Come write live with me.

This was unexpected.

Today is the official launch day for my novel, Catchlight.

I’ve been planning for this day for months. And I’ve been dreaming of it for years.

Here’s the raw, unfiltered truth of today: I’m feeling a lot of big, messy emotions.

Grief, pain, sadness… #allthethings

I did NOT see that coming. I thought I would feel triumphant.

But I’m starting to learn that sometimes the best and most amazing blessings can land first as devastating.

The day I got the news that Catchlight won the Fairfield Book Prize and would be published, I burst into tears.

Last week, when I found out that Catchlight was featured on Good Morning America’s 12 must-read books for October, I burst into tears.

And today, of all days, the day my book is releasing, I found to my surprise that what I really wanted was to crawl into bed with a movie and have a good cry.

So that’s what I did.

Then my best friend sent me flowers. An old friend I haven’t spoken to in years sent me a beautiful email when she heard about the book.

And reviews of Catchlight began rolling in from my launch team:

“impossible to put down”

“better than 90% of the books I read from the library”

“a must-read for the dark times we’re in today”

“a captivating read”

These beautiful gems landed like love punches on my bruised heart. And you know what? I treasure even that. Because it’s all a part of real life.

I used to think that my big, messy emotions were a liability.

Unprofessional. Unbecoming. Embarrassing. Get yourself together.

This is what I know now:

My willingness to go deep into emotions that are uncomfortable as hell is my superpower.

This is what allows me to write so powerfully.

Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of Oprah’s first-ever book club pick The Deep End of the Ocean, wrote this in her blurb for Catchlight:

“In the hands of a lesser writer, Catchlight could be a soapy collection of trauma dramas; but Law’s own empathy is so acute that these characters spring to life in a book that is part love story and entirely all-engaging read.”

The training ground for empathy is deep emotion.

So perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising that release day is so emotional.

Catchlight is out in the world. I am so deeply proud of it. I hope you love this story and these characters as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Get your copy Catchlight today. It’s available from AmazonBarnes & NobleBookshop and Powell’s.

Empathy and big emotions for the win.

Catchlight exclusive updates!

Hey there loves,

Today, some exclusive updates about my novel, Catchlight, plus a new excerpt that no one else has seen yet.

First: the official release date is October 5! 53 days and counting.

Second: I’m playing with a really fun way that you can get involved and support the book release in a really big, important way. Stay tuned for more details.

Third: the interior design is finished and Catchlight will be available for pre-orders soon!

Here’s a snapshot of the title page!

Cue jumping up and down with excitement.

And here’s an excerpt for you that no one else has seen yet. Enjoy.

Chapter 3


I parked down the street from Murray’s and texted Amber. Going on my first post-divorce date.

She wrote back immediately. ???!!! WTF tell me everything!

I grinned. Later. Late.

She sent a string of celebratory emojis.

I took a deep breath. I was nervous.

And tired. I hadn’t been sleeping well since Mom’s fall. The hollows under my eyes felt as deep as thumbprints pressed in clay. I needed coffee.

The small diner was a maze of tables and chairs, with space carved out in the center for a deli case of meat and cheese and another stocked with pastries and doughnuts. The tables were plastic, painted to look like wood, and teetered against cheap diner chairs. A few booths lined up against the far wall with benches covered in powder-blue upholstery and plastic. The plate glass windows at the front showcased a spectacular view of the water.

The only patrons were blue-haired retirees—until I spotted Jonah sitting in the corner by the front window. His scrubs blended in perfectly with the booth. He saw me at the same time and stood up. “Hey,” he said, waving me over and giving me a loose hug. “Have a seat.”

I sat. And found myself tongue-tied. “You a regular?” was the only thing I could think to say.

He nodded. “I love this place. They have the best specials.” He motioned to a chalkboard by the door.

“I bet they love you. You really bring down the age demographic.”

The waitress, wearing a white apron over shorts and a polo shirt, came over and poured coffee without asking.

“Thank God,” I said as I added a creamer and took a long sip.

“Seriously,” Jonah said, adding three sugars and two creamers to his. “Oh, and sorry about the scrubs. Once upon a time I wore real clothes to go to work, until my favorite pair of jeans got stolen from my locker.”

The waitress came back and took our order. Awkwardness descended.

Jonah took a long swallow of coffee. “So. What do you do?”

“I’m a therapist.”

He nodded. “Tell me more.”

