At long last, hitting “The End” on the draft for the new book.

March 13, 2026.Reading time 9 minutes.

If you’ve ever written a book, you know the many stages of feeling unwell throughout the drafting process, until somehow, miracle of miracles, you find your way to “The End” (this does not apply to “writers” who use AI for any part of the writing process. If that is you, well gosh, there is slop to generate and money to make; go on then, time’s a wastin’!)

Today I found my way to “The End”, and it was more gratifying than I can adequately state.

So, how did I get there?

This book took a long time to write, many times longer than my previous ones. Over two years, in fact. In the past, starting and stopping over long stretches of time has never been what worked for me, when it comes to writing a draft. It’s been more like the death of inspiration for me. That’s why I wrote the draft of my second trad-published book in six weeks with a full-time job (my editor isn’t reading this so I can admit that). Way further back in the past, I wrote the rough draft of my second self-published book in six days over a one-week vacation (I had a screenplay I’d written the year before which loosely inspired the book, but nevertheless…truly unhinged).

That book that I drafted in six weeks was the last time I ever wrote a draft of a book, and that was three and a half years ago. After that, I gave myself a full year before even attempting to start the next book, but the gap didn’t help, as life had already spun into chaos by then, culminating in a tragic loss six months ago, which I wrote about in my previous post.

The holidays were understandably tough, but January was a fresh start, right? Sure, if it was easy enough to snap my fingers and suddenly be done with grieving. Or, if the world didn’t keep one-upping itself with dumpster fires (still going strong!). So, a crumbled mental state and a crumbling world? Not the best circumstances in which to finish writing a book.

Luckily, I didn’t have to be too inspired in January, due to my topsy-turvy writing method for this book, which I also touched upon in my last post (i.e. revising the first 70% of my draft, before writing the final 30%. Very normal and not weird at all).

If was later, when I finished revising, that I hit a wall, timed perfectly with the doldrums of winter. I’m going to be honest here, and say what most writers don’t say: I don’t enjoy writing a draft nearly as much as I enjoy editing it. Sometimes I even hate it, and I believe that is valid and fair, because here’s the thing: you’re asking me to create the clay, and also mold the clay? What kind of bullshit is that?

This is the part where you’d say: “Hey Romi, based on your mindset, you probably have a lot more in common with people who use AI than you think. So, why don’t you just prompt AI with a really good outline, and have it generate a blueprint draft? Then you can enjoy all the editing you love, and make it sound amazing in your personal voice.”

To which I say: “Thanks Chad, that’s a terrible fucking idea.“

Just because I complain about one aspect of the writing process, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it and do it well. I’m simply honouring the struggle, because art isn’t supposed to be easy. Because, as all artists know—whatever their medium may be—it isn’t the finished product that makes them an artist, it’s having created said art that does so. It’s each swirling brushstroke that forms the Van Gogh paintings imprinted in our minds, it’s the fifty-seven versions of the recipe that make the perfect dish, it’s the hard-fought words squeezed out of the mind that fill the pages of the book…it’s…always and forever, the battle scars that make it worth it.

When it comes to books specifically, no one’s going to stop anyone from generating a draft from a very detailed outline (See? See?! I used my brain for the outline, I really did! I’m a REAL boy now!), and personalizing the editing to make it their own. Many readers won’t even notice. What I’ll notice though, as the person who attaches my name to it, is that no matter how advanced AI gets, it will never be able to “generate” anything in the same way that a human with a soul can do it, because a human with a soul can, at any given moment, make the person experiencing their art, form a deep connection with it, in any manner of unexpected ways, because the thing that binds us all, is our shared experience of the good, the bad, and the ugly of the human condition. AI can never join that club. AI will never be that girl. There’s also the whole matter of how using AI makes you a willing participant in profiting off of stolen work while contributing to the further destruction of the environment at alarming rates, but again, you can read my previous post for those factual points.

So, what’s next on this writing rollercoaster?

Even though this draft is very developed and I’m feeling great about its prospects, there is still much editing to do. I intend to make that my focus for the next month, with the (slightly) lofty goal of having it ready to submit to literary agents by my birthday.

Oh, right, did I forget to mention that? Indeed, I will soon embark on the whole big journey of trying to find a literary agent vs. only submitting to my current publisher, because I thirst to test the market on this very high concept work (with their blessing).

I was wrong, it was not a creative summer (or autumn). But, we begin again…

December 19, 2025.Reading time 16 minutes.

