July 8, 2026
Easy Now
I want to provide an update to my post from early May which was a point at which hammering out the first draft of a novel was feeling like smashing my head against a brick wall—painful and not fun. After writing an entire novel last year that turned out to be nothing (mercifully! because I never want to have to look at it again!), I was more than a little concerned that was just the way I did things now, which did not seem like the best use of time. But I am happy to report that my current writing project really does seem to be otherwise.
I had to break my cardinal rule of first drafts to get to this point though, which is a reminder that even the best rules have their limits. And that rule, for first drafts, was JUST KEEP GOING, GET TO THE END, but by 52,000 words into the manuscript, it was clear that I hadn’t built sufficient threads into the narrative to sustain the story. And so I went back to the beginning, in fact I wrote two entire chapters that take place before that beginning, and I added all kinds of points, scenes and details that flesh the story out. I was also making a common error I see in my manuscript consultation clients’ work, which is exploring disconnection between two characters by having them share no common points at all. But like, if the characters are already so disconnected that no connection can be elucidated, then who cares, right? No, the stakes arrive when the threads are there, even if they’re just barely hanging on. Or when you bring two characters into the same room but they might as well be a million miles apart.
The story was lying really flat in May, and part of my objective in going back to the beginning was adding motion, movement. My original opening scene took place in the morning, as the sun rose, but that is boring and cliched. The new opening scene features my character in the middle of eating her lunch at her desk in her office (which is prohibited) when she is interrupted by a senior staff member with an urgent request, and now all of a study there are stakes, momentum, ongoingness. The story had been missing its energy, its driving force, but it’s there now, and so is the humour. I honestly have no idea how to write funny, and certainly a story that’s flat is going to make humour even harder to come by, but I’ve managed to conjure it, and it’s delightful.
I had a goal of finishing my first draft by the end of July, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. I’m still going through that first first draft, adding substance and details to it, and I’m only 2/3 of the way through. But I’m getting somewhere, and even better, I am having fun.
July 2, 2026
Post Pub Aftermath
In February and March, I wrote a lot about trying to release a book in a way that didn’t wreck me, about doing a better job of staying sane and balanced through the whole experience, and for the most part, I think, I pulled it off. Which I was able to do partly because I felt terrifically boosted—my publisher was pushing my novel, they wanted the book to succeed as much as I did, there was a team of talented people working on the sales and marketing effort. I had fun, and got to have some fantastic adventures and events, living out author dreams (signing copies on display in New York City! Never mind that there were only two bookstores stocking my book in New York City! Because there were two bookstores stocking my book in New York City! And I was there for an actual book event. This is the the stuff they put on vision boards, so the caveats don’t count.)
The ridiculous thing about me is that every time I’ve released a book, I’ve been sure it will appear on the bestseller list. And I’m grateful to have been bestowed with a sense of underlying confidence, one that means I am often disappointed, but it’s not the worst way to move around in the world. And I will admit that as I was planning for my book to be a bestseller, I was grappling with how that would factor with my project of having this book launch be different. Like, OBVIOUSLY, if my book is a massive success, I’m not going to be able to take much credit for getting through the experience in a positive way, you know? (What a quandary!) So in a way (silver linings!) it was useful to not be a massive success. (Phew. Dodged a bullet there!) I don’t follow sales numbers avidly, but the book did well enough upon release. It was gratifying to see it appear slip onto the Canadian indie bestseller list. Sale have fallen off since then, which is to expected, and I think I’ve done a better job than in the past of riding this wave in a sensible way, though not sensible enough to have given up on my unrealistic expectations.
The last while has been a little tough though, as the novel fades from readers’ attention, but I was expecting that. The thing about lighter books is that they’re meant to be more ephemeral, for the moment instead of for all time, to borrow a notion from Carol Shields’ novel Unless, about a writer whose work was on the lighter side. As with the bestseller lists, I have high hopes for posterity (who is to say the Nobel Prize might not be calling!), but I keep all this tempered, which is easy when I remember how lucky I’ve been.
