Books That Inspire Me as a Writer

Every writer has those books.

The ones that don’t just entertain you but quietly rewire your brain. The ones that make you close the book, stare into the middle distance, and think, Well. I guess this is part of my personality now.

These are the stories that shaped my imagination long before I knew exactly what I wanted to write. They taught me how fantasy could feel—how it could ache, swoon, brood, and burn. And looking back, I can see their fingerprints all over my work… and especially all over the stories I’m building next.

So today, I want to share a few of the books and series that currently inspire me most as a writer—not just what I love about them as a reader, but what I’ve learned from them, and how they shape the stories I’m telling now (and the ones waiting just beyond the horizon 👀).

Throne of Glass

(The series that made fantasy feel inevitable)

If you ask me where my love of fantasy truly locked into place, Throne of Glass is the answer.

This series didn’t just entertain me—it trained me. It showed me what long-form character arcs could look like when handled with patience and intention. Watching Celaena (no spoilers here) grow, fracture, harden, and heal across the series felt earned in a way that stuck with me.

What I admired most wasn’t just the action or the magic (though both are excellent), but the way character development drives everything. The plot grows because the characters grow. The stakes escalate because the emotional wounds deepen.

As a writer, this series taught me that characters can be deeply flawed and still magnetic, that slow burns pay off when you trust them, and that emotional continuity matters across books.

It also taught me something crucial: readers will follow you anywhere if they trust the characters.

That lesson is foundational to how I approach my own work—especially when I think about long arcs, morally complicated choices, and characters who aren’t always sure they’re doing the right thing… but do it anyway.

Quicksilver

(Sharp dialogue, dangerous charm, and a hero who won’t leave me alone)

Let’s talk about dialogue.

The Quicksilver series reminded me how much power lives in a well-placed line. The conversations snap. The banter crackles. Every exchange reveals something about control, vulnerability, and the emotional chess match between characters.

And then there’s Kingfisher.

I won’t pretend otherwise: he has lodged himself firmly in my creative brain. His quiet confidence, sharp restraint, and underlying danger have absolutely influenced the hero I’m writing next (hello, Zeph 👋).

What I took away as a writer:

• dialogue should reveal power dynamics, not just personality

• silence can be as telling as words

• a compelling hero doesn’t need to shout to command a room

  
  

This series reinforced my love for characters who say less than they mean—and mean more than they say. That kind of tension is something I’m very intentionally weaving into my next project, especially in the way romance unfolds under pressure.

A Court of Thorns and Roses

(Swoon, spectacle, and emotional devastation—affectionately)

Obviously, ACOTAR had to be on this list.

This series taught me that romance in fantasy doesn’t have to be secondary—it can be the beating heart of the story. The emotional stakes matter just as much as the battles, if not more. I would argue that it’s the founding of the romantasy genre, and since that’s what I’m writing next, OF COURSE we’re going to talk about it!

And Rhysand. Look. I won’t pretend I’m neutral here. Rhys for life. Always.

What ACOTAR gave me as a writer was permission to lean into longing, to let love be transformative, and to let intimacy be powerful. (Spice is a separate issue, which I’ll probably do a blog post about later—especially when it comes to my plans for my next project, and how spice will play into that.)

This series showed me that romance doesn’t weaken a story—it deepens it. That emotional vulnerability can be just as compelling as magic or war.

That lesson is one I’m carrying forward in a big way. The stories I’m building now are rooted in connection, trust, and the slow unraveling of guarded hearts. If you love romances that bloom under impossible circumstances… you might want to keep an eye on what’s coming next.

The Knight and the Moth

(Atmosphere you can feel in your bones)

This book surprised me—and then refused to let go.

The Knight and the Moth excels at something I deeply admire: atmosphere. The world feels heavy with history, shadowed by secrets, and just slightly off-kilter in a way that keeps you leaning forward.

The gothic elements aren’t flashy. They’re subtle. Restrained. And because of that, they linger.

As a writer, it reminded me that tone is a form of storytelling, that mystery doesn’t need immediate answers, and that darkness can be quiet—and still terrifying. I’ve found myself returning to this influence again and again as I shape my next world. There’s something intoxicating about letting the setting breathe, letting the shadows speak, and trusting readers to sense when something isn’t quite right.

Expect a little more gothic flavor in my upcoming work—more mood, more tension, more spaces that feel ancient and watchful.

The Thread That Ties Them Together

Looking at these books side by side, I see a clear pattern in what I love—and what I strive to create.

These stories all prioritize:

• character-driven storytelling

• emotional stakes over spectacle

• immersive worlds that feel lived-in

  
  

They trust the reader. They allow stories to unfold slowly. They aren’t afraid of quiet moments, difficult choices, or complicated relationships.

That’s the kind of fantasy I want to write.

Stories where power has a cost, love changes people, worlds carry scars, and characters are shaped as much by restraint as by action.

If that sounds like something you enjoy… well. Let’s just say the next chapter of my writing life leans hard into those themes.

Inspiration Isn’t Imitation (It’s Translation)

One thing I’ve grown to understand as a creator (and something I still remind myself often) is that inspiration isn’t about copying—it’s about understanding what resonates with you and translating it into your own voice.

I don’t want to write these authors’ stories. I want to write mine—but stronger, deeper, and more intentional because of what I learned from them.

Every time a book makes my chest ache, makes me laugh out loud, or makes me underline a line just to stare at it later, I take note. Those reactions are clues. They’re teaching me what kind of writer I want to be.

Final Thoughts

The books that inspire us don’t just shape our taste—they shape our courage. They show us what’s possible. They remind us why we fell in love with stories in the first place.

These books will continue to help me build worlds, break characters, write romance that matters, and trust slow-burning tension. They influence the stories I’m telling now—and the ones waiting just beyond the page.

So if you see echoes of sharp dialogue, brooding heroes, gothic shadows, or romance forged under pressure in my future work… now you know where it started.

And trust me—this is only the beginning.