Getting Back on the Horse

I have a small writing group of two close friends, and we make a point to get together every so often for a writing retreat. Usually, we can only manage a weekend that works with everyone’s schedules, and that weekend was last weekend.

Although I declared this the year of writing, I will say 2026 has gotten off to a rough start, as years tend to do. I started off with a cold that wouldn’t end, and then I began hormone-replacement therapy for my perimenopause, which has brought more problems than solutions. Motivation has been elusive.

So I wasn’t really looking forward to a weekend with my writing and my thoughts. And writing retreats don’t always go well for me. So for optimal success, I set one easy goal.

I have a manuscript of a novel that I wrote three years ago. I queried it a couple of times, even garnered some agent interest in it. But I knew it wasn’t “right” yet and put it in a drawer. I decided it was time to give it another look. So all I wanted to do was read my novel and see if I still gave a shit about it.

I’ve thought about going back to it many times, but always talked myself out of it, because I was no longer excited. The fun part of building a novel from scratch was over. Did I still have enough passion left to go back and do it right?

It had been at least a year since I laid eyes on it. And time is great for not only helping one see anew, but to spot flaws. After a whole day of reading, of marking up pages, of making piles and notes, I was happy to announce to my cohort that I did, indeed, still give a shit.

And because I’m great at relinquishing promises I make to myself, I have financially invested in a deadline, allowing two months to make the necessary revisions. Because goodness knows, if it takes longer than that, I likely won’t be giving a shit anymore.

My writing locale for the weekend was across the street from frozen Lake Michigan.

I am so lucky to have multiple friends who have books coming out soon! And today I want to spotlight Blair’s upcoming memoir. Blair and I were in a writing group together that focused on book proposals, back when I was still thinking I wanted to be a motherhood memoirist (an aspiration I no longer have). And I remember Blair diligently working on her proposal for this book, so it’s such a sweet moment to see it come to fruition. She published a memoir-adjacent essay recently in People that resonated with me, as I, too, once knew people who went on to become famous.

In the video department, as the theme song played on the tiny black-and-white screen, my eyes went wide with disbelief. It wasn’t just that my ex’s name — and that of his writing partner, also a friend of mine from college — flashed across the screen. There was Jennifer Aniston, a classmate from my performing arts high school. Because we’d both blow-dried our curly hair into straight bobs, I was twice tapped on the shoulder from behind by someone mistaking me for her. And there was fellow college alum David Schwimmer, the Chicago theater maven who I’d been introduced to at a couple of parties. He always looked past me: our meeting was of no significance.

All these people from my past lit up that little box as they hung out in their “West Village” apartment and in Central Perk — sets that looked nothing like any real place in the city I’d grown up in. But it didn’t matter. It was thrilling and jarring to watch my contemporaries on TV.

—Blair Glaser

I pulled Noose today, which at first freaked me out, but it stands for anxiety and self-sabotage, two traits that talk me out of things often. I was feeling more like lazy-ing the day away than sitting down at my computer, so I propped it up on my monitor to remind me not to give in.

I talked about my love for Shrinking in my first substack back, and I’m happy to see they’ve kept the mojo going for the newest season. But y’all, I could not prepare myself for this amazing scene where Brian and Jimmy sing a song from Les Mis. This brought so much joy to my heart.

I know. It’s not nearly long enough.

So if, like me, you need some more, there’s always this old reliable to get the happy tears flowing.

I love how Lin-Maneul throws the devil horns for Les Mis.

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