To all writers, but especially the #Roaring20s debuts:

It is October. That means pumpkin spice, fall decor, sweater weather... and list season.

List season is a wild ride, my friends. The highs are high, but the lows are real. I thought I’d share a little reflection thread.

I’ll start with some real talk: List season is a difficult season.

You may think you’re prepared.

Likely, you aren’t.

You may be confident you’ll feel happy for friends and be able to manage any inklings of jealousy.

Likely, you will. Mostly.

2020 has not been gentle, and I can assure you that list season will follow this prickly course, too.

So take a moment to look back on the year. I encourage you to do something that a more established author recommended to me when I debuted:

Write yourself a letter.

Write it now, before this season really gets going.

(Bc it will. More than you realize. There are SO MANY LISTS. And they will be EVERYWHERE. With lots of other people’s books on them. ALL THE TIME.)

In this letter, remind yourself why you love your book. Talk about how hard you worked. Celebrate the little moments and the big moments that brought you joy this year.

Brag, if you want to.

It’s ok. Nobody will read this letter but you. This is your safe place to revel.

This letter is your moment to fully immerse yourself in the joy of this incredible accomplishment:

YOU PUBLISHED A BOOK.

In the midst of a pandemic!

In the midst of national and global chaos, you brought a story into the world.

And the world is better bc of it. Bc of YOU.

Tell your book—and yourself—how proud you are.

And breathe.

Then, if you dare, start a list.

BUT.

Write this list on a different piece of paper. Or in a different file. Separate this list from your letter.

Bc the letter is joy. And this list is hope.

And while hope and joy are most certainly intertwined, sometimes they need a little space on their own, too.

Let them breathe together within you, but separately, as well.

In your list, write down the things you hope for. The lists, the awards, the praise.

Listen to me now, and hear me:

**It is okay to hope for these things, my friends.**

Hope is powerful. Hope propels is. Sustains us.

And we all need to be sustained right now, don’t we?

Let yourself hope.

But keep it separate from your letter of joy.

So if...

So when...

Some of these things for which you allow yourself to hope are not realized,

you can still see the JOY, complete and whole in itself.

The joys need not be diminished. Not now. Not ever.

That is my 1st piece of advice.

The 2nd is this:

Mute phrases & words that poke too hard when your heart becomes tender.

Take a hiatus if you need.

And remember, in the moments you do see your hopes realized on a list big or small

Remember someone else feels tender, too.

Do not dull your shine, of course.

But be gentle.

Practice kindness.

Remember that someone else may need to grieve a dashed hope,

may not respond as often or as effervescently to your news as you have done to theirs.

That’s ok. We are all on this road together.

This industry feels like one of scarcity.

It feels as if there is only so much

Recognition
Praise
Acknowledgment

To go around.

But that is a lie.

Love makes everything bigger. Everything. Every space. Including this one.

We are here because we love. We love words. We love stories. We love readers. We love. We love. We love.

Lists are limited.

But the heart of a reader is not.

And that is the space that truly matters.

Remember that. And remember the joy that brought you here.

No matter what