I'll write teen stories as long as people will let me. I'll also

Hear the words of Stephanie Savage, who proclaimed with both devotion and anticipation: “I’ll write teen stories as long as people will let me. I’ll also be excited for the day when I’m told I can no longer write teen stories.” At first, her words may sound paradoxical—why would one who loves a craft also look forward to its end? Yet within this paradox lies the wisdom of an artist who knows that every calling has its season, and that both the beginning and the ending of a journey carry their own blessings.

To write teen stories is to hold a mirror to the most tempestuous years of life. It is to capture the struggles of identity, the storms of love, the weight of expectation, and the fragile hope of becoming. Savage’s devotion to this work shows her understanding of its importance. For though many dismiss tales of youth as trivial, they are in truth the crucibles where human character is formed. To give voice to those years is to guide not only the young who live them, but also the older who remember them. She declares her loyalty to this task with joy: she will write them “as long as people will let” her.

Yet her second confession carries equal strength. She will be “excited for the day” when her time with teen stories is done. Why? Because the artist knows that life itself is composed of chapters, and no single chapter lasts forever. Just as the youth must one day leave childhood behind, so too must the writer eventually set aside one realm of storytelling for another. To anticipate that ending with excitement is to honor the truth that endings are not deaths, but transformations.

History speaks of this wisdom. Consider the career of Sophocles, who began his work writing tragedies about young warriors and the fiery conflicts of youth, but in his later years turned to subtler tales of old kings, of aging, of wisdom and decline. He did not cling to one subject forever, but allowed the seasons of his art to mirror the seasons of his life. So too does Savage embrace the dual truth: she loves the work she does now, and she welcomes the day when the world calls her to another story.

Her words also contain humility. For she acknowledges that her calling is not hers alone to decide—“as long as people will let me.” The artist creates for the people as much as for herself, and when the people no longer hunger for her stories of youth, she will not resist. This is not defeat, but grace: to know when a season has ended, to step aside when the time is right, and to embrace new paths without bitterness. Such humility is itself a mark of wisdom, and a teaching for all who cling too tightly to what was meant only for a time.

The lesson for us is this: embrace both passion and impermanence. Pour your soul into the work or season that calls you now, as Savage pours herself into teen stories. But do not fear the day when that season ends. Instead, welcome it, for it will open the door to new growth. Do not cling to what has passed its time, for in doing so, you miss the beauty of what comes next.

And so, let Stephanie Savage’s words guide you: love what you do with all your strength, but hold it lightly. Work with passion in the present, yet prepare your heart for the future’s transformation. For every story has its beginning, its middle, and its end. And when one story closes, another waits to be written. The wisdom is not in clinging, but in flowing, like the river that never resists its course. Thus, live and create with joy in the season you are in—and with courage to step into the season yet to come.