Writers from a Writer Ep VI: V.E. Schwab
- Maya Dietrich
- Jun 30
- 5 min read
Halfway!! Woo! Today's piece is going to be short (because I'm writing it on the last day of June lmao). I got a Substack page set up this month, (https://substack.com/@mayadietrich7) so be sure to follow that for more immediate musings from me. Lot's of fun stuff going on this month. Lot's of very scary things that may or may not make me want to throw up. I'm also running on about 2 hours of sleep spread out through the last 5 days. Yay.
This month we're looking at series writing, and this month's writer is V.E. Schwab.
I only read one of her novels prior to this month (The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue), and I have to say that it wasn't my cup of tea. I know it's a widely acclaimed book, but overall it felt flat and predictable when I read it almost six years ago. But I'm always up for giving a writer a second chance, so I tackled her Darker Shades of Magic series this time around.
I find her work to be a hybrid between Dr. Strange and the Mortal Instruments, and if there's one thing I noticed in her writing, it's that she has some really creative ideas. Overall, however, I often get the sense that she draws on works that inspire her a bit too much, rather than purely developing her own tone and style. YES I SEE THE IRONY IN ME SAYING THAT given what this series literally is, so I say it with a grain of salt, because she has actually been published while I have not.
But let's start there.
I loved her characterizations. She has a very strong sense of who her characters are.
I didn't love the way they felt like stock images though, forced into cookie-cutter stereotypes in order to align with the world in which they exist.
I really enjoyed reading about the magic in this series, she has an incredibly engaging way of describing almost paranormal-esque forces.
I wasn't a fan of the lack of direction in the plot.
Overall, the point of this series (that is, Writers from a Writer) is not to deeply critique these authors' works, but it does serve as a great time to analyze the things I look for in a good book in order for my own writing to blossom, as it is very clear that despite what I find to be minor misgivings in Schwab's stories (from what I have read), she's still making a living off of her writing while I'm (sadly, currently) not. So there is that, and it's not lost on me.
Researching these writers is one of my favourite parts, because I love hearing about everyone's journey to writing.
V.E. (Victoria Elizabeth) Schwab (pause. What a cool name to have for writing) was born in California, raised in Tennessee, and currently splits her time between Denver and Edinburgh. She studied book design at Washington University in St. Louis, and has her masters in art history from the University of Edinburgh.
On top of this, she hosts a podcast called No Write Way, and she's the author of over 25 books (one of the more versatile authors we've studied so far), even saying that she's "not keen on labelling stories for certain audiences," having written children's, YA, and adult literature (and probably a fair amount of academic research papers… sigh, I've been there, girl).
One of my favourite quotes from her that I found while researching was this:
The best story is the one that finds you when you need it.
From what I've read of her work, she loves:
making you doubt your reality
finding magic in the mundane
enriching her work through the study of other successful writers
exploring different mediums
fantasy, academia, and the human spirit
writing.
There are some authors that, when I'm reading, make me stop and ask the universe: Did this person actually want to write this, or were they forced to by some revenue-hungry publisher? I get the feeling that Schwab genuinely loves to write, which is honestly what Writers from a Writer is all about.
I simply must get to bed now (my eyes are closing Lord help me), so here's the excerpt I pulled from the second novel in the Shades of Magic series, A Gathering of Shadows:
Even the stars burned in colour now.
What he'd always taken for white had become an icy blue, and the night sky, once black, now registered as a velvet purple, the deepest edge of a bruise.
Holland sat on the throne, gazing up past the vaulting walls at the wide expanse of sky, straining to pick out the colours of his world. Had they always been there, buried beneath the film of failing magic, or were they new? Forest-green vines crept, dark and luscious, around the pale stone pillars that circled the throne room, their emerald leaves reaching toward silver moonlight as their roots trailed across the floor and into the still, black surface of the scrying pool.
And here's my little piece inspired by this month's author:
The woods stand silent, a paintbrush flick of green and brown across the horizon.
As the carriage rumbles along the cold stone path, a dark, wide-winged bird perches, watching in quiet
agony the arrival of a newfound Queen-to-be.
The Kingdom of Ada, a gleaming facade of perfect fantasies and glorious balls, must find
a new Queen each year. The bird looks on, black feathers shining dark blue in the evening light,
and feels his small body shake with unwept misery, for he understands what she does not:
The lonely castle was abandoned by all except those who have called it home for hundreds of years, for
all who live within the hallowed walls of Ada are no longer living.
The curse began long before the bird could see it, so he has no message to share of its
creation or heed its warning. What he does know is that the years since have been filled with
exile after exile, doomed to lay forevermore.
Their fates are entwined with the very foundation of the palace, their life stories engrained between the cracks in the walls.
Prophetizing now, the bird can feel the gusts of wind that will blow through the trees as
their freshest victim takes her final breath. He can sense the vibrations that will ricochet down
the forest and into the valley, coursing their way through his wings as she falls to the ground,
where she will stay, for all eternity.
The smell of chrysanthemum already ripe on his beak, imaginary drops of oil sliding off its edge, as he envisions their pale hands reaching out-
out! to anoint her:
We accept this offering of blood and bone, ensnaring thy soul beneath, with these words we
open thy cage, and allow thee entrance into our home.
The bird watches the carriage rumble along, its shadow extending into the flower fields
beyond, an extraordinary display of life for someone so close to their end.
The gates stare back at him from atop his insightful perch above the world and with the crashing waves below, salt water is whipped into a white frost, decorating the sharp rocks with an enchanting gleam.
He can see, even from afar, the edges of the girl's deep brown hair, peeking out through the carriage's opening door.
If there is a writer you'd like me to study, let me know in the comments!
As always, links to my research can be found below and I'll see you next time!
P.S., remember to follow my Substack, which is linked here: https://substack.com/@mayadietrich7.
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