When I was 12 years old, I sat in a dark cinema and watched The Empire Strikes Back for the first time. I never recovered—and I mean that in the best possible way. It became my all-time favorite film, and it’s shaped the way I think about stories ever since.

To mark its 45th anniversary this week, I asked myself:
What if that story—of hope, betrayal, and impossible odds—took place in the medieval Irish fantasy world of my upcoming novel?

The result is The Dark Mage Strikes Back: a two-part homage filled with icy landscapes, shadowy visions, desperate flights, swan-dragons in aerial battle, and a chilling confrontation between a young squire and a dark mage with secrets of blood and betrayal. All set against the backdrop of misty monasteries and ancient ruins where story magic stirs—and nothing is ever as it seems.

Listen to part 1 today, and read the final version of the story on my Substack: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/the-dark-mage-strikes-back-part-i

New Story: A Cup of Hope and a Slice of Heaven
The cozy tavern where no brew will ever be the same, and neither will you.

Somewhere along an old pilgrimage road in the Irish hills, there’s a crooked little cottage with a creaky door, a glowing hearth, and the scent of cinnamon and pine. Most travelers pass it by.

But those who step inside find something more than a warm drink and a fresh scone.

They find healing.
They find stories.
They find each other.

In today’s short story, I invite you into A Cup of Hope and a Slice of Heaven—a cozy fantasy tale about a magical tavern run by two mysterious hosts, where time flows differently, brews are made with memory and mercy, and the warmth you receive might just be the beginning of something new you pass on.

So grab your favorite mug, settle in, and listen closely.
There’s a knock at the door—and someone is about to step inside.

☕✨

In today's episode, I share the original version of a children's story I made up about a poodle and a chihuahua in Rome. The poodle's owner is a tradition-loving cardinal, whereas the chihuahua is the dog of a chef who one day decides to start experimenting with unconventional pizza toppings.

The dogs go on an adventure in the streets of Rome that ultimately end up affecting their owners as well.

The final version of the story will be part of my upcoming children's book about the animals of Rome. You can read it on my Substack: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/the-prelate-the-poodle-and-the-pizza

There’s a moment in The Ballad of Phil and Phyllis—a TikTok song about an immortal groundhog and his mortal love—when the music quiets, and Phil sings of watching everything fade while he stays the same. The fame, the crowds, the shadow he casts… none of it matters when the one you love is slipping away.

That moment hit me hard.

I didn’t expect to tear up over a musical groundhog ballad. But I did. Because this wasn’t just a clever spin on Punxsutawney Phil’s quirky legend. It was about something deeper: the ache of holding on when good things pass. The bittersweet beauty of something fleeting. The quiet question we all carry—What do you do when the person, the season, the joy you loved is gone, and you’re still here?

Oliver Richman, the songwriter behind this unexpected viral masterpiece, writes a new song every day. And somehow, on day 34, he struck gold. TikTok exploded with duets, reactions, and extensions of the story. Another songwriter, Brett Boles, even composed a companion song from Phyllis’s perspective, adding layers of longing and love. Soon a full studio version was recorded—with orchestrations, vocals by Broadway performers, and a music video. Fans (myself included) are now dreaming of a full-blown musical.

Because this song does something incredible. It walks straight into the sorrow of goodbye, and yet somehow… it leaves you with hope. Not a cheap, sugar-coated kind, but the kind that whispers: Love doesn’t end. Memory matters. Something remains.

As a priest and a writer, I’ve seen that truth echoed in so many lives—in grief, in farewells, in faith. And when I heard this song, it felt like a story I already knew, deep down. That’s why I couldn’t help myself. I wrote a short story inspired by Phil and Phyllis. It’s not a retelling, but an homage—a thank you to Oliver Richman, whose creativity and honesty opened a space for all of us to feel something true.

This is the recording I made on my bike of the original draft. You can read the final, polished version here: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/nothings-supposed-to-live-forever

What if your imagination had power?
Not metaphorical power—the real kind. The kind that calls lightning when you expect rain. That conjures monsters when you picture danger. That makes the world tremble at the sound of your worst-case scenarios.

That’s the idea behind today’s short story: The Boy Who Cried Dragons.

It’s a tale I told in one go—no script, no editing, just my imagination and a microphone. And yet, it may be one of the most personal stories I’ve ever told.

Why?

Because Glenn, the main character, isn’t just a scared kid on a bad day.
He’s every one of us on a bad day.