“Ha. That’s usually my line.” I hooked my hand around the warm coffee mug. “I don’t know where to start.”

“At the beginning, I guess.”

The early-morning sun poured in the window behind Jonah, glinting on gold streaks in his brown hair. His green eyes were flecked with brown, and they reminded me suddenly of my mother’s eyes. I took a deep breath. “Well, I was a psych major at NYU, and I really wanted to be a therapist. So I went for my PhD at GW. I moved back to Eastville because my whole family is here.” I took a sip of coffee. “I work at a clinic downtown.”

Jonah was smiling.


“Nothing.” He shook his head.

“Tell me.”

“Well, I asked about your work, and you gave me your résumé. Like a job interview.”

“Isn’t a first date kind of like a job interview?”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who asked me out.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry; that was a stupid thing to say.”

“Someone break your heart?” he asked, draining his coffee.

I traced the empty space on my left ring finger. “Yeah,” I said. “Someone did.”

The waitress clattered plates of eggs and home fries and bacon in front of us. Without a word she flounced off, returning with saucers piled with toast and a full pot of coffee to refill our mugs.

“How do you like being a nurse?” I asked.

Jonah folded his hands in front of him, a mock interviewee. “Well, ma’am, I did my undergraduate study and nursing school at the University of Rhode Island.” He laughed, picked up a fork, and shoveled eggs into his mouth. “You can make any Meet the Parents joke you want. I had no interest in being a doctor. I didn’t secretly ace the MCAT. I wanted to be a nurse. It’s not really that weird.”

“I’m sensing some defensiveness here,” I said.

“Just trying to stay a step ahead.”

“You didn’t really answer my question, though.” I cringed inwardly, but it was too late to take it back. “How do you like your job?”

“I enjoy taking care of people,” he said. “Of course the hours are long, some of the patients can be really difficult, and there are no other men in my position.” He laughed.

We ate in silence for a moment. The eggs were good.

“Are there rules about me being here with you?” I asked.

He looked at me steadily as he inhaled his eggs. “Yes. Rules that say I shouldn’t be.”

“And what do you think about those?”

“Well, I had no control over you kissing me, so I figured it was only polite to take you out for a meal.”

“Point well taken.”

“It must be nice to have such a big family,” Jonah said. “I’m an only child, and my mom’s remarried out in California.”

I tried to picture my life as an only child. I couldn’t.

“Why did you kiss me yesterday?” he said, his voice suddenly serious.

I picked up a plastic tub of strawberry jam, peeled back the film, and spread some on my toast. I leaned forward conspiratorially. “For your body.”

He laughed appreciatively. “Good reason.”

I couldn’t answer him seriously because I didn’t know.


Stay tuned for more…

The power of story

Stories are our lifeblood.

We teach and learn through story. We pass on what matters most to us through story. We make meaning through story.

When I was 25, I became extremely ill. No one knew what was wrong with me. My doctors were testing, among other things, to rule out multiple sclerosis and a brain tumor.

The illness would turn out to last nearly three years. During that time, I literally did not know how I would feel when I woke up in the morning. 

On some mornings, I could get up and function at about 50-60% of my previous energy levels. On other mornings, I would wake to a fatigue so severe that I could barely get out of bed for days or even a week at a time. 

At its worst, I could hardly climb a flight of stairs. I would have to stop halfway to rest.

During this time, I heard a story that would forever change me. It was from a sermon called “Don’t Stop on 6,” by Steve Furtick.

Don’t Stop on 6 is a retelling of the story of the fall of Jericho, from the Old Testament.

You may know the story: God tells Joshua that God will give the city of Jericho into the hands of the Israelites. Their instructions are not to fight, but to walk around the city once a day for six days; on the seventh day, they walk around it seven times, give a shout, and the walls of the city fall.

Here’s the kicker: Joshua gave his army their instructions one day at a time.

Soldiers who were accustomed to fighting were told to … walk around the city. Weird.

And on day 2: walk around the city. And on day 3: walk around the city.

They see no indication that what they are doing is having any effect whatsoever on their goal. They have no idea how many days they will be walking around the city.

Their vision – of taking the city – must have started to seem ridiculous.

People must have jeered at them from the wall. 

In Steve’s words: You never know when you are on the last lap. Don’t. Stop. On. Six.

I listened to this story sometimes once a week – sometimes once a day.