Before writing this, I went back and read my blog post from July 25th. Oh, sweet summer child, she had hope that she would do some late summer writing! And have more balcony hangouts with friends right up until the last warm day! And maybe even take an impromptu trip to Paris!

Reality: I did not write, I ended up repeatedly shifting or cancelling plans with friends (until I just stopped trying to make more plans), and for the first time in my life, my passport expired.

Okay, so: if you are one of the handful of people who’ve been reading my once-(sometimes twice)-a-year blog posts over the last three years, you’ll have noticed there was this repeated theme of renewing my resolve to get back on the writing horse, but never quite managing to ride off into the next-book-is-finished sunset. The most I’d ever said about why that kept happening, amounted to a vague “helping my family through a difficult situation.” I’m still not going to get too specific, because it isn’t my story to tell, but I will be open enough to now say, that a little over 6 weeks after writing that last blog post, my brother-in-law passed away from a valiant but brutal battle with pancreatic cancer. He left behind my sister, my niece (who turned twelve three weeks after his passing), my five-year-old nephew, and an amount of heartbreak for that family of three which can never fully heal, but, with time, can hopefully be managed. It’s way too soon to expect that though, especially with Christmas around the corner, the run up to which keeps bringing up difficult emotions at every turn. The only way I can attempt to put a positive spin on that, is that the carousel of sadness is a tribute to how much he meant to those closest to him.

Again, it’s not my story to tell, so I’ll bring it back to my own experience and keep it short at that, so I can get back to talking about writing, which for me, is a big part of healing. I guess to sum it up, back in late July when I wrote that post, I really was holding on to hope that things would slowly change for the better. In reality, everything deteriorated in a quick and brutal fashion, as is too often the case with pancreatic cancer. Without getting specific, the things I witnessed with my own eyes in those final six weeks, are things I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. I’m sure anyone who’s watched a loved one go through something similar can relate.

I’ll end on this topic by saying, so much more research is needed to help improve the devastating outcomes of pancreatic cancer. I hope those scientific advancements will come, and in the meantime, if you’re able to, you can always make a donation to the pancreatic research foundation in your country (I’ve linked to the one in Canada).

So, what now?

My current reality is: learning how to be a whole person again. That process can’t happen in a vacuum though, since I know I’m not the one who’s been hit with the hardest grief. So I need to keep showing up. But I also need time to feel sad. So I guess that means, it’s learning how to be a whole person again, while still showing strength as a rock to close family—since “sad time” needs to happen during separate alone time. A.k.a. just your standard-issue compromised rock, riddled with fractures and trying to heal in real time.

It’s fine, everything’s fine! And, rest assured, dear handful of people who read each one of these posts, I’ll make it a priority to heal and ask for help when I need it.

On the topic of help, or more generally, support, “what comes next” is trying to get back to tending to the garden of friendships, the tight inner circle that never judged my cancelled plans or meltdowns or bad days, but instead held space as I worked through difficult times. This is the part that’s been really illuminating, as it exposed the odd “friend” who didn’t have the tolerance for the aforementioned. When I examined those situations more closely, it wasn’t just a matter of “everyone’s dealing with their own shit” (which is completely valid), but the realization that I’d always been putting in the bulk of the effort in “friendships” like that, almost always initiating a text chat, following up, suggesting plans, sending reminders, checking in…for years and years. So, when I couldn’t do that anymore, I guess my “friendship value” tanked? I guess I was supposed to keep doing the bulk of it forever? Right. Well, in the words of Aristotle:^* “Absolutely the fuck not“.
(^*Not an actual quote from Aristotle.)

Like I said, ever so illuminating, when the foggy past becomes acutely clear, when viewed through the eyes of present-day dysfunction. Side-note: in the off chance that someone should read the above and think “that demon is talking about ME!“, let me plainly say: I’m talking about someone who’s probably never even read this blog. So, um, chill, okay?

And just like that, so continues my era of fewer friendships and higher quality (which I may have touched on a year or so ago). More grateful than ever for that special equation.

But how will you become a whole person in these EVEN MORE unprecedented times?

That’s a great question. I truly couldn’t have picked a worse time to start a healing journey that requires rebuilding my emotional/mental state one little piece at a time. Then again, I didn’t choose the timing. Or the circumstance. So here we are.

This moment seems like a good time to re-share that image of Ralph from The Simpsons. More relevant than ever.

Despite my healing journey being at risk of getting sidetracked by humanity’s dumpster fire, I guess I’ll keep foolishly trying.

