Hi Laura. I have never written a response on a blog or Substack. I rarely comment on social media and I wrote my first Google review last week because my friend asked me to. But I am writing here because it feels important to say ... I can't imagine how hard it is to write a book. But I just wanted to remind you how important and how beautiful it is the work that you are doing. You almost single-handedly changed the entire course of my life with "We are the Luckiest." I am also a marketing executive in my 40's, went through a divorce and have spent most of my adulthood struggling with addiction. I am sober now and the work you are struggling through always feels like a light to me. So thank you, and please ... keep writing. I hope this gives you some inspiration to keep going because the world needs your words and your beautiful perspective. And so do I.
This gave me goosebumps and is making me tear up. Finding my way to Laura’s first book, We are the Luckiest, has also changed my life in the best and most profound ways. I say Thank you prayers for Laura, her book, her sober community, The Luckiest Club, and my sobriety every day. I feel truly lucky.
Recently I told my son, almost two years sober, that recovery also runs in families. Mine has some of the very best people, all imperfectly perfect. I hope your friend and her partner find their way. I root for them.
The way you navigate the foggy days with such honesty and persistence is a reminder that creating anything meaningful is rarely linear. Your words (even on the days you “lose” 400 of them) are always full of heart and insight, and the vulnerability you bring to the page is a gift to all of us following along.
Those notebook maps and candle-drawn circles are proof that the process is the art, even when it feels uncertain. Keep going—we’re rooting for you. ✨
Oh thank you for letting us into this process!! I can feel the frustration in your words and I love seeing the pics of the sticky notes - makes me think of John Nash's office in a "A Beautiful Mind" - yours is much more orgnaized of course but I love getting to witness the brilliance! Love the book recs - thanks, as always, for those! I am dancing with doing some mending of my own mother wounds and finding the words of Bethany Webster in "Discovering the Inner Mother" to be very powerful and helpful. And its so interesting how the mother and father wound are intertwined as the patriarchy hurts us ALL right? Keep going! We can't wait to read it!
HA! I can SO relate to all the notecards and pieces of random paper / notes, arrows - all of it. Writing the final 1/3 of my book was a brain-twisting process! I found using the quotes I loved and wanted to use in the book helpful for 'bucketing' the information / stories / memories I had on the notecards. The quotes, and how I interpreted them, helped to ground me in the message I wanted to communicate to my audience. Just a thought... :-) Stick with it. Little by little becomes a lot...
I am a champion procrastinator and reading this brought to mind those panicky days in college when I'd have a day or two to finish an essay I'd put off until, sometimes, the day before it was due. The adrenaline surge and icy sickness in my stomach fearing that I wouldn't get it finished. Ugh.
It’s Thursday morning (I think?), and your note from Tuesday found me like a hand pressed gently on the shoulder. Not a shove. Not a rescue. Just that kind of touch that says: “Hey. I’m still here too.”
You described something that’s hard to put into words but easy to feel: the terrifying, almost existential unraveling of a day spent writing… in reverse. Negative words. Negative momentum. That cursed feeling of “I swear I had a thread yesterday—where the hell did it go?”
There’s a particular cruelty to those days, because they trick you into thinking you’ve lost not just the plot, but your ability to tell one at all.
But then you did the thing.
You picked up a candle. You traced some circles. You went walking. You let your mind speak out loud with other people instead of keeping it locked inside your skull where all good ideas go to die in fluorescent-lit shame spirals.
And then you wrote this. Which—objectively—is writing. And writing that matters.
I don’t think the goal on days like this is progress. I think it’s proof.
Proof that you’re still in the arena. Still wrestling. Still awake inside your own work. Still trying to match language to feeling in a world that mostly wants us to package, not process.
Here’s something that helped me when I had to cut 12,000 words from a book draft once (read: they weren’t just cut, they evaporated after I realized they were built on the wrong premise):
Everything you write is either the thing, or the thing that gets you to the thing.
Even the cul-de-sacs. Even the abandoned maps. Even the days where you swear off writing forever and decide you’ll just sell candles instead.
I don’t know if the two-thousand-word friendship thread belongs. I don’t know if it’s “on theme.” But I do know that writing that felt necessary is necessary, even if it doesn’t stay on the page. Sometimes it’s just there to help us remember our own voice.
And sometimes, the real story isn’t about romantic relationships—it’s about how all love stories are haunted by our fathers. (Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve learned not to throw away threads too quickly.)
Also, I love that you’re reading Maggie Smith’s Dear Writer. I haven’t picked it up yet, but the fact that you call it a “cheerleader-slash-teacher” makes me want to move it up on the pile.
Your presence in recovery spaces matters. Deeply. Not because you have answers, but because you’re willing to stand near the ache. And that line—“The best people I know are in recovery”—that’s one of those sentences I want to tape above my desk. Right next to, “Will this help? We don’t know.”
Anyway, thank you for writing this. For letting us see the mess. For letting the process be part of the product.
You’re not alone in the not-knowing. I’m rooting for the next map. Even if it starts with a circle.
