There’s a specific kind of silence that comes after too many losses.
It’s not peace. It’s not stillness.
It’s a weight.
Like the world has gone on without you,
and you’re just a ghost trapped in the amber of your own attempts.

So you’ve created a character.
They have a name, a shadow, a secret. They speak in your ear or scribble in your margins.
You know what breaks them. What makes them beautiful.
But now what?

Sidekicks are often cast in the light of loyalty, comic relief, or quiet support, but do they need to be there? And more importantly, do they deserve to be more than just narrative furniture?

Let’s explore the archetype of the sidekick through a more cerebral, symbolic lens, and ask whether this figure serves a deeper function in modern myth-making and storytelling.

Every unforgettable story begins with a character who feels real. They may be flawed, radiant, savage, soft-spoken, or utterly monstrous, but they always leave a mark. Whether you’re building a character for a novel, screenplay, comic, game, or teaching creative writing, this is your definitive guide to building emotionally resonant, structurally sound, and symbolically rich characters.

This is more than a tutorial. It’s a toolkit, a mirror, and a creative companion.

Some people live their lives in straight lines, neat, predictable, fading as quickly as chalk on a sidewalk.
But then there are the few who carve their mark deeper. The ones who understand that legacy isn’t given, it’s painted, forged, and sometimes bolted to the nose of a bomber at 30,000 feet.

I met Steve Barba when I was eighteen. Fresh out of basic training, stationed at Ellsworth Air Force Base in Rapid City, my first and only military base, a place where the wind doesn’t whisper, it warns. Back then, we were crew chiefs charged with keeping the B-1B Lancer, that sleek beast of bone and fury, alive and breathing. Most of us stuck to the mechanics, the discipline, the grind.

During the pandemic, I partnered with The Hive, a nonprofit organization supporting adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities, to create a tangible extension of this world. Alongside Nathan Taulbee and Noah Thomas, we began the first in a series of interactive adventure boxes, beginning with character creation. These boxes weren’t just tools; they were invitations to explore imagination, foster self-expression, and build skills that could open new doors.

What if the stories we tell hold the key to navigating our darkest moments? For years, I’ve walked the labyrinth of mental illness, from the dizzying heights of mania to the suffocating depths of depression, where demons clawed at my very soul. In the works of Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung, I found a map—a way to confront the Shadow and uncover meaning within the chaos.

This is a journey of wrestling with the monstrous, finding light in the abyss, and crafting stories that heal. Step into the labyrinth with me, and let’s explore the myths that guide us and the demons that shape us.

In turbulent times, art and stories aren’t just forms of expression—they’re lifelines. From bold street art to powerful photography, artists across the globe are using their work to reflect society’s struggles, resilience, and hope. Discover why, now more than ever, we need art to unite us, challenge us, and guide us through the complexities of our world.

There’s a place beneath the surface where words don’t go. It’s the place where the quiet strength of women dwells, where the unbroken chain of feminine knowledge flows like an underground river. It has no need for names or loud proclamations; it exists in the space between breaths, in the shared glances between women who have walked the fires of life.

There’s a certain romance in the memory of film photography. The anticipation of waiting for a roll of film to develop, the dim red glow of the darkroom, and the scent of developing chemicals are all intertwined with the magic of seeing an image slowly emerge on paper. Each shot was deliberate, each click of the shutter a moment of commitment. My love for this process made me hesitant to embrace digital photography for many years. Film held a tactile nostalgia that digital couldn’t seem to match.