Second First Impressions

That red string never gets it wrong, and unlikely puzzle pieces always fit together.

Love happens at unexpected moments,

the red string of fate—the idea that you and another are tied together, finding your way back to each other.

In my last author essay, at the tail end of writing the very hard Second Book, I wrote that a blank Microsoft Word document felt like an abyss. I feel a lot of compassion for that Sally, and it makes me realize how far I’ve come.
As an author, I’m asked a lot about my writing process, and I usually make a joke about how I’m a mess. In truth, what happens when my hands are on the keyboard is something that makes me feel rather uncomfortable. I’m not in control. I never know what I’m going to write until I’ve written it, and I’m finally understanding that is okay. Word by word, over and over, it takes shape.
I’ve come to a realization that becoming good at something creative or worthwhile is a process of applying layers, and being willing to be really uncomfortable when the Thing is halfway done. It will look yicky. You will not like it. You will be pretty sure that you’re not succeeding. This is when another layer must be applied.
When the Covid 19 pandemic required the entire world to stay home, I turned my office chair around 180 degrees to look at what had been sitting behind me for nine years: my custom-built Victorian-Gothic dollhouse. It was shameful to own something so incredible and the mere sight of it made me despair, because the truth was, it did not inspire me. I hadn’t even opened it for two years. I wished I could call a tiny real estate agent to list it. Was breathing life into something so dusty and dormant even possible?
The first few times I opened the dollhouse’s front door, I was uncomfortable. It was just as I remembered. It had not reached its potential, I knew it, and I didn’t like it. I moved the velvet armchairs and used a lint roller to clean the carpets, then dusted the inch-tall porcelain vases with a paintbrush. Next, I turned the lights on and saw how my 1:12 scale chandeliers sparkled. I felt a corresponding sparkle in my heart.
Very small parcels started arriving in my mailbox. I began to spend so much time lost in these tiny rooms that I’d forget meals and the scary world outside my window. I hated the drab little bathroom, so I focused all my energy on it until it was an eccentric jungle of potted plants surrounding the brass claw-foot tub. Layer by layer, I began to love this dollhouse again. I christened it Blackthorne Manor—magic objects really shine when they have a name or title. It wasn’t too late to give it a name, not even after so many years had passed.
I hope that this might inspire you to look at the project or dream that is perhaps sitting behind you right now, that thing in your life that could be your own personal source of magic and heart sparkles if you could just bring yourself to apply one new layer to it. You might shake your head: It’s been too long! It’s covered in dust!
A book starts off as a blank page. A dollhouse starts out as wood. Nothing starts out looking like the finished product, and if you can accept that and work through the discomfort (particularly if you have perfectionist tendencies), then you can end up with a finished product that is a tiny work of art and something only you can produce. It doesn’t even require you to make a life-changing leap; just add one new layer of effort, attention, and time. Add a new layer to that dream, and just like the tortoises at Providence, make the journey, one inch at a time. They always get where they’re going, and so will you.
A blank page is a gift. Make your mark on it

A blank page is a gift. Make your mark on it.

It’s true. He is.
And he’s mine.

Sentimentality is my bread and butter.

“Yes, I am going to help. I will do everything for you. It’s my turn to give. So let me.”

I think I lost him.”
Aggie speaks. “Then find him.”

“You’re starting to realize that life is too short. You’ve got to find that person you love.”