It reminded me that I would never know when I was on the sixth lap. I would never know when I was experiencing my last fatigue spell.

This story gave me the strength to keep walking. One day at a time. To keep seeking solutions. To try the next thing. And the next, and the next, and the next, until I found an answer that brought me back to full health.

And I did.

I didn’t stop on six. 

And the strength I found in that story, the strength it gave me to keep going, is the reason that you are reading this email. It’s the reason I was able to start a business, finish my novel, have my kids.

Stories have the power to heal.

This month inside my writing membership, Write Yourself Free, we are diving deep into the theme of narrative medicine.

Narrative medicine = finding the stories that heal.

This means extracting the poison from the stories you’ve been told and the stories that you’ve lived.

And it also means locating the stories that uphold us and carry us through hard times.

Powerful stories are like keys that unlock us from cages we didn’t know we were living in.

If you’ve been considering joining Write Yourself Free, now is the time.

This month is going to be incredibly powerful.

And also, I’m about to raise the price – probably in August. (Current members: don’t worry, you’ll continue paying your current price forever.)

>>>Join us in Write Yourself Free here.<<<

Let’s dig deep into the power of story.

And whatever challenge you’re facing right now: don’t stop on six.

TL;DR. My writing membership, Write Yourself Free, is focusing this month on the theme of narrative medicine. Narrative medicine = finding the stories that heal. If you’ve been on the fence about joining, now is the time. >>>Join Write Yourself Free here.<<<

Dollars to doughnuts {our first Catchlight excerpt!}

I recently learned that the preferred spelling of “donuts” is actually “doughnuts.”

I was reviewing copyedits for Catchlight, and because the copyeditor had corrected the spelling to “doughnuts,” I saw that my characters eat doughnuts … a lot.

It’s especially funny because I’m now gluten-free and have been for three years.

I would not change my characters’ doughnut-eating ways. And I thought that now was the perfect time to share an excerpt. 

Catchlight is narrated by two characters: Laura, a recently divorced therapist, and her brother James, alcoholic and deadbeat dad. In this scene James is going to pick up his son Jeremiah for his weekend of custody. 




I roll up to the Dunkin’ Donuts six minutes late. Ava’s already there. She’s sitting on a bench on the narrow sidewalk, sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette. Jeremiah is in the front seat of her Mercedes, two cars over from me. The only thing Ava’s ever done for me is agree not to smoke in her house or car. And I’m sure she would have done that anyway. She’s a good mom.

I, on the other hand, am not a good father. I know it. Ava knows it. And Jeremiah knows it. I have no idea what we’re supposed to do now that we all agree.

Ava stands and kisses my cheek in greeting. She’s real affectionate now that we’re not together. I inhale the scent of her: Marlboro Ultra-Light Menthols, coffee, and something vanilla that could be her body wash or maybe her perfume. She’s shorter than I am, though her Afro almost makes up for the height difference. Today she’s wearing a pink headband, making the Afro even taller. “I’m going to get my passport photo taken,” she says, apropos of nothing. “Rick is taking me to Jamaica.” She points to her head. “That’s why the headband. You can’t have any hair on your face.” She smiles. God, she’s beautiful. 

“Can I bum a cigarette?” 

She rolls her eyes but pulls a crumpled pack from her designer purse. She whacks the bottom of it against her palm a couple times, fishes out a cigarette, and hands it to me. She digs around for a lighter and I click it, the sharp crack that sparks the flame as satisfying as the first long pull. 

“Did you bring me that photo?” she asks as we smoke.

My mind is totally blank, a chalkboard that’s been erased. The door of the Dunkin’ Donuts opens and closes, breathing in caffeine seekers and exhaling customers clutching waxy paper bags and Styrofoam cups.

Ava sighs, and I remember she asked me a question. “The photo Izzy had taken of the grandkids,” she prompts. “You were supposed to bring me a copy at Christmas.”

I nod. “Right.”

“It’s July,” she says.


“I’m just going to call her myself,” she says.

I haven’t told her Mom is sick. I open my mouth, but no words come out. If she calls Izzy she’ll find out from her and be pissed at me. “I’ll bring it next time. Promise.”

She rolls her eyes again; she’s really perfected that gesture. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she says. “Come on, ’Miah,” she calls.

My son gets out of the car, slamming the door. He’s taller every time I see him, but one thing stays the same: I always feel like I’m in a movie with the sullen kid. In movies there’s always a teacher or a coach or somebody who straightens him out. But I’m sure as hell not capable of doing that. So I’m stuck with Sullen Kid, forever.