"Will this help?" In some sense, the answer is always yes, right? Still, those captions did give me a chuckle, and it was really helpful to see those photos. Exciting news about The Book of Alchemy--I'm looking forward to getting it!
go gentle with yourself dear human. xx i think we are all just really tired and life IS Scary at times. you are held in heart. we all are.
also, have you (anyone?) seen Reflections of Life on YouTube and/or Patreon. This has renewed a connection to myself of late. Just thought I would share something that is bringing joy. Amazing people doing the best things and making wee little films about lovely ordinary life. Gracious and gorgeous reminders of our humanity and the beauty of it all. xx
I love everything about what you shared about your writing process! The candle circles, the literal character arcs, the re-thinking! I am also writing. It's a book about my great-great-grandmother's life, and how the things she went through inform my own. Lots of stops and starts at least two whole different structures (and I think I'm onto a third). It sure is messy! Thank you also for the book recommendations - I'll definitely take advantage of my library to check these out! And yes. Some of the most amazing people I know are in recovery.
Reading your book, We Are the Luckiest, was pivotal for me in my journey of recovery 2 years ago. Can't say exactly why what you wrote struck such a deep chord in me, more than all the other recovery groups, books, retreats, programs, etc., etc.,ad adinfinitum I had done during the decades prior.
But it did.
Something clicked, something switched on.
I finally reached a point where I wanted to live full throttle in this third chapter- to experience all the pain and discomfort that is inevitable in these flesh suits, as well as the wildly vivid beauty and joy. Everything had always been either too intense or not intense enough, hence reaching for the bottle to manage the input.
But your book, your journey, and experience gave me the perspective I needed to release control (false as it was) and step into the unknown without resistance. It's been hard, but nowhere near as hard as living the lie that being in active addiction was. My life is blossoming in ways I could not have imagined. And I'm no spring chicken! I'm in my late 60s and I have the feeling of excitement and anticipation for possibilities like I've not known for decades! Your book was my catalyst! Thought you should know! You lit my path at a critical moment!
Hi Laura. I have never written a response on a blog or Substack. I rarely comment on social media and I wrote my first Google review last week because my friend asked me to. But I am writing here because it feels important to say ... I can't imagine how hard it is to write a book. But I just wanted to remind you how important and how beautiful it is the work that you are doing. You almost single-handedly changed the entire course of my life with "We are the Luckiest." I am also a marketing executive in my 40's, went through a divorce and have spent most of my adulthood struggling with addiction. I am sober now and the work you are struggling through always feels like a light to me. So thank you, and please ... keep writing. I hope this gives you some inspiration to keep going because the world needs your words and your beautiful perspective. And so do I.
Amanda. Thank you, so much. This means everything. Keep going ❤️
This gave me goosebumps and is making me tear up. Finding my way to Laura’s first book, We are the Luckiest, has also changed my life in the best and most profound ways. I say Thank you prayers for Laura, her book, her sober community, The Luckiest Club, and my sobriety every day. I feel truly lucky.
Recently I told my son, almost two years sober, that recovery also runs in families. Mine has some of the very best people, all imperfectly perfect. I hope your friend and her partner find their way. I root for them.
The way you navigate the foggy days with such honesty and persistence is a reminder that creating anything meaningful is rarely linear. Your words (even on the days you “lose” 400 of them) are always full of heart and insight, and the vulnerability you bring to the page is a gift to all of us following along.
Those notebook maps and candle-drawn circles are proof that the process is the art, even when it feels uncertain. Keep going—we’re rooting for you. ✨
Thank you 🙏🏽
Oh thank you for letting us into this process!! I can feel the frustration in your words and I love seeing the pics of the sticky notes - makes me think of John Nash's office in a "A Beautiful Mind" - yours is much more orgnaized of course but I love getting to witness the brilliance! Love the book recs - thanks, as always, for those! I am dancing with doing some mending of my own mother wounds and finding the words of Bethany Webster in "Discovering the Inner Mother" to be very powerful and helpful. And its so interesting how the mother and father wound are intertwined as the patriarchy hurts us ALL right? Keep going! We can't wait to read it!
❤️❤️❤️
HA! I can SO relate to all the notecards and pieces of random paper / notes, arrows - all of it. Writing the final 1/3 of my book was a brain-twisting process! I found using the quotes I loved and wanted to use in the book helpful for 'bucketing' the information / stories / memories I had on the notecards. The quotes, and how I interpreted them, helped to ground me in the message I wanted to communicate to my audience. Just a thought... :-) Stick with it. Little by little becomes a lot...
I love that too! I did that a lot with We Are The Luckiest, but it’s funny how my brain is a blank slate for this one in a way. What a ride.
I am a champion procrastinator and reading this brought to mind those panicky days in college when I'd have a day or two to finish an essay I'd put off until, sometimes, the day before it was due. The adrenaline surge and icy sickness in my stomach fearing that I wouldn't get it finished. Ugh.
I know. And book writing is like living with that feeling for a whole year or more 🫠
😳
Hi Laura,
It’s Thursday morning (I think?), and your note from