My original caption did not indicate that there were little snippets of CAVEGIRL included in this post and i’m saying that now because I feel immensely vulnerable sharing and need some tenderness! Anyway onto the original caption: 🐚 I very seldom let writing be romantic — I think it’s a slippery slope to glamorize creativity, makes it precious and out of reach, gives it a standard to strive toward that most often I can’t touch. but i’m writing a book that’s difficult to put to paper — it’s about the ways OCD makes you feel alone so I sometimes feel alone when I write it. so I decided to be alone by the beach, living out my nancy meyers dream, writing all day and night only interrupted by a burger and fries (medium, mayo & ketchup) and a very quick visit from guy I like. my favorite part of this trip was the late evening, in bed in my PJs writing the most fun parts of CAVEGIRL, complete with dance breaks and lots of google searching the sexiest ways to make pottery. it was both romantic and not — three days in I hit a wall and wondered if this book is any good at all — and that’s really my experience of being a writer: a handshake with doubt and fleeting moments of bliss. I like this about writing. I like the way it stretches the muscles of discomfort. I like the act of faith and the way I lose it and find it again and again. And I feel very grateful for the memories I make while i’m writing, which occur in the moments when I am present and not asking myself questions like is this good. I like that i’ll have this memory forever — 31 by the beach in my warmest wool sweaters writing the book I chose to write, despite it’s difficulty, because of its difficulty. I like how lucky I feel. I A big, sappy thank you to @themaidstonehotel for answering my very long email and letting me move the desk across the room and everyone asking how writing went today and for keeping breakfast out a few minutes extra because I am a perpetually late riser. I loved every minute of staying with you.