I pull him into a one-armed sideways hug. He shrugs me off. “I need breakfast,” I say. “You want anything, J?”

He shakes his head. His neck is thin and scrawny, his back hunched under the weight of a giant backpack. He kisses his mom. Their skin is the same color. 

I’m the darkest one in my family, the Lebanese on Mom’s side coming out, but people who see me with Jeremiah assume he’s adopted. Morons. 

He gets in my battered Dodge Ram. I go inside and get a large coffee, a sausage egg and cheese, and two chocolate-frosted doughnuts. Hungry.

Ava kisses me goodbye. God, does she really have to kiss me twice in the space of ten minutes? That’s just rubbing it in. “Have fun,” she says. But I can tell by her troubled eyes that she knows her words are futile.


There you have it: our first Catchlight excerpt. More to come!

The antidote to anxiety

The antidote to anxiety is creativity.

Just like the antidote to confusion is action. 

When we pull ourselves out of our heads and take action with our physical body to create something, we so fully inhabit the present moment that there’s no room for anxiety and confusion.

{Note: Obviously, I’m not talking about clinical anxiety here. That requires treatment.}

Anxiety is always about the past or the future.

(And note that it’s some imagined future that we worry about. But the statistical likelihood of only bad things happening in the future is pretty low. Good things are coming our way too. We hardly ever think about that!)

I invite you to try this today.

If you’re feeling anxious, set your timer for half an hour and go make something.

Make it low-stakes.

If you’ve been dreaming of writing The Great American Novel for the past ten years, now is not the time to start it.

Doodle on a piece of scrap paper.

Cut up old magazines and make a collage.

Borrow your kid’s coloring book and color.

If you want to get crazy, add in some other sensory pleasures: light a scented candle, play some relaxing music, brew a cup of your favorite coffee. 

I dare you to actually DO this.

And if you’re in a swirl of there’s-so-much-to-do-how-am-I-going-to-get-it-all-done, I can guarantee you that this half-hour will make you more settled and more productive.

Plus you’ll feel better. 

Create. Play. Enjoy.

P.S. If writing is the form of creativity that gives you the tingles, then my Write Yourself Free membership community is for you. It’s like the opposite of writing school – it’s writing unschool. And half the women in there said to me, “I’m not a writer, but …” If you’re “not a writer, but…” you wish you were or you’ve always dreamed of writing or you have ideas and don’t know how to begin, then you belong inside. Join Write Yourself Free here for just $35/month.

Process, not perfection

Our culture reveres progress.

Particularly progress that happens in a straight upward trajectory.

We are a results-oriented people.

But human beings were not meant to be constant milestone-achieving machines.

We are human beings, not human doings.

Writer and teacher Dr. Valerie Rein recently introduced me to the phrase “process not perfection.”

You’ll notice that’s PROCESS. Not PROGRESS.

Process, not perfection.

In creativity and writing, falling in love with the process is paramount.

We don’t always make linear progress on a writing project.

Sometimes we write A HUNDRED PAGES and then throw the whole thing out. 

But here’s the thing with writing – and with life: nothing is ever wasted.


That time you spent writing those one hundred pages has made you into the writer you needed to become to write your next project.

That money you spent on your business that didn’t get you the results you wanted was an investment in becoming the entrepreneur you needed to become to create your next success.

Process, not perfection.

This month in my new writing membership, Write Yourself Free, we are diving deep into falling in love with the process. 

Because when you truly fall in love with the process, you’ll discover that you’ve already arrived.

There’s no “there” that you’re striving to get to.

You write for the enjoyment of writing. 

You take the next leap in your business for the challenge of doing something you’ve never done before.

You live in this present moment.

Because, after all, it’s the only one we have.

P.S. Doors to Write Yourself Free are open! WYF is a writing membership for women (and those who identify as women). You get teaching, live Q&A, accountability, inspiration … and it’s just $35/month. Get access to Write Yourself Free.

Write what you don’t know.

One of the classic pieces of advice about writing is to “write what you know.”

Like all good pieces of advice, it’s begging to be countermanded.

So today I offer you this piece of advice:

Write what you don’t know.

Imagine people in places and situations you’ve never been in. Use your empathy to portray what a human going through that experience might think and feel and say.

So much good writing comes out of being willing to take the risk to write what we don’t know.

