Blog Highlights: Compartmentalizing the Crazy

For the grand opening of this blog, I’m spotlighting some of my favorite blog posts and moments from over the years throughout the month of June.


Week Two: The Writer’s Life





First posted on March 2, 2012

See the original post at:


Something crazy happened this week.

For the first time in approximately sixteen months, my life started to feel… normal.

I know, right?

This is going to be a nostalgic post. Sorry about that. But with the hubbub of CINDER’s release beginning to simmer down, I’ve been able to take a look at the past year and all that’s happened and compartmentalize some of the crazy.

So in the past sixteen months, I…

– Got an agent and sold a four-book series

– Quit my day job

– Went to New York (twice)

– Planned a wedding, got married, took a honeymoon

– Promoted my book like a mad woman

– Was published in The Wall Street Journal

– Released my debut novel

– Went on an I-can’t-even-count-how-many-cities book tour, with signings and school visits and guest authoring at conventions and luncheons and stock signings and plenty of room service

– Was on TV

– Became a New York Times bestselling author

Ummmm, yeah. So, that’s, like, a lot of stuff. A lot of new stuff that was filled with learning and fears and questions and uncertainties and joy and excitement and exhaustion. At times, quite a lot of exhaustion.

And there were many, many moments when I felt like I could not possibly be any happier. My life is the life I’ve always dreamed of. My life is astronomically amazing.

I’ve come to realize that that wasn’t entirely true, though. I mean, it has been astronomically amazing, but when I used to imagine quitting my day job and becoming a full-time writer, it was not jet-setting and book tours and fancy dinners and non-stop promotion that I thought about. (Well, okay, sometimes.)

But mostly I would think about sitting beside a window overlooking my garden, cup of coffee in hand, and writing. Writing, writing, writing. And I imagined having a schedule, something akin to a “normal” day. Like—wake up and check the social network and blog for awhile, then have some breakfast and write until my brain fogs over, then go to the gym and daydream on the treadmill, then come home and fix dinner and read a book on the couch beside my husband. Next day: same thing.

You know, predictable stuff.

This has not been the reality of the past year, when it felt like every day brought something foreign into my life.

But this week, nothing exciting at all happened. No breathless news from my editor. No updates from my agent. No travel. Instead, I spent a lot of time reading and doing laundry and checking Twitter and catching up on missed episodes of Top Chef. Plus I went to the gym—three times, which hasn’t happened since the wedding.

And I finished the last round of revisions on Book Two: SCARLET.

Like it’s my job or something.

And it felt astronomically amazing.

I guess my point is that I kind of started to feel like a real writer this week, you guys. Like I have some control over my career. Like I might kind of know what I’m doing.

Thank heavens, it only took sixteen months to get here.