And the number one tool that helps my healing? Writing fiction, of course…

Wait, you’re STILL writing books when AI can do that (and everything else)?

Gosh, another great question. I talked about AI in my July blog post too, and now, only five months later, it seems to be taking over everything, from critical thinking, to fresh water, to jobs, to the ability to enjoy the simplest things…and everything in-between. Luckily, more and more people are seeing the dangers of AI and rightfully despising it, with a growing faction that plans to go more analogue in 2026 (count me in). Even the “oh my god I use ChatGPT for everythinggg” people can no longer turn a blind eye to AI’s disastrous effects on the environment, and how much worse it will get if those data centers keep getting built. It’s not just the trillions of gallons of water AI will use (well on its way to that level of waste), it’s the way it’s wrecking neighbourhoods with the noises and smells. And if the AI lovers still don’t care, if their vibe is “problems for thee, not for me“, I wonder how they’ll feel about all these AI data centers heightening electricity demand (by a lot), and how the associated costs will get peanut-butter-spreaded onto everyday people’s electric bills, vs. the billionaire owners of these AI companies, whose vibe is “subsidies for me, not for thee” (oh wait, it’s already happening).

I haven’t even mentioned the part where AI slop—which is supposed to be so amazing—Is failing, not because there’s something inherently wrong with the “output” (with the bar firmly set at “mid”), but because people can tell that it’s “off”, and the reason it’s off is that there isn’t any feeling behind it, no connective tissue at all. With a lack of ability to form a connection with the people it’s trying to sell to, it either winds up being largely ineffective, or it incites a visceral reaction and is wholly rejected. Like that McDonald’s AI ad that was so hated it needed to be taken down. Or that Coca-Cola “furry creatures in the woods” AI ad, where everyone could tell that it was vapid and soulless, so it fell flat. Meanwhile, the Apple ad with furry creatures created with physical puppets and a ton of human effort, was beloved. Do with that what you will.

If all of that is telling me anything, it’s that AI can go ahead and generate all those books that wannabe authors will then publish on Amazon, and even make money from (money they’re making off the backs of authors like myself, whose books were fed into these AI models without our consent, but yeah, go off). Yeah, they can do that, and they can also insist that they’re only using AI to help with plot hurdles but not the actual writing (um, sure). Yep, they can monetize and optimize until AI tells them they’ve written the perfect book that will forsake all other books, but….I really don’t care. Why don’t I care? Because I know my human writing is, and always will be, better. Better than any AI-generated book, forever and ever. I know this because A: I’m pretty confident in my resumé so far, thank you very much ( see Publishers Weekly starred reviews here and here), and B: I have a soul.

So yeah, the world may indeed be descending into horrible chaos for the profit of the few, but I’ll keep writing. I suppose that makes me the writer version of that person playing violin on the Titanic while the ship goes down. Whatever. And, we’ll see about that.

And on the note of my next book….

The current step for my next book, is that I’m working through the 70% of the manuscript that I’ve already drafted. What I mean is, I’m in the middle of re-reading and re-writing that first 70% before I finish drafting the rest. Once I’m done, I’ll finish writing the remaining 30%. Yes, I know, that’s a weird and potentially terrible process, but it works for me. Once I’m feeling great about my manuscript, I’ll submit it to literary agents, hopefully by late winter, because even though I managed to get traditionally published without an agent (and could potentially continue in that way), I’m curious to see what happens when I test my writing in the market. More on that later.

Finally, there were some nice recent moments, too.

Indeed, let’s end on a good note (and with some pics)!

I finished decorating my new place, which in the end was a true creative outlet, a way to express myself and distract myself during a hard time.
I watched the Toronto Blue Jays’ epic playoff run that culminated in losing the World Series by a few inches. I’m still not over it.
A couple of weeks ago, I finally got out and signed some copies of my books at a Toronto Indigo bookstore (and I finally got a haircut).
I hosted my first holiday party at my new place, with some of my dearest friends. Maybe that’ll become a tradition.
I made gingerbread cookies with my nephew.
I had some other festive cheer.
What I haven’t done yet, is my annual re-watch of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but I’ll start that soon, especially because I missed it last year. The reason I love doing that so much during the holidays, is that the end of the year is already a time for reflecting on life and the world, so an epic tale about good versus evil and the fate of humankind? It always feels fitting (and it couldn’t feel more fitting, than after the year 2025, a year that will live on in infamy *gestures around at the state of the world*). So, that’s the true note I’m ending on, my two favourite quotes from the films (keep scrolling).