Madeleine L’Engle, the wonderful author of A Wrinkle in Time and many other books, talks about this phenomenon when she says, “Our work knows more than we know.”

In an interview L’Engle once described this fascinating tidbit: Ed Mitchell, the second astronaut who walked on the moon, often had the task of describing scientific concepts of space to laymen. He found it very difficult to do, and he would tell them, “There’s this book that really [describes space] far better than I could. It’s supposed to be a children’s book. It really isn’t. It’s called A Wrinkle in Time.”

“Now,” L’Engle says, “what this tells me is that my book knows more about physics than I know, and I find that intensely exciting.”

Stephen Pressfield, author of The War of Art, tells a similar story. His first screenplay was set in a prison. He’d never been arrested, but when the script was done, people would take him aside and ask, “Hey man, where’d you do time?”

When we write from a deeper place of knowing – from the collective subconscious – our writing knows more than we know.

My publisher just sent me this note from the copyeditor who’s working on my book:

Catchlight really hit home for me. I lost my dad to complications of Alzheimer’s, which exacerbated the emphysema that had begun during his years in submarines during World War II. 

He was one of the rare individuals who didn’t experience the personality changes that often accompany the disease; he maintained his calm, loving personality throughout. We were “fortunate” that the emphysema took him before he lost his ability to recognize us; that would have been SO much worse, at least for me. My dad also had that one, entirely lucid day, only his was about a week before he passed.

Brooke conveys the experience of a child going through this terrible experience so well and honestly. Been there; lived that. She got it right.”

I’ve never been a child experiencing the loss of a parent to Alzheiimer’s disease.

But I’ve imagined this experience deeply.

The idea for this novel came to me shortly after the death of my grandmother. While I could imagine what my dad and his siblings went through as her decline into dementia worsened, I was away at college for the duration of her illness and did not experience it firsthand.

Instead, I used all the finely tuned empathy I could muster to imagine what a person in this situation might feel and think and say.

Then I wrote the best book I could.

Then I revised it 8,542 times.

I’m so honored that the book I’ve spent years writing is touching the hearts of readers.

Write what you don’t know. There’s so much richness there.

P.S. If you’re ready to deepen your writing practice, you’ll want to join my brand-new membership community, Write Yourself Free. Email me at and I’ll give you all the details.

It’s just $35/month and there’s no long-term commitment.

Email me and I’ll tell you all about it.

Cover art for my book revealed! {plus: this week was a roller coaster}

This week has been a roller coaster: all I can do is hang on.

I got the cover art for my book, and I’m in love with it. {More on this in a sec.} Like, cloud nine obsession.

Also, I spoke to my editor, and we are talking about delaying the book’s release.

Nothing is decided yet, but the prospect of having a longer time to prepare for the book launch feels good to me. On the other hand, I’m sad because I can’t wait to share it with you.

And on the third hand, I’ve been waiting for this for about ten years – so what’s another few months?

Love. Disappointment. Excitement. Sadness.

This week I also completely shifted gears in my virtual book club, The Reading Circle.

Here’s what I was hearing from people: they didn’t have time to read the book I’d chosen.

I do not want something I love (like reading) to become homework or just another thing for people to do. So, I switched away from having an enforced book we read each month.

Instead, everyone will read as they normally do. We’ll share the books we love and geek out about reading. As one member said, it’s a camaraderie of readers.

Here’s what you get by joining:
· A community of readers
· Recommendations for your next amazing read
· Live reading time
· My weekly video reading roundup

Did I mention that it’s free? 😉 Join us here.

Plus … there’s been all the usual roller coaster of emotions that come with, you know, a global pandemic.

I feel scared and sad and tired, a lot of the time.

And here’s what I’m coming to realize:

The things that I love most in the world are still happening.

I still get to take walks outside. I still get to make cups of tea and read books. I still get to snuggle with my family on the couch. (When they’re not driving me completely out of my mind.)

I still get to talk to my favorite people on the phone.

My mantra for today is: This is hard, and that’s okay.

Okay, okay. Let’s get to the good stuff.

Without further adieu … the cover art for Catchlight:

Isn’t it completely fan-flipping-tastic?!

We are making a few updates – mainly adding a blurb to the front from Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of Deep End of the Ocean (which was Oprah’s first-ever book club pick. EEEE!).

But this is pretty close to final.

I’ll let you know when you can pre-order.

