HeyJaredSomeday Novelist
A weekly confession of whether I’ve worked on my novel. Join me with a pledge to your own creative passion. This is my accountability space — maybe yours, too.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 26, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 11, 2026
Latest issues
Perspectives (opens the original)
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Setting aside my periodic bursts of online shopping to conjure control in the face of chaos (never works), I don’t think I’m someone who looks for distraction from what I’m feeling. Taking things head on usually seems right, and whether it actually is or I’m just primed for suffering, I don’t know, but I did it a lot this week.After getting bad news last Friday, I sat with my feelings a lot, watching as others around me did the same, or maybe did the opposite or something in between. It’s been i
Who knows (opens the original)
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My father just passed away. I had a decent post ready for you guys this week before I heard. Maybe I’ll use it some other time. For now, the writing energy will be elsewhere. Week 188: Probably just in shock Some everyday: NoWords: SomeSee you next week.
Loose lips (opens the original)
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Zero words this week but somehow I still feel productive.I ran into an old colleague on the train and was touched when she remembered my writing and asked how it was going. “Really well!” I said rather quickly, then tried to catch my mental balance. Had I just said that so freely? And based on what?Being a practiced martyr I quickly hedged with judgments that I’ve probably just spent too much time away from it between my reading streak and family vacation to remember that it’s full of disasters,
Live from Legoland (opens the original)
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I have thoughts about what rushes in when you clear the mental decks after vacation. The objects in your house you notice you don’t need, the routines now visible that you’d rather not start back on, the vegetables you must catch up on eating.Subscribe for freeI wrote a lot of satisfying snippets and reminders down about things like these in various journals this week, but there has been little opportunity to synthesize them into anything cohesive for you here wi
Homeward bound (opens the original)
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A shirtless 3-year-old boy appeared beside me on the Eurostar to London somewhere post-chunnel. Chest glistening with drool and holding what he called a McDonald’s “Spiderman shooter,” his smirk told me he was not afraid to use it. This boy did not belong to me.By the smell of things, I believed his dead-eyed mother when she caught up to him and told me he’d already been through four pairs of shorts that day. “He nearly fell off the Eiffel Tower.” I believed that, too.<a class="button primary bu
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