Musings on a Coffee Cup

I have owned this cup for twelve years. 

Because twelve years ago, I decided I was going to get back into writing. Because for the seven years before that, life happened. I graduated college. I moved back to Connecticut. I didn’t get into the MFA program I applied to. I moved back to New York. I taught a ten-week freshman writing class as an adjunct. I wrote and edited freelance on the side. I worked in an office and a bakery and a movie theater. I got married. I had two kids. 

And then, when my youngest was nearly a year old, I decided I was going to try this writing thing again. I don’t know where I heard of Amazon Studios (it was different and brand new then, crowd sourced scripts and competitions and uploading your original work for feedback and hopefully, interest from Amazon). So I entered a competition to re-work a movie script Amazon Studios had chosen for its potential. It involved zombies. And gladiators. I tried my best. 

I remember sitting at my parents’ kitchen table. We were visiting because the rental we had moved into two weeks before had flooded. I opened my email and saw the subject line: “Congrats, You’re a Semifinalist!” Reader, I won this travel mug. And I was thrilled. It was validation that wasn’t from family or professors. Maybe I could do this. 

I dabbled on the old Amazon Studios until it changed models. And then guess what? Life happened. Again. My husband went to work overseas for nine months while I wrangled a preschooler and a toddler. I moved twice, once across town, once halfway across the country. We bought a house. I directed my eldest’s elementary school play for five years (shout out to all the moms who wrangled ninety-ish fourth and fifth graders with me!) My youngest was diagnosed with Dyslexia. I ran the mom taxi and the mom diner. And somewhere in there, I lost sight of writing. Again. 

When the pandemic hit, life slowed down. My kids were older and more independent. I discovered NaNoWriMo. I wrote 50,000 words in a month. I wrote 50,000 words the next month, too. I finished a book. And I felt like me. 

I hadn’t even realized what I had lost until I found it again. I had forgotten how much I loved writing. I promised myself I wouldn’t lose it again. So I edited the book. I queried the book. I shelved the book. But I kept going. I kept writing.

Life still happened. I wrote after school drop off. I wrote between loads of laundry. I wrote on the pool deck at swim practice. That book is All We Have is Time, publishing in the spring of 2026 with Atria Books in the US and Viking Books in the UK, with several translations into other languages as well.

Is getting to publish my book way better than a coffee mug? Yes. 

Will I be sipping my tea out of my Amazon Studios mug during edits? Also yes. 

All this to say, everyone has their own path. You might lose it for a little while or a long while. You might take some detours, but I wouldn’t call them wrong turns. And none of it means you can’t find your path again. It’s never too late to do what makes you feel like you.

I am 40 years old. I will be 42 or 43 when I debut. It feels ancient in publishing sometimes. But I can guarantee you, I could not have written this book when I was 21. Life needed to happen.