Wish you well, see you in 2026, and may the chaos and fuckery of 2025 never find us again…

Nevertheless, creativity persisted (plus, my summer taken over by dreamy newness).

July 25, 2025.Reading time 12 minutes.

Okay, so the last time I was here, it was December, a time when feeling hopeful was an act of rebellion, amidst American dystopia and global chaos and what have you. Here we are now, nearing July’s end, and society is precisely here:

That laugh of despair comes from those of us who are privileged, because then there are those who are facing real-time atrocities. Yet here we are, still going to work and celebrating kids’ birthdays and trying to find some joy in the day, as surreal as it can often feel. A quote from Shiv Roy’s character in Succession comes to mind:

Which brings me to a quote from my Succession fave, Roman roy: “shit show at the fuck factory.”

It’s a good time to digress, except to say: we are unwell, but I hope this blog post finds you well.

Do I really have to talk about AI? Okay, but briefly.

I remember a year or more ago, when all the talk of AI was “yeah, but look at all this cool stuff you can do, and you’re still being creative, it just kind of helps you.”

Fast forward to now, and: I can confirm that all 5 of my books (and a short story!) along with millions of other books were used to power Zuckerfuck’s AI platform—without our permission and despite them being copyrighted works, but, oh yeah, he stole them off a book piracy website, and tried to get his team to keep it hush-hush. Cool. Lawsuits pending. And yes, I just used an em dash, and of course you’ll find em dashes in ChatGPT output, because it’s generating output from what was written by humans. I mean…was that not obvious already? Then why was there—and still is—a big em dash/ChatGPT debate on social media? Are people just very dumb?

Which brings me to my next point: people are becoming very dumb. Exhibit A: did you read that article in New York Mag entitled “Everyone Is Cheating Their Way Through College“? It’s about how…well, the topic is in the title. In that article, a student was interviewed and they could barely form a cogent thought because, oh yeah, using AI to do your thinking damages your ability to engage in um…critical thinking. But, I’m sure it’ll all be fine (*cough of despair*).

And also: did you hear how people are using ChatGPT for life advice and to make everyday decisions, kind of already knowing what they want to hear and then ChatGPT just validates them and generally always makes them feel right? Sorry, I’m just chuckling to myself about that one; what a gift to narcissists everywhere, all hail the wonders of AI!

Anyway, AI is a part of life, it’s there, I see it from across the bar, like someone with a bad personality whose ugliness on the inside has made them ugly on the outside, too—which you learned after only a 10-minute conversation, and now you’re keeping your distance but you still have to co-exist (I mean, you wouldn’t have to co-exist in an actual bar, you could just leave, but in this analogy, it’s “the bar of life,” so, it’s you and ugly-on-both-sides AI, having to deal with each other. At least it’s made me appreciate human interactions more, especially in-person, but maybe not in bars).

When I say “AI is a part of life”, I mean in society and work, places where I don’t make the rules, so I know it’s going to show up here and there, and more and more. Where I do make the rules is with my own writing, and in that case, AI has no business there. Unwelcome and not needed.

If AI was there in my process, I would’ve been done my latest book long ago, but that’s okay; what makes it so satisfying is the brain-to-page creative process, the journey! And even though (no surprise) I’m not finished yet, there was a glorious week this past spring when I stopped everything else and wrote and wrote and wrote. In other words, I’ve made progress. Yay!

The writing zone back in spring; glorious!

Continuing with creativity/author life: author events!

In February, May, and June, I was lucky enough to do author book signings and panels for my 24 Hours series of books, which never go out of style (Paris and Italy are always good ideas). The first in February was a book signing event at our good ol’ Canadian bookstore chain Indigo, then a very cool author panel in an old church as part of the inaugural Appleby College Canadian Festival of Authors, and then another signing at a big Indigo in Yorkdale mall, where I sold the most books I’ve ever sold at an Indigo signing (thank you again to everyone who came out, local authors appreciate this kind of support so much).

A good excuse for not being done my book yet: real estate!

Yes, I am now the proud owner of my very own place in a lovely Toronto neighbourhood, which is 70% of the reason I’ve fallen behind on my writing (the other 30% is from spending lots of time with family to help out during ongoing challenging times, but, that’s life, right?). The new place is in this little pocket of the city protected from the tourist rush, but also a 1-to-20-minute walk from all of the following: cute restaurants and bars, a little park with some of those huge old trees, the lakeshore with all its long walks/jogging potential, the historic Distillery District, St. Lawrence Market…(and now I’m getting too Toronto-specific for non-Toronto readers). The “protected-from-tourists” bubble was proven in June when we were having aperitivo on a quiet terrace and, two tables away, was Julianne Moore, enjoying dinner with a friend, and totally unbothered.

