Book Writing Warm-up

You’re supposed to warm-up before you do anything strenuous, to avoid pulling something important. Something critical to your ability to wash the dishes or your hair or falling asleep without pharmaceuticals. Writing counts as strenuous. My brain needs all the stretching it can get these days.

For the past thirteen years, I’ve been working on a book. The Dead Dad Book. Is its working title and also a giant spoiler alert. In case you skimmed past that part where I’ve been working on this for thirteen years, I’ll repeat myself: THIRTEEN YEARS. THIRTEEN YEARS I’VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS BOOK. On and off, sure. Some years, I gave it barely a passing thought, but still. That’s a lot of years. A lot of years to not be finishing a big project. It’s time to wrap up and move on to the rest of my life.

2025 feels like a completion year. I’ve been feeling that strongly and the astrologers and intuitive I see on Instagram seem to agree, which is always nice. I enjoy being right. Completion of creative projects, completion of old patterns and healing cycles. Completion of The Artist’s Way, something I’ve tried numerous times and never actually finished. A friend swears that it’s changed her life every time she’s finished. I just want to get more than halfway through it. A positive life change would be a refreshing bonus.

So I need to finish this book. (And all my other books, but that’s a problem for another day.) As you can see from the existence of this blog post, I’m procrastinating. I call it warming up but we all know what’s really going on here. Procrastination, stickiness from the depths of my consciousness, resistance to everything the writing - and finishing - this book means.

I’m beginning to understand why writing it has taken so long. This book has been more a process of healing generational wounds - raise your hand if you have alcoholism in your family! - than of just writing some stories and calling it a day. It’s been a transformation of my own ability to relate to my emotions, rather than numbing them. It’s been a part of the healing process after my father’s death.

Here are all the reasons I’m resisting finishing this book, in no particular order:

• I don’t know how to write a memoir / book of essays / how to book on healing generational trauma and a family lineage of alcoholism.

• I honestly don’t know what this book even is.

• Not sure I’ve actually healed any of those things.

• The thought of sending it to agents and getting rejected as many times as my other books have feels like a sad trombone in my soul.

• My brother doesn’t want to be in it - at least he didn’t last time I checked which may have been seven years ago now, but I can’t imagine much has changed - and it’s hard not to include him. You can’t just vanish a main character. So I’ll need two versions, the public version and the family version.

• That’s too many versions.

• I never remember things accurately and I both want my family to look over it and don’t want anyone to see it until it’s published lest the “that’s not how it happened”s come rolling in.

• Do you know how many drafts of this I have? Scattered over laptops and the cloud and notes, both paper and digital? Neither do I, because I lost track years ago. The first draft of this book has been lost to time and space.

• I gotta quit with this list, I think it might be making everything worse. Turning my book warm-up into an anxious brain dump. Not that I have anything against a frantic brain dump, but maybe you shouldn’t publish them anywhere. (Totally going to.)

Maybe I need to actually stretch. With my body, not my fingers clacking frantically on a keyboard. Get the blood moving and the heart pumping and bring some motion from the physical space into the etheric space from which I need to pluck this book.

Because my trust in my ability to finish this book, to make it something entertaining and helpful, something I’m really proud of, has eroded in recent years, I’ve been tuning in for myself about how to best finish it. Here’s what I got yesterday: “Just write your memories. Just write it for you.” Here’s what I got today: “Imagine this book in every bookstore you ever walk into for the rest of your life - what would you want it to say?”

Either way, it feels like a lot of pressure. So here are some mantras: Done is better than perfect. Things can be fun and impactful without overthinking then to death, or over the course of decades. You can do this, but…you have to actually do it.

Sleep-Deprived Woman, Reporting for Duty

One of the reasons I didn’t have children is because I knew I couldn’t handle the sleep deprivation. Joke’s on me, because I’m not sleeping any way.

Did you know that the sleep studies saying humans need eight hours of sleep were done on men? Women actually need ten hours of sleep. A NIGHT. Do you know how often I get ten hours of sleep in one single night? About once a year. Most nights I’m thrilled to crack seven. Four nights in the past week, I’ve been struggling along, haggard and bumping into things, with three or four hours.

