I’m trying to stay upbeat and move on to the next thing and be happy for what I have and grateful—

Oh, maybe that’s it. Thanksgiving is swiftly approaching, and holidays all somehow bring about stress, no matter if you tell your husband I promise I will not be stressed out this time, I promise. It could just be me—I get weird whenever I have to leave my island. Or it could just be the expectations, holidays and their endless expectations. I am trying to live my life minus expectations. That way, when something nice happens I can be all pleasantly surprised that the world isn’t filled with assholes. Does that sound harsh?

Then again, maybe my mood—let me describe it for you in sound effects: ick and grr and ugh—has nothing whatsoever to do with swiftly approaching holidays and only to do with myself. I just finished a manuscript and I’m waiting to see how it lands. I just finished a manuscript and have gone back to my real life. I just finished a manuscript and now have to write a whole new manuscript and that’s daunting—admit it—starting, or restarting, a new novel is overwhelming and comes with the usual truckload of expectations.

I dunno. Wish I could cheer up though.

I’ve been brainstorming notes on my new novel—no pressure, I tell myself, no stress. (I promise not to be stressed out about this, promise.) Some days I feel a real sense of what I’m doing. Others, I worry I’m wanting to fit in too much, worrying about audience, worrying about market, worrying about worrying about it. I know the advice: Just write it first and deal with all those questions later. And now would be the time to have my superpower—I’m sure I’ve mentioned before what I would pick out of all superpowers in the known universe: complete and total control over time. Because I’d stop the clock. And I’d make myself calm down. And cheer up. And lose all expectations. And then I’d just write. And that’s what I want for Christmas, in case you were wondering. Also a nice big cape.