es ihm nicht gelang. Er war noch keine drei Meter entfernt, als Klaus’ spöttische Stimme ertönte. „Was läufst du denn heute so komisch, Max? Sieht ja aus, als hättest du ’nen Stock im Arsch.“