When you’re living in a dystopian novel

The other day I caught myself saying this sentence: “Our town parks are still open, the police are just patrolling to disperse groups of 5 or more people.”

Then I said: “Oh my God. We’re living in a dystopian novel.”

None of us have ever lived through a time like this.

This morning I found myself intensely missing Starbucks. I go there to work at least once a week. I order a decaf tall coconut milk latte. I chat it up with Michelle, the manager, and Jeff, my favorite barista. Then I settle in at a table by the window and work for three hours.

I stare out the window at the parking lot. I people-watch. I recognize other regulars by face and by coffee order.

I really miss that.

I miss my kids’ daycare teachers. I miss having breaks from parenting. I miss meeting friends for drinks. Going out to dinner. Traveling to see my parents.

And also, my heart is breaking every day with the news of more cases, more deaths, more supply shortages, more horrific stories of doctors deciding whom to save.

And yet.

And yet… The sun still rises every morning. The tree in my front yard has bloomed. Every few days my son and I pick daffodils to grace our table.

My daughter still grins at me every time she catches my eye. My husband still kisses me good night.

Life in the dystopian world we find ourselves living in is bizarre. And it’s also still beautiful in so many ways.

Ninety thousand medical personnel have volunteered to serve in New York City hospitals. People are applauding healthcare workers as they come home from saving lives. The air is cleaner. The water is clearer. Nature is getting a reset we never could have imagined.

Wednesday night I took my kids to the pond to see the ducks. I’ve literally never seen so many families outside: walking dogs, following toddlers on tricycles, going for a bike ride.

This time is tragic and it is hard. And it is also an opportunity, an invitation, for us to build a different world – the world we’ve dreamed of. Because characters in dystopias are always, always dreaming of utopia.

Ask yourself: when this time shifts again, what do you want to consciously choose to bring back into your life? What do you want to consciously choose to let go of?

We get to decide.

P.S. If you love to read, you will love my virtual book club, The Reading Circle. This month we’re reading Evening, by Susan Minot – while not a dystopian novel, it’s immersive, beautifully written, and reflective – perfect for this Great Pause. If you ever wish your friends at book club talked more about the book, you will love The Reading Circle. Join us here.

Can I *really* say THAT?

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” -Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

I’ve been getting a lot of questions from writers lately that go like this:

Can I really say that? Can I really tell THAT story? Can I really say THAT?!

Here’s what I always say to them, and what I’ll now say to you: 

Say it.

Whatever story is surfacing for you, get it ALL down on paper. And I mean all of it.

That thing that happened to you in middle school that you never told anyone about. What it felt like the first time you had sex. What it felt like the last time you had sex. 

Your complicated feelings about your grandfather, his life and his death. 

The fears and anxieties that are coming up for you during this time, the great pandemic of 2020. 

All of it.

The parts you’re afraid to look at.

The parts you’re afraid for other people to look at.

If you are literally afraid to have these stories exist in black-and-white, handwrite on a piece of paper and then burn the paper.

Once you get it all out, you get to decide:

How much of my story do I want to share?

How much of the people who shaped my story do I want to share?

You get to listen for your own still, small voice – your own Knowing – and you get to share whatever aligns with that Knowing. And you get to keep to yourself what you want to keep to yourself.

Trust your Knowing. 

It’ll sometimes ask you to share something that makes you want to vomit. 

And sometimes there will be small details – or big stories – that your Knowing will want to keep inside.

Both ways are equally beautiful.

This, by the way, is why we need community.

Because writing, using our voice, telling our stories – these things are hard and scary sometimes. 

A community of writers and readers helps us channel bravery when we’re feeling anything but brave.

Singing and dancing help, too. 

That’s why my writing theme song right now is “Brave,” by Sara Bareilles.

Say what you want to say … and let the words fall out … honestly, I wanna see you be brave.

Here’s what I want to say to you, my friend:

I am stepping up and out. I am stepping into a business and a life and a writing career that are bigger than I ever could have dreamed.

I am excited and also kinda nauseous, most of the time. 

I am coaching entrepreneurs who are writing books.

I am planning my next writing retreat.

I started a book club

I’m honored to share this journey with you.

And I would be honored to hear from you: how are you doing? How are you *really* doing? Tell me how you’re faring during the coronavirus crisis.

P.S. All week I’ve been running a free Live series on Write Your Self-Help Book Now. You can catch all 5 lessons right here.