Humans don’t operate well like this. It’s 3:28 a.m. and I’ve been awake for four hours already. That’s right, I went to bed around 8:30, woke up around 11:30 after a bad dream and haven’t slept since. I’m now on the couch anger blogging in hopes of convincing my brain to shut up and my body to rest.

Hopefully this peanut butter toast and expensive but thus far useless sleep drink will help.

You know what I really want? An app that takes your favorite comedy specials and mutes the applause, especially the applause at the end. Ooh, I hate that applause at the end. I’ve finally fallen asleep in the last ten minutes after hours of insomnia before turning on Son of Patricia for the 97th time and let Trevor Noah’s dulcet tones lure my cranky, neuro-deficient brain back to sleep. AND THEN THE GODDAMN UPROARIOUS APPLAUSE WAKES ME UP AGAIN. I mean, I’m sure that kind of applause is life blood for comedians, it sure would be for me, but can we at least develop an app that slowly lowers the volume on comedy shows so that once you’ve finally fallen asleep, you stay asleep? And by “you” I mean “me.” I just need some sleep, man.

It’s really my brain. I suspect my body would fall back asleep if my anxious brain didn’t take this quiet time opportunity to torture me. I’ve become a mental master during the daylight hours. Heading down the anxious rabbit hole? I switch courses within a minute or two. Intrusive thought? I flick it away. Old pattern reappearing in hopes of catching me in a weak moment? NOT IN THE SWEET SUNLIGHT OF MIDMORNING, SATAN. But at night, when all I want to do is sleep, and I’m afraid the tools I use during the day when my anxiety brain starts hopping will just wake me up, I really need some help.

Like pills, honestly. I’ve never been a pill person. The way I was raised, taking a Tylenol in college was an act of rebellion, forget all the fun drugs. When I was in my early twenties, I went to see someone about depression and his only solution was anti-depressants and I heard a really clear voice within say “this is not for you” and so I walked away. He basically chased me down the hall with his prescription pad. I’ve never regretted that decision. But it does not escape me that literally every time I go to the doctor, they try to give me pills with no mention of getting to the root of the issue, but the one time I go to the doctor because I actually want some sleeping pills for when the insomnia gets really bad, he tries to get me to go to a sleep study first, a sleep study which is impossible to schedule.

So I’m still here, rage blogging on my couch at 3:33 am because I had a bad dream, woke up after three hours of sleep, and that might just be it for me tonight.

My reason for writing here is to write myself to a new perspective, but I have no new perspective here. I just know how I feel the days after getting ten hours of sleep - like a superhero - and how I feel the days (far more common) when I get three or four hours of sleep - like an addled slug.

So if you see me trying to do things tomorrow, an addled slug, know that it's a triumph of the will.

The Profound Beauty of the Void

Being in the void is one of the scariest things we can experience. We can’t see the way out. We have no idea how or when the situation will resolve, we have no idea if what we want will ever unfold for us. 

But the void is where the rebirth happens, where the transformation begins. 

We can be in the void with a creative project, a business, a relationship. Your entire life may feel like it’s in the void. Maybe you’ve been navigating that rebirth, that scary void, for years. 

I feel you. I’ve been there - for years. Being in the void for a protracted period is one of the hardest things we can go through - when what once worked doesn’t work any more. When what we once relied on fades away. When pieces of ourselves feel lost, or we’ve changed so utterly that we barely recognize ourselves any more. 

We’re required to move through the void to create. 

To create those beautiful things only you can bring into the world, to create a life that surprises and delights you in the best of ways. 

The void feels like nothing, the scariest of nothings. But we create from nothing. 

But first we have to rest in the void. Rather than try to move through it, fight through it, or even heal through it. 

We have to surrender - oh, that word - to the darkness rather than try to light our way out. 

We have to trust that what’s growing within us will bloom in the perfect time - maybe not our prescribed time, but the perfect time for what you’re creating - whether it’s a book, a business, a relationship, a family, or a new phase of life and evolution. 

As someone who navigated the void for years - sometimes resting, sometimes trusting, sometimes trying to fight my way out, I know how scary it is to be in the void, especially when it feels never-ending, when you can measure your void time by calendar years. 