Anyway, I was not expecting to have already bought a place by June. In fact, last August, when I put an offer on a place and got priced out when it sold for 20% over ask, I got spooked and didn’t look at anything for the next 9 months. Then somehow, the first place I saw in May ended up being perfect, so I put an offer on it, and the next day, the offer was accepted under ask. Maybe it was always meant to be this way. I’m really grateful.

This has also meant that my schedule has been intense. Not just because of everything there is to do, but because I want to do it right. Like this is the time to bring those private Pinterest boards to life, to show the outcome from reading all those copies of Architectural Digest (even though my style is a bit more eclectic than a curated AD spread; I just don’t want it to look staged, okay?? I want it to look like a person actually lives there; the charm, the life running through it, you know?). Basically, this is now another realm where my type-A “achiever” personality is running wild. How fun.

So, this photo below is what I started with (very happy with all that light). It’s a blank canvas which I’m pretty much starting fresh with. I’ve made a lot of progress so far, and, as Instagram is a better platform for that type of inspo and decor fun, I’ll be sharing more about it there.

What I did do, by pretty much the third day, was set up the balcony vibe (more furniture has been added since), because hello, it’s summer, and you gotta get in as many balcony hangs as you can (priorities).

In-between the hangs, there are a million things to do, but I’m ready to face it with the can-do attitude shown below! (with an underlying 50% of snarkiness…)

What’s next: a late summer that actually includes writing?

The prospect of writing in summer is a bit unexpected for me, because usually that’s the time to rest my brain in the lead up to a Europe jaunt, or in the wind down after. But the fact is, right now I’m booked and busy in this nesting mode of loving setting things up in the new place, trying to have friends and family over when I can, and truly enjoying summer in the city through fresh eyes. That doesn’t mean that if a last-minute deal to Paris pops up in autumn I won’t consider it, but for summer at least, it’s resting, nesting, and definitely some writing on the balcony on those quiet nights in the city…I’ll come back here with an update once I’ve finished!

PS: I wish I knew who the below should be credited to, but when I saw it, well, it made me ponder. I’m not even sure if any of it fits my description, but let’s just say, it lingered…

Hobbling to the end of the year—and feeling (radically) hopeful for the next one…

December 20, 2024.Reading time 14 minutes.

Is it radical to feel hopeful, as we stand on the brink of a new year that guarantees more harsh changes, which together will seemingly bring us closer to the crumbling of society, humanity, and the literal earth? Probably. And it’s not the first time. Throughout history, across struggles as macro as worldwide events, and as micro as moments unique to each and every one of us, the simple act of having hope has often been—and is, and will be—considered nothing short of a radical act. It’s also sometimes considered ludicrous, foolish, naive, and as the kids say “delulu” (I’ll never stop sounding like the Steve Buscemi “How do you, do fellow kids?” meme on this blog).

A snapshot from Paris this autumn; it made me feel hopeful, somehow.

The irony of course is that this very same radical hopefulness, this don’t-give-up-and-try-again-tomorrow energy, is the same thing that reinforces the glue of society, humanity, and maybe, if it’s not too late…Mother Earth.

I won’t focus on the macro in today’s ramble, as the worldwide stuff is already being constantly served by the algorithm (see? I’m modern), searing its way into our eyeballs and eardrums and souls despite our cries of “can you stop for a minute and let a bitch live?“. No, the tech billionaires will not let a bitch disengage from the matrix, unless of course she spends an evening talking to herself via the ramblings of her blog (I am already healing with each unhinged sentence). It’s these very ramblings that allow me to stop and focus on the micro. And so, through my incessant self-obsession, maybe you’ll feel a few moments of peacefulness, too (I hope so).

With that, let me recap how some things went down since the last time I found myself writing on ye olde blogge.

The following ramble promises to be not quite as word-count-heavy as my previous stream-of-consciousness post (because I get that it’s the end of the year and our brains are fried), but it will be a lot heavier on the photo content (because again, our brains are fried and photos are soothing). Nevertheless, I hope these slightly more condensed rambles will reach you on a level where you just might need them (EDITED TO ADD: I just finished writing, and it’s not that much shorter than my other blog posts. Oops, old habits).