You know that feeling. When anxiety spirals. When you overthink something into the ground. When your mind runs simulations of everything that could go wrong—and it starts to feel real.
That’s Glenn. Except in his world, the more he fears something… the more likely it is to show up.

It starts small: a storm, a little rejection, a shadow on the horizon.
But as his fear grows, so do the consequences. Until one day, he whispers the word “dragon”—and the sky hears him.

What I love about this story isn’t just the dragons, or the monastery drama, or the mysterious island (though all of that’s in there).
It’s the twist.
Not the twist in the plot—but the twist in the soul.

The realization that maybe what’s haunting us isn’t fate or punishment… but our own voice, echoing louder than we thought.

And the cure?
Well, I won’t spoil it. But it might involve butterflies.

What does it take to become a saint?

That’s the question at the heart of today’s story—and one very small mouse is determined to find out. Born behind a cabinet in the sacristy of Saint Peter’s Basilica, Topolino has a dream that’s bigger than crumbs or cheese: he wants to stand among the saints.

In this whimsical (and slightly dangerous) tale set inside the Vatican, you’ll meet:

• 🐭 A mouse with holy ambition

• 🐱 A velvet-pawed cat named Don Purrleone

• 👩‍🍳 A kitchen nun with excellent aim

• ⛪ And a crowd of pilgrims with smartphones

What begins as a noble quest takes a few... unexpected turns. Because as it turns out, the road to sainthood may include sardines, Swiss Guards, and the occasional narrow escape.

Inspired by a real conversation I once had in the Vatican with a priest from the Dicastery for the Causes of Saints, this story blends comedy, curiosity, and catechesis in equal measure.

🎙️ Listen now to discover:

• Why Don Purrleone might not be the best spiritual director

• How sainthood actually works

• And whether even the smallest creature can dream of great things

I hope it makes you smile—and maybe even think.

You can read the final version of the story on my Substack!

This week, on May 16, we celebrated the feast of Saint Brendan the Navigator, the Irish monk whose sea voyages became the stuff of both Christian devotion and mythic imagination. He’s often remembered for his legendary journey across the Atlantic—possibly even reaching the shores of North America centuries before Columbus.

But saints don’t start out as legends. They begin, like all of us, with small steps. Quiet questions. A restless heart.

While I was in Ireland, I had the joy of speaking with Fr. Conor McDonough OP, who radiates love for the early Irish saints. He helped me rediscover Saint Brendan—not just as a wild adventurer, but as a man of deep prayer and profound trust in God's guidance.

He also reminded me that Brendan’s story still speaks today—especially when we’re unsure of the path ahead.

Not long after, I came across a beautiful article by Thomas Salerno, which nudged me to sit down and write. What would Brendan's first adventure have been like? The one that lit the fire in his heart long before he ever saw the open sea?

This week’s podcast episode features a brand-new short story I wrote to honor Saint Brendan’s feast day. It imagines the saint as a young boy, setting off on his first little voyage—not across oceans, but across a river near home.

There’s wonder, danger, treasure, a strange creature, and a tug toward something deeper.
And at the heart of it, the seed of a calling.

If you prefer reading to listening, you can read the full story here

Why I came up with this story.

I worry about what we’re handing our children.

Not just phones and tablets, but the digital realms they open: worlds that begin by adding to life, but slowly start to replace it. Curated, addictive, relentless.

Social media promises fun, connection, identity. And at first, that’s exactly what it delivers.

But too often, it becomes something else. The games become rules. The rules become pressure. And the pressure becomes performance.

Behind it all? Powerful, faceless companies making fortunes from borrowed joy.

I’ve seen young people—and let’s be honest, I do it too—pour time and attention into platforms that feed on us. I’ve seen creativity traded for trends. Laughter replaced by comparison. Rest devoured by endless scrolling.

It’s exhausting. And yet, we can’t seem to stop. Because these systems are designed to keep us playing.

So I created a story.

It’s fantasy, yes. But it’s also a parable. One where a clever game offers strength and status, but slowly reshapes its players. Offers masks that promise prestige, but hide your face. Gives power, but takes more.

And the way out? It doesn’t require force. Just the courage to stop playing by someone else’s rules.

I hope this story speaks to you, whether you’re a parent, a teacher, or someone who’s ever felt hollow after chasing what was supposed to be fun.

We don’t have to follow the rules of a broken game. We can choose better ones.

P.S.: you can read the final, improved version of this story on my Substack: https://fatherroderick.substack.com/p/the-hollow-game