But still, the aftermath of publication is a weird time. In the New York “Book Gossip” newsletter, I could relate when Daniel Lavery explains, “As with anything, the reality comes up against the ideal. In the immediate aftermath of a book, there’s a growling unfitness to be around other people. Why are you not all putting me up on your shoulders? I’m aware that when something good happens, I will often slot quickly into rage if I’m not careful about maintaining a more useful mind-set. I’m aware that I will become a bad person for a few weeks. I will become grasping and desperate and vindictive and I will attempt to cover all of that up with an appearance of uncomplicated good cheer and ease. I know that it will pass.”
The one thing I was not remotely prepared for a bout of post-publication anxiety/shame. I went through it when my first novel came out, back when I didn’t understand my anxiety at all (which must have been really hard!), and I wasn’t prepared for it to happen again. I thought maybe this stage was a phase I’d aged out of, but I think I only skipped it with my second and third books by never having my novels receive much attention at all and drowning in the shame of that. This time, having made it through the publication period with my spirits in tact, I thought I’d get off scot-free, but no!
My anxiety has been running high on a general level anyway, and it’s definitely connected to my hormones, but a couple of weeks ago, it jumped into overdrive, and everything just felt terrible. I felt like everyone has made at me, that I’d disappointed everyone, that I’d messed up somehow. It relates, I think, to what Lavery’s question about feeling perpetually lifted up. It wasn’t happening now—why not? It was all on me, and I felt so terribly exposed, vulnerable, walking around like a human bruise, ugly and purple. Embarrassing,
I knew it would pass, but also it was awful and unexpected, both familiar and strange. And a reminder that completely smooth roads are a lot to ask of anything, but like with the darn bestseller list, I really do keep my expectations high. It’s accepting the reality of otherwise that is the trick, but I like to think I’m getting better at that somewhat.
May 19, 2026
Immortality is Perhaps Unreasonable
I wrote this last Wednesday, and it appears in my latest ENTHUSIASMS newsletter. You can subscribe to ENTHUSIASMS here!
I’m writing this message on a train, somewhere between Belleville and Kingston, en-route to the first of two sold-out events this week which will cap off my spring of abundant book promotion (which started here). Which is the way I’m choosing to frame things, even though I’m relatively sure that my presence is not the reason why these events have proven popular, but I’m pleased to be hitched to success however I can manage it; one mustn’t quibble. And I’ve had a very good time this spring, almost all of my events well-attended (or well-enough), every one of them fun and inspiring, opportunities to connect, a good use of my time.
And I’ve been thinking a lot about publishing a book and what it means, and what we can expect expect from the experience, concluding that immortality is perhaps unreasonable. If it sounds like I’m being facetious, I’m not.
In his most recent book, Time Management for Mortals, Oliver Burkeman wrote about reading and rivers in a way that shifted so many things for me, about holding on, and letting go, about relinquishing control, and being free. And what he wrote was that we must think of our to-be-read piles as a river of reading rolling by that we can dip into, instead of a more imposing project that requires completion. There is no completion, there is no arrival. We’ll never do it all, and so accepting that—and that this singular moment in time is what actually matters, what you’re doing now instead of what you’ve done or what you still need to do—is to release the weight of the world from our shoulders.
I’ve been thinking about the books I’ve written in a similar way, accepting the transience of it all. Which came about when I was perusing my blog archives from 20 years ago and found reviews of books I loved and had thought deeply about at the time and which I can no longer remember having read or even knowing about at all. And accepting the same about my own books—that many people will never ever read them, and that even those who do and love them might not hold my books forever—is actually fine, and I don’t have to beat myself up for my books’ ephemerality, because all books are ephemeral (all THINGS are ephemeral), even the SERIOUS LITERARY BOOKS written by the pen of men, or the runaway bestsellers that years later turn up as boxes upon boxes at library book sales.
And maybe this is an easier fact to accept when it’s accompanied by a feeling that my novel has had a warm welcome into the world, that it’s found its way into the hands of readers through avenues outside my control, that I don’t necessarily need to orchestrate everything, that when I say I’m willing to let it go, I actually realize that this isn’t synonymous with “let it disappear.”
