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The Cliff’s Edge: Why I Write Stories That Hurt, Heal, and Haunt

  • Writer: Tanya Madsen
    Tanya Madsen
  • Aug 9
  • 4 min read

The Cliff’s Edge: Why I Write Stories That Hurt, Heal, and Haunt



A collage of dramatic cliffside film images from The Last of the Mohicans, showing a grieving character holding an injured person, close‑ups of a young woman in distress, and final shots of her stepping off a cliff into a vast mountain landscape.
Delicious Heartbreak

There’s a moment in Last of the Mohicans that has lived inside me for decades. The younger daughter stands on the edge of a cliff, the music rising like a heartbeat. She looks at the man who intends to take her. His hand outstretched. Then back at the chasm behind her.

She hesitates.

She chooses.

She jumps.


A scene from The Last of the Mohicans.
Watch the movie. You won't regret it!

That scene carved itself into me.

That breath‑held, soul‑splitting moment is my benchmark for a great story. The kind that reaches into your chest and squeezes until you can’t speak. The kind that leaves you stunned, shaken, and changed.


It’s the feeling I chase when I read.

It’s the feeling I strive to create when I write.


A wooden display with colorful square cards spelling out “Normal Is Boring,” arranged on small shelves beneath a header that reads “Quote of the Day.”
So true. So true.

Book Two of my Somewhere Aching Series ends on that same cliff’s edge. Heartbreak sharpened to a point, emotional stakes sky‑high, the kind of ending that leaves you staring at the wall afterward. I write the stories I’ve spent years searching for but rarely find anymore: fiction with depth, fiction with teeth, fiction that isn’t afraid to hurt a little on its way to healing.


And honestly, it makes me sad.

Most books I’ve read in the last decade blur together — plots interchangeable, characters forgettable, stakes paper‑thin. Why don’t we demand emotional depth in fiction? Has it fallen out of fashion, or has it simply become rare?


I read to feel something real.

And now I write for the same reason.


My stories aren’t sprawling epics. My plots are simple. I don’t believe in twists for the sake of shock. They’re often a distraction from genuine character development. My work is driven by arcs, by psychology, by realism.


I carry two fears with me every time I publish: being vulnerable and being misunderstood.


A black‑and‑white image of a person extending their hand toward the camera in a stop gesture, with their face blurred in the background.
Please don't look too close!

The vulnerability is the hardest. Putting your emotional marrow on the page is risky. It hurts when someone dismisses it, misunderstands it, or rejects it.


When I reread my own work, I experience a strange creative dissociation; the emotions hit me like a wave, and I find myself wondering, did I really write that?

And if so… why?



White paper cutouts shaped like human heads, each marked with a question mark, surrounding a single red figure that stands out from the group.
Honestly, I have no idea why.

Then there’s the fear of being misunderstood.

Do I advocate abuse?

No.

I write about the complexity of loving someone who has hurt you. A reality many people know intimately but rarely see portrayed with honesty.


Martha loves Nicolas even though he abducts her and nearly kills her. She sees the brokenness inside him.

Judith loves Justin even though he controls her, manipulates her, traps her. She clings to the hope that he can be better, that she can be enough.


This kind of love is a double‑edged sword. Dangerous, human, and painfully relatable. We’re told to be strong, to walk away, to put ourselves first. But real relationships aren’t always clean. Trauma bonds exist. Compassion complicates everything. And I want to explore that complexity, guide readers through it, and ultimately teach my characters how to save themselves.


Two lines from my series capture this truth:


“This was the very definition of misery: loving your abuser.”

“He would always have a place in her heart. Even if he had burned a hole right through it.”


A dramatic abstract artwork showing a burst of motion and color, with cool blue and gray streaks on one side blending into vivid red and magenta on the other.
Let's start a revolution of the heart.

I want to believe there is still space in the world for deep, devastating, emotionally honest stories. In a landscape where books are often written to be consumed like junk food, it feels impossible sometimes.

But I keep writing.

I keep hoping.


There must be at least a few souls who crave what I crave: the ache, the catharsis, the emotional cliff’s edge.


And if you’re one of them, I hope with all my heart that my stories find you.



Join my ARC!


Book Four of the Somewhere Aching Series, "A Karma to Kill For," is soon to be released in September 2026. If you are interested in joining my ARC circle — a small group of readers who get early access to my upcoming books — you can read Book 4 ahead of release and share your thoughts on Goodreads whenever you’re ready. No deadlines, no pressure — just stories and early access.


This link will take you to the ARC sign-up where you can download the e-book:



Then I will send you the link to the ARC for "A Karma to Kill For." I will include downloads for the previous books in the series as well, but Book Four can be read with a basic overview of the story so far.



Stay close to the story.


If you want more writing reflections, behind‑the‑scenes notes, early book news, and the quiet thoughts I don’t share anywhere else, join my weekly newsletter. It’s where the real conversations happen — honest, unfiltered, and straight from my writing desk to your inbox.



Subscribe and come a little closer.



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