My latest novel ANIMAL INSTINCT is about a woman rediscovering her desire in midlife — it’s been called a best book of the year by NPR, Oprah Daily, and more. You can order it here. And hey, if you do get a copy, DM me your receipt and I’ll comp you a paid subscription to this very newsletter, Writing on the Verge (this gives you access to alllll the archives, which otherwise get paywalled after a month) ✨✨✨✨✨
First, let’s agree on some things: Creative people feel restless when they aren’t creating. Also: There are always a lot of things eager to block your creativity (why do household tasks seem positively hungry to devour novel-revising time, for just one totally-not-from-real-life example?), and recent events have conspired to add even more creativity-blockers, and there will always be plenty of reasons not to write the thing, not to make the whatever-you-want-to-make. But you will feel existentially itchy until you do it anyway.
My various feeds, which know me to a creepy degree (hi you lil algorithm-spies, I DO like dresses with pockets, you’re right), have lately been showing me this story, a lot. It’s an advice column, and the headline of this installation is: “My Average Life Is Smothering Me.” A restless soul writes: “Every week I feel like I’m waiting for the weekend, and every weekend I’m anxious about the monotony of the upcoming week. It feels like an unbearably average life. I’m doing what I want to be doing, but everything is so leveled out that sometimes I want to scream. I crave stories and adventure.” Hoooo girl (I assume??), does this sound familiar.
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