Anna Bartee Anna Bartee

From Beyond the Skyglass: Welcome to My Corner of the Myth

It all begins with an idea.

Who is Ravenna Vale?

I am an author living with a disability, but that does not define who I am. I’m also a dreamer, a builder of worlds. One, specifically, for now — a world I’ve been shaping for nearly three decades. And it’s time to tell its story.

 

What inspired you to write these stories?

I grew up reading the classics — books so large they barely fit into my backpack among my school things. I adored them, but I also longed for something more. More myth. More love. More heat. More inclusivity. In a world where only powerful heroes and perfect maidens were glorified, I wanted to see flawed characters who looked a little more like me — people scarred, tender, complex, and trying anyway.

That’s how Nine Rivers began: not just as a story, but as a promise. A promise that fantasy could be vast and intimate at once — that love, divinity, and defiance could share the same breath.

 

What is the purpose of this blog?

This blog, From Beyond the Skyglass, is here to offer connection and glimpses into the fantastical world of Elendria. You’ll find behind-the-scenes reflections, fragments of lore, notes from my writing process, and updates on Breath of Starlight — my debut epic fantasy currently in the querying stage.

Those who linger here will always be the first to know when new things stir: publishing updates, bonus content, artwork, and more.

 

A note from the author:

Thank you for finding your way to this corner of the myth. May what you read here remind you that even from beyond the glass, light still finds a way through.

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Anna Bartee Anna Bartee

Why I Chose to Write a 230,000-Word Debut (and Stand By It)

It all begins with an idea.

When I finished writing Breath of Starlight, it was over 400,000 words. I didn’t really flinch. As I’ve said before, I grew up on big books — the kind that barely fit into my backpack between algebra worksheets and cafeteria lunches. Now I was writing one of my own.

I began to prepare for querying, and my research led me to what’s called “market standard.” I won’t go into detail. Let’s just say the number was nowhere near the manuscript I was sitting on.

So, I made an incredibly difficult decision. I split the story in two and rebuilt the first half so it could stand alone, if it needed to. It was painful — like carving a single river out of a sea — but I did it. Because I believe in the dream of sharing this world.

When I first started querying Breath of Starlight, I knew the number alone — 230,000 — would make people balk. There were some days I’d stare at that count in the corner of my screen like it was a flashing warning light: too long, too risky, too much.

And maybe it is. But here’s the thing — this story was never small. And I’m not here to make it smaller just to be safe.

Because art isn’t always efficient.

Some stories need room to breathe — to unfold like constellations, not blueprints. Breath of Starlight isn’t long because I don’t understand restraint. It’s long because it’s layered — myth upon myth, breath upon breath. Because love, grief, faith, and defiance don’t fit neatly into a word count.

I understand the market. I respect the business. But I also believe that stories have their own pulse — and when you try to compress that heartbeat just to make it tidy, something vital gets lost.

So, yes. My book is long. But it’s the right length for the story it’s telling.

If you’re a writer standing in front of your own too-big dream — don’t shrink it to fit the door. Knock anyway. If it doesn’t open, build another.

Because wonder has weight. And sometimes, it takes every word to carry it.

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Anna Bartee Anna Bartee

Refusing to Go Out

It all begins with an idea.

[or just: "Day 38. Still Here."]

I didn’t expect the silence to be this loud.

Querying is a strange kind of wilderness. You send your story—your heart—into the unknown and wait. Days stretch. Weeks blur. Some responses arrive like lightning, others not at all. And you start to wonder if no news is just a softer kind of no.

I’m deep in that stage now. More silence than I thought I could bear. And still, I send more. Because Breath of Starlight matters to me. Not just as a book—but as the beginning of something bigger. A world I’ve been building for years. A voice that yearns to echo across pages.

Rejections are part of the story.

They sting, yes. Even the kind ones. Even the form ones. Even the ones that never come.

But here’s the truth I’ve had to hold close: every “no” is proof I tried. Proof I stepped forward. And that means something. Especially when you’re doing this while living with disability, while juggling life, while trying to believe your story still deserves a place.

I don’t know where this road ends yet. But I do know I’m walking it with eyes open. I’m revising. I’m listening. I’m also protecting the bones of the story, the soul of it. I won’t let fear trim it into something smaller than it’s meant to be. I won't rush just to make it easier to shelve. I’m querying with integrity, with stubborn hope, and with the weight of a world I believe in.

Oddly enough, my lowest point didn’t come from a form rejection or an auto-pass. It came from a name I’ve loved since I was a child. An icon. Someone I dreamed might see me.

I queried them. I hoped. I prayed.

And—there was a spark. A flicker. Just enough to make me feel lit from the inside. Just enough to believe they saw something.

But the rejection that followed was both bracing and harrowing. Not cruel. Just... intimate. Sharp where I didn’t know I was soft.

Stopping felt like surrender, so I blitzed. I sent more queries. I faced the silence. I stared at the spreadsheet, hands shaking, and still moved the numbers forward. Because I meant it when I said this story matters. When I said I matter.

It’s Day 38.
120 queries sent.
Most still unanswered.
A few full requests glimmering at the edge of hope.

And still I’m here.
Still querying.
Still dreaming.
Still daring to believe that someone, somewhere, will hold this story like I do.

Just like the starlight in my tale—
I refuse to go out.
I refuse to be small.
I refuse to be anything other than myself.

Because the only way through the darkness is to carry your own light.

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