Okay then: let’s jump into how the rest of the year went down (TL;DR some tricky hobbles for sure, but also: some adventures, some healing, and a win).

That trip to Paris and Italy happened, and it was magical!

Last time I wrote, the trip was only weeks away, a time that I hoped would be “just like it always is/as magical as ever/like returning home” (the Paris part), and a time that I hoped would be different/beautiful/fun/new (the Italy part). The journey delivered on both fronts and beyond, and so, I thought I’d share a little escapism in photos, if you’re so inclined.

But first, if you’ve read my book 24 Hours in Paris, you know how Mira dresses when she’s getting ready to jaunt about town to the tune of 25,000+ steps, right? Well now you can see that she’s also me (wait, I think she copied me).

Layering because the weather changes almost 10 degrees celsius between sun and shade in Paris, stretchy jeans for yummy eats, cute tote for the books I will inevitably buy, and incredibly comfy shoes for the 25,000+ steps.

The Paris part, in a nutshell.

So what’s it like to spend time with people who feel like home even though you don’t get to see them very often? It’s a gift. Then there’s the good eats, drinks, beautiful sights, memories revisited, and hearty laughs at who even remembers why. In short: Paris, je t’aime.

The Taormina part, in a nutshell.

If you read my last blog post, you’ll know that WE WERE ACTUALLY SUPPOSED TO GO TO LAKE COMO! I even booked a really nice place for us to stay in, just a short walk from the town centre and George and Amal Clooney having one of their fancy dinners, probably. It just so happened that the place was called “White Lotus”, which led to a Whatsapp chat about the show, which led to “hey, should we go to Taormina instead, where they filmed White Lotus?” Anyway, the rest is random history, because sometimes life is like that: random, magical, beautiful. And so was Taormina. (Oh, and the food! You can read my Instagram captions of my photos from the trip for some of those specific food recommendations. Oh, and there was a Super Moon during our trip! Which in a way, felt fated and ritualistic…)

And after the travel: some hobbling, accepting, healing, and renewing.

The trip was incredible, but like all vacations, temporary. I returned to the same obstacles that had been running me down all year, which, like in my last post, I won’t get into, as everyone has their obstacles and ways they need to show up for people that seem far beyond their capacity to do so…yeah. Anyway, it was a hobbling return to all those things. It was also a return to my author gap year if you remember my last post, also known as: the ultimate struggle of writing my next book.

Fast-forward to late October: I was mad at myself, as I slowly realized that after moving my writing goal posts countless times, I was going to have to do it again. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, it just…was. But that didn’t stop me from being angry with myself, because even if I’ve changed this year and learned how to slow things down a little, and have somewhat accepted that I’m not going to accomplish “all the things” as speedily as before, I’m still competitive with myself, and I’m still an Aries.

Then there was the second thing: even when I did have time to write, I could barely get into the zone of writing before a responsibility would pull me away, which, again, I know is something countless people face. I also know that so many people are enduring situations that wouldn’t even give them a moment to think about creating art let alone create it, so againnn, I know my little problems are wrapped in privileged cellophane (a.k.a. I very much hear the echoing voices of “it must be nice to be able to sit down and write, you spoiled bitch.”). That being saiddd—talking in circles is a fun ride you can take yourself on, with the only cost of admission being your mental health, yay!—if you’re someone in my life I confided in during the last year, who therefore knows the deep dark depths of the aforementioned obstacles, to you I say: I do try my best to remember your much nicer-sounding voices (“take it easy on yourself”), so thank you.

Anyway, it was maddening and saddening to not quite get there, but cathartic to feel those feelings. And somehow, within that, there was hope. At first, the hope came in how inspired I felt, even in those micro writing sprints. Those sprints started adding up, and little by little, the word count did as well. There was even a whole day that I took off work without telling the people who would normally need me (sorry), just so I could write unfettered. That was…glorious. But it wasn’t just the word count. I believed again, and that was by far the most healing part of the year.

Speaking of the year, while it may be coming to an end, I continue to feel more excited about this book than anything I’ve written previously. I guess that means that maybe sometimes in life, you have to move your goal posts when you don’t want to, and then cathartically scream like Moo Deng, but that doesn’t mean you won’t slowly heal, and then feel hydrated, moisturized, and unbothered (also like Moo Deng).

Wrapping it up with some good times—and a win.

Before I go, I’d like to shout-out the people in my life who listened whenever I needed to feel heard, who lifted me up, who made it all okay when it wasn’t okay, and who helped me dust myself off enough to close out the year with some solid good times. A couple of those people I’m lucky enough to work with (it’s a true gift when you actually like your co-workers), and on that note: before the year ended, I scored a promotion at work, which felt, well…pretty great! It was the culmination of working my ass off all year on stuff I care about (even amidst all the hobbling and cathartic screaming). And the fact that the timing of it lined up perfectly with our Great-Gatsby-themed holiday party that took place at a literal museum in Toronto with dinosaur bones and all? Needless to say, it was a great time to raise a glass (or two, or five), and that, plus some other good times in the city—as well as in the kitchen, where my love for baking reawakened—were the perfect way to cap off the year.

I’ll leave you with those memories in photos, as we come full circle feeling radical hope, against macro and micro events that, while they may be out of our control, won’t be enough to make us give up (at least that’s what I radically hope, for myself and anyone reading this).

Smell ya later, 2024 (or hopefully never again). Wishing you all a happy new year (which we of course know, won’t actually happen until the Lunar New Year on January 29th—I mean come on, who are you going to believe, some rando who invented a calendar way back when, or THE LITERAL MOON??).

PS: As I continue in my (hopefully not too hobbly) writing journey in 2025, I’ll be sharing smaller but more frequent updates on my Substack, and more sweeping rambling stuff on the blog :-). So make sure you subscribe to the Substack here (it’s free)!

Author gap year and the line between “the self” and letting go

August 28, 2024.Reading time 13 minutes.

I don’t have a set schedule for when I post on ye olde ancient blogge, but somehow it’s been almost a year again, and also, I will likely have more to say in only a few short months—it’s chaotic character count, in a nutshell!

One of two times in the last year when my “lewk” included a ponytail.

Today’s agenda: focused randomness

To the untrained eye, “focused randomness” is an oxymoron, but here that simply means that instead of the usual rundown that covers all manner of updates—depending on the order in which said items pop into my head—today we’ll focus on a primary theme, supported by line-level randomness. Which brings me to our topic de jour…

Crisis of the self

What’s that, you say? You’ve never had more fun than when contemplating a crisis of self? Me either!

It didn’t begin as a crisis, it began as a plan. This was always going to be my author gap year, because despite having the option to extend my 24 Hours book series into a 3rd novel, I declined, deciding instead to embark on a new idea that has excited me more than anything I’ve written to-date. It would also mean the highest degree of difficulty I’ve faced as a writer yet, but that was fine, because conquering obstacles and being an underdog and being competitive and being scrappy and writing fast when it’s down to the wire is WHO I AM. In fact, it’s who I’ve been for 15+ years, so why would that ever change? It wasn’t age that would slow me down, not when I hammered out the draft of my previous novel in only seven weeks whilst having a full-time job. The word “beast” comes to mind when reflecting on that (the complimentary version, not the version that locked Belle in a castle but was somehow positioned as a love interest anyway—Disney, you are sick).

The thing about “beast mode” though, is that it doesn’t really work when life goes into “chaos mode”.

Everything everywhere all at once

I occasionally witness dude bros having the following bitter, faux-vindicated discourse about the film Everything Everywhere All At Once: “Remember when no one would shut up about how great that movie was, but now they can finally admit that it wasn’t that good?” No one is admitting jack-shit, dude bros, because if a film can evoke emotion from a scene that is nothing more than a desert backdrop and two rocks having a conversation, then on that basis alone, said film contains strokes of genius.

(See, I told you this post would contain line-level randomness.)

In my world, the “everything everywhere all at once” chaos hit me in ways that were both extreme and long-lasting, a cocktail I wouldn’t wish on anyone. To this day, the effects of said chaos are ongoing, but I won’t get into it here, because A: everyone is dealing with their own shit, and B (i): I’m not facing the direct hits of said chaos, I’m more of the “support system in the storm”, and so (ii): for all intents and purposes, my life is “normal”, therefore who am I to feel like I’m falling apart?

C: Those air quotes in items B (i) and (ii) are doing a lot of heavy lifting, and D: furthermore to items B (i) and (ii), therein lies the danger, i.e. thinking you have an infinite supply of “business as usual”…

When you change to calm the chaos

Change is a two-sided coin, because often, being “the same” is what we strive for. It happens once we reach adulthood, when we start to develop an identity. The more we develop said identity, the more it begins to crystallize into who we are. Our sense of self. It’s what we’re known for, and what we’re loved for. And then, when we see reflections of that in shows and films and horoscopes and even co-workers, it’s what feels validating.