So I want to have a conversation about it. About the challenges and the profound beauty of the void. About how to care for yourself and your life from within the void. How to navigate it so that the profound transformation of the void can find you, can sweep you out when it’s time. Not when you’re ready, but when it’s time. 

Love, Amber

Emotional Support Blog

After a few rough nights of sleep, my brain is bouncing down a more negative track than I enjoy. So I’m doing a little light comfort blogging. A few bad dreams, a little peri-menopause-induced insomnia, and more late night doom scrolling than is good for anyone and I need a perspective shift.

So I’m going to write myself to one. Writers are transformation creators and healers and paradigm shifters, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Onward to a sweeter, less panicked, less anxious view of the day and of life and of the world!

Let’s start with some self-recognition. Because if you don’t recognize yourself, who will?

I got myself out of bed - good job, Amber! Started a fire - nicely done on not losing your ever-loving snit when the wood-burning stove door wouldn’t open, Amber! I even did last night’s dishes - PARADE OF GLITTER-FLINGING GIRAFFES FOR YOU, AMBER! After this impressive burst of productivity, I’ve made a nest in front of the fire, put extra maple syrup in my cacao, and fired up my blog for this experience of mental and emotional transfiguration.

As I was doing the dishes, I started talking to myself. This is healthier than it sounds, because I was saying things like “I plan on having a good day today” and “I am open to magic today” and “I am ready for good things to happen today.” It helps more than you might think.

The amount of work it takes to stay in a good mental space is mind-boggling. Sometimes circumstances support you - you had a good night of sleep, your hormones are doing the right things, or something nice just happened. That’s when it’s so much easier to keep your brain and emotions on a good-feeling track. But sometimes, circumstances just aren’t helping you out. So you have to talk to yourself in the kitchen.

Other things I do to help myself shift into something that feels better, things I will probably do a bit later, are morning pages (see Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way), tapping (look up ‘emotional freedom technique’ for more on that), writing out my intentions, doing some stretches and weight lifting, eating a nice breakfast (I made an apple crumble earlier this week that is delightful with a couple of pork sausages), and trying to convince the cats to cuddle with me. Breathing deeply, moving, writing, cleaning, anything to shift the energy around.

I’m doing my best to appreciate how truly lovely my life is, to keep myself on a steady course so that I can help in the ways I’m able.

Appreciation, pleasure, and love are some of the most powerful ways to shift, but it can take some work to get there sometimes. It takes practice. There was a long time when I struggled to access any of those things, and it was scary. So now I’m doing everything I can, as often as I can, to stay in the habit of feeling good.

Feeling good is a revolutionary act, my friends.

Tending My Quiet Corner of the Internet

One of my favorite things about writing here is that no one really knows this blog exists. It lends it the flavor of a personal diary. It feels quiet and safe. And that - at least in this moment in time - that feels very welcome. It allows me to practice writing again after so long away. It allows me to tune in with my heart and soul with zero concerns about what the reaction might be.

With all the noise and unhinged world events, I want to create a space that feels safe and supportive to everyone. So I’ll be quietly practicing here until it feels time to get bigger.

Here’s how my quiet corner of the world feels today:

It feels soft, yet expansive. California sun is streaming in the windows (I’m not complaining about the fact that it feels like spring, but it does worry me just a hair) and my nervous system feels relaxed because I’ve been supporting it like nobody’s business. We’re all walking around in a trauma echo chamber, so supporting your body and boundaries becomes a must instead of a maybe.

I’m drinking my winter support tea in front of the fire. Not to brag, but it seems to be doing its job. I’m still wearing real clothes, but my cozy slippers are on and I’m huddled under my noise-canceling headphones even though I’m the only one in the house except for the cats.

So much feels like it’s ready to shift* and I’m doing my utmost to help it shift for the better.

*Though I would like it noted that when I said I wanted a timeline shift, I didn’t mean back to T*ump.

How am I doing that, you might ask. I SHALL TELL YOU. By staying in the god zone (isn’t that a great phrase?), ruthlessly curating my thoughts and beliefs, breathing through any stickiness or fear that pops up in my chest, and planning as many lovely real world activities like rollerskating and time with family and friends as I can.

Take care of yourselves, my friends. It’s the best place to start when it feels like the world is in turmoil.