I used to celebrate my book birthdays. I used to bake a chocolate pie in honour of my first novel. And at a certain point this ritual stopped being meaningful to me, and I realized that it was me trying to cling to some intangible thing, and eventually I stopped clinging.
May 8, 2026
When It Isn’t Easy
I’m writing a novel right now, and I’m having a hard time. When I’m writing first drafts, I’m usually firmly wedded to forward momentum, just get to the end already, but things have gone off the rails a bit where I’m at, 52 000 words. Or maybe I’m still on those rails but the rails aren’t properly fastened to any foundation, and the narrative is all over the place, and/or no place at once. There’s not a proper focus, a proper through-line, I don’t know my secondary characters well enough, the narrative has disparate elements that need to be pulled together. There are some fundamental mysteries that I need to solve before I’m ready for this story to get where it’s going, and so I’ve gone back to the start for rewriting and reweaving—and I’m really just overwhelmed.
Part of this is because Definitely Thriving flowed so easily, and I was conscious as I was writing that this was something special, and I really feel the absence of that ease this time. Although there was so much ease that I don’t properly feel like I wrote the book at all, instead it poured out of me like magic, and I’m not really sure how to do that conjuring trick again, which is terrifying. And finally, I’m scared because I spent last year writing a story that was never going to turn into anything, and once I stopped writing it, I was just so grateful to be done, and now I’m just nervous that this will be how it goes now, me driving my creative truck straight into a brick wall over and over again.
Next week, I am taking part in a very cool storytelling event produced by the Museum of Toronto called “Toronto Confessions: Love it or Hate It” (tickets on sale now!), an opportunity I said yes to because it was just so damn cool, in really exciting company, the sort of thing I’m always not-so-secretly jealous that I’m not constantly being asked to do. But it’s totally not in my wheelhouse, so far out of my comfort zone. A different kind of story making than I’m used to, with different narrative tools and structure, and I’d have to memorize it all—is my brain even capable of this? I really wasn’t sure. And as I began to put my presentation together, I was so afraid that I’d only embarrass myself, that I wasn’t cut out for this. It’s not very often these days that I try something new.
Except that lately I’ve been trying new things a little more often, my springtime so far filled with travel to new cities, brand new twists in schedule and routines, even just little things that challenge me and make me realize that my capacity might be greater than I think (except for the days when I’m really tired). I don’t want to jinx my presentation next Thursday, and I’m still terrified that I’m going to make an ass of myself, but it’s looking more likely that I will show up and be basically adequate (and hopefully better). It’s been fascinating to make something new, to start from nothing and learn how the pieces fit, how to structure and edit my ideas in a new format, even if it’s been super scary, like walking a tightrope without a safety net. Because how do I really know I can do it? But then I figure it out, and realize I’m starter than I think.
Like maybe even smart enough to figure out how to write this novel? And maybe instead of letting the difficulty become my atmosphere, the air I breathe, I can see this tricky phase as part of the process, a tangle to be unknotted, a problem to be solved.
How do I really know I can do it? (GULP)
I don’t. Until I do. (Or at least I hope I will!)
March 30, 2026
This Book Launch Will Be Different
It’s been a busy month! Read all about it (if you’re a paid subscriber) here and find out the answer to the question I’ve long wondered about, “Is it possible to launch a book and not lose my mind?”
February 24, 2026
Standing on the Edge
I’m writing this post from the airport where I’ve arrived much too early for my flight to Pittsburgh, where I’ll be attending the American Booksellers’ Association’s Winter Institute, an opportunity I’m so excited about—can you think of better company? And for me, this is the beginning of Book Promo season, a season that’s actually going to be pretty busy. We’re also taking a family trip to the UK in early April, a trip I booked around potential book events, which I felt a little embarrassed about at the time, because who was to say that such events would even come to pass? But they have, they really have, a string of occasions that I could (and no doubt will) line up in a row and call my “book tour,” as though I were R.F. Kuang or Sarah J. Maas. And I feel lucky for all these things to look forward to, for all these opportunities to meet readers and sell books. When I published my first novel almost ten years ago, I just took for granted that these were the sorts of things that just happened, but they don’t always. (And to be honest, even when they do, readers and book sales are never guaranteed. It’s a crapshoot.) I feel really lucky for the marketing and publicity push my publisher has put behind my book—the creativity, intelligence, and care has been astounding. Every author should be this fortunate.
And being able to line up events like this, a quasi book tour—of course celebrating these opportunities is important, but underlying this celebration is an uncomfortable feeling like I’m trying to prove something with them. Look at me, here’s living proof of my substance and importance, that I’m legit. Posting my “Book Tour” schedule like it’s no big thang, as though I’m the kind of person this sort of opportunity happens to (but oh, it’s such a big thang. I’m so so grateful and so so pleased, because I’ve experienced a book launch to CRICKETS and it wasn’t great.) The same way I feel compelled to line up my four published novels (my fourth novel is not officially out YET, but it’s slowly trickling its way into the world. Official pub date is March 17!) and exclaim to the world, “Look what I’ve done! Four entire novels. Maybe this author thing is not just a ridiculous fluke after all.”
As though the four books and the list of events add up to something more than what they are, as though they prove something about my worth, my worthiness—as a writer and a human both. And this is what I’m resisting, what I’ve been working on shrugging off since my last book came out three years ago and it almost wrecked me. All these things are wonderful, but they also mean nothing. This is my moment to shine, but also nobody cares, and neither point necessarily cancels the other, and being able to hold all of this at the very same time might very well be the key to not losing my mind.
February 17, 2026
How to Stay Humble
(This essay was first published in my latest Pickle Me This Digest ENTHUSIASMS newsletter, along with a lot of other great stuff. If you’d like to receive the newsletter free to your inbox every month, sign up here!)
I went to a bookshop a couple of weeks ago, and brought along an advance copy of Definitely Thriving to pass to the bookseller behind the counter, which might not be the done thing, but why not, I thought? And so after buying a stack of books, I handed her mine, and said, “I’m an author. You’ve stocked my books in the past, and I wanted to let you know about my latest.” She visibly recoiled, and shouted, “NO!” “I mean, you don’t have to take it,” I said. “I just thought somebody here might like to read it.” This back and forth went on for what felt like 500 years, and then she seemed to realize that it was an advanced copy, and consented to accept it. “I can’t sell this in the shop though,” she said, and I replied, “Well, I kind of hope that you wouldn’t?”
“Wow, that was rough,” said my kids, once we were out of the shop and back in the car. “Are you okay?” my husband asked, but I’ve been an author long enough to know that being brought down to size on a regular basis is part of the job description. Authors are not special. Authors are a dime a dozen. Authors are basically an infestation, and booksellers have to contend with our demented desperate egos on the regular. That bookseller didn’t care about my ARC, and I know where she was coming from.
If you’ve ever had authorial dreams, I would advise you to not have these be the foundation of your self-esteem—and believe me, I’m speaking from experience.
I launched this newsletter just over two years ago during a disappointing season following the lacklustre reception of my third novel, and ever since I’ve been trying to figure out to be a creative person who will never be so tripped up and shattered by such an experience again. Initially I thought the key was to have zero hopes or expectations thereby bypassing the possibility of disappointment altogether, and then my therapist and I had to have yet another conversation about there in fact being no shortcut around having feelings, even tough ones. And then I started thinking about how important it was to want things, including success, and how to hold this balance (and not have said success be the foundation of my self-esteem). Another layer was trying to avoid the trick of convincing myself that by not hitching myself to meteoric dreams of success, such a thing would finally happen.
Most importantly, I am working hard to accept the forces that are within my control versus those which fall outside it—for example, I can indeed try to sell as many tickets as possible for my March 5 book launch, but making my novel a bestseller, say, in a way that requires buy-in by the nation’s big box bookseller entirely is outside of my purview and no amount of rearranging my books at those bookstores so the covers are facing out is going to change that. (If it could, I would have become a national bestseller a long time ago…)
It has helped that lots of lovely things are happening around the launch of Definitely Thriving, things that definitely assuage the humiliation of that bookstore accepting my ARC as though it were a used tampon. I have a packed couple of months ahead of me, and I’m grateful and excited. I’m so glad that my publisher and marketing/publicity team have worked so hard to push the book and support it. There is exciting buzz and possibility, and while I know that none of that is necessarily indicative of anything except the loveliness that it is, I have also been around enough to no that such buzz and possibility is never inevitable, it’s actually so hard to come by, and that I’m incredibly lucky to be where I am right now. (The me who was launching my previous book would have been aching with envy.)
Pema Chödrön writes about the challenge of “being big and small at the same time.” Is she a big deal? Is she small potatoes? “This was a painful experience because I was always being insulted and humiliated by my own expectations. As soon as I was sure how it should be, so I could feel secure, I would get a message that it should be the other way. Finally I said to [her teacher], “This is really hurting. I just don’t know who I’m supposed to be,” and he said, “Well, you have to learn to be big and small at the same time.”
But how does one do that exactly? Pema Chödrön has no answer, although it’s a process that all of us are ever undertaking in our own ways. As my personal fave Courtney R. Martin writes, “‘Big and small at the same time’ is a constant human condition, not an exceptional paradox.”
December 11, 2025
Castaway
“But I don’t know if you can write a book. I don’t know if I can write a book. I don’t know if I can write THIS book… A writing life, I’ve come to believe, is a yearslong process of casting away everything you once believed for sure.”
New nonfiction from Elizabeth McCracken, A LONG GAME: NOTES OF WRITING FICTION. As wonderful to read as any book by Elizabeth McCracken. I loved it so much. The least annoying book on craft you’ll ever encounter. Or maybe it’s just me, and how much I identify when she writes “(The subtext of all my writing is LOVE ME.)”
December 1, 2025
Why I Write?
New essay for paid subscribers. What is the writing life for those of us who aren’t Miriam Toews (which is most of us)? I bared my soul again! Read it here.
October 31, 2025
Dead Books
Happy Halloween! Seems like a good day to talk about DEAD BOOKS.
I went to see Lily King at the Toronto Public Library this week, which was a great experience, although it made me realize I’d been overthinking things a bit when I wrote my October essay about King’s latest, Heart the Lover, but I stand by all my exuberance. (What can I say. I’d just finished my period. It’s always a wild ride.) And one of the parts of King’s conversation with Claire Cameron that I particularly enjoyed was when she mentioned her “dead books,” in particular the novel she’d been writing in 2020 before Heart the Lover walked in and stole the show. It was a book about a dead senator, and it opened with a body, and she’d really loved writing about that dead body…until she didn’t anymore. And she says that there are people who ask her about this book now, “Aren’t you sad?” That she’d put all this work into a project that never went anywhere, a book that will never see the light of the day.
And she said that she wasn’t sad at all. In fact, she was thrilled, because she didn’t want to work on that novel anymore, and this reminded me of the relief I felt at the beginning of this month, having just completed a marathon in September to nearly double the length of my manuscript, writing 2000 words a day. Reaching 70,000 words total, and all I could think when I was finished was, “Oh, wow! I never need to work on that story again.” Which seems a bit foolish, I know, to have spent all that time in September working on the book, but if I hadn’t, I might never have known. And I needed to know. Even though I think I knew already, but I really had to know for sure.
I started writing a new book last week—it’s 1462 words right now. (See more about my mountain here.) And while it’s early days (and early words), and while that word count does seem paltry compared to 70,000, I’m so happy to be writing it, and I’ve got no qualms about the dead book behind me. Which might be resurrected one day when I’m finally ready to write it properly, but it doesn’t have to be. I know that I will learned a thing or two from writing/failing to write that dead book. I know too that I wasn’t in a position to write the book I’m writing now (the fun book, the living book) until I’d spent time going through the final edits of Definitely Thriving, which put me deep into that book and made me realize just how much I want to write another set in the same universe.
Our dead books don’t have to haunt us, is what I’m really saying here. And when they don’t, that only underlines how much they were never meant to be.