Just this year, someone I hadn’t been in touch with for a long time, told me: “Never change. You’re perfect as you are.” For a while, those words echoed in my mind as such a beautiful compliment, and it even reassured me that of course I’ll get back into “beast mode”, and grind my way back to writing my next book as I always have, coming alive under the pressure of having my back against the wall as I always do.

What I didn’t realize, was that not only has the last stretch of chaos already changed me—altering the way I operate to allow me to thrive under a baseline of “always stressed” (fun!)—it continues to change me. I’m someone who now requires regular slowness, as a mechanism for dealing with chaotic forces.

“Who am I?” (In Derek Zoolander’s voice)

Am I still type-A? Am I still an extrovert?

Yes and yes. But what I’ve learned, is that when life presents you with a gauntlet of challenges, it isn’t enough to rely on that baseline sense of self, that vibe you’re consistently known for. Instead it requires stretching yourself, far beyond those go-to comfortable stand-bys. It also means setting up boundaries, where before you never cared for them—or needed them.

I also learned that funnily enough, it can be a good thing to change, to experience growth and evolution beyond the standard-issue personality test. You might even become a better person (though you’ll certainly fuck up, too), but there’s something else you need to prepare for: not everyone will feel that you’ve gotten better. Some people will wonder where the “old you” went, where that endless supply of being chatty just for fun disappeared to. They also might notice that being friends with you is becoming a lot of work, because before all your type-A energy took care of that, the way you organized friendship scheduling with so much fervour it seemed like you were snorting coke…the way you monitored things and checked in constantly, a 2nd or 3rd time or even a 4th time, because that’s how fucking type-A you’ve always been. The absence of that might be viewed as a flaw on your part. They may even wonder why you struggle with unpredictability now, why you now draw lines where before, there was a limitless expanse that offered freedom to be “whatever”. And then they might ask why you tend to give up these days, when before, you could handle just about anything that came your way.

What you’ll learn after all of that, is that even if there are questions, the people in your inner circle will evolve right along with you, because they care about you enough to step outside their own standard issue personality tests that have come to define them too. That introvert who’s prone to retreating, will surprise you by checking in, and the one who’s never been comfortable talking about feelings, will sit across from you anyway, while sitting with their own discomfort just to keep you company. And maybe, finally, it’ll be okay.

Wow, what a happy ending! Except…you’ll also learn that some of the people who were a lovely addition to your inner circle, will not in fact step outside of themselves when you need them to close the gap. Which is fine! They have their own shit to deal with too, and maybe they needed you to be better for them, but you couldn’t. Maybe it was just bad timing. When all of “that” happens (heavy-lifting air quotes alert), you’ll have your usual type-A instincts to get into “fixer” mode, but you might just find yourself stopping when you hit a wall (even though “old you” would’ve never taken “no” for an answer). And when you can’t break through, you might end up doing what before, was unthinkable: you might just give up.

(Is this motivational speech going well? Is anyone still here?)

How it feels to be type-A, but different.

Hmm…how does it feel…well, I’m still writing that damn book I’m so excited about, and I still plan on finishing it and pitching it to literary agents before the end of the year (did we even talk about the agent thing yet? See, this is why I’ll probably need to post again soon)!

Translation: I’m still type-A and I’m still a scrappy underdog, but I’m also more aware of when I need to retreat, breathe, rest, and temporarily step back from my relentless ambition, in order to step up for others. This new ability to “start and pause” and “start and pause” has been, in short, a very healing thing.

Speaking of taking a pause, I’m setting off for my long-awaited vacation in just over two weeks, and it couldn’t come sooner! The vacation is part “second home” (Paris), and part “the place I’ll keep exploring because I’ll never get sick of it” (Italy). This trip will also reflect the “type-A but different” version of myself, because even though I usually plan everything for a trip, right up to the rotation of the “feeding schedule” (alternating sweet and savoury ALWAYS), for the Italy part I’m not planning a damn thing. I mean, I did research the place where we’ll be staying, but aside from that, I’ll be along for the ride with my trusty travel pal who knows exactly what to do and see.

And finally, to return to the theme of line-level randomness, here’s a fun tidbit: I actually performed the “research the place we’ll be staying at” process twice, because back in June, in only an 11-minute span, my friend and I, under a spell of extreme randomness, decided to completely re-plan our entire Italy trip (evidence of unhinged decision-making is in the screenshots below). If this 11-minute experience taught me anything, it’s that sometimes in life, you’re faced with chaos, and other times, you wind up creating your own. Ha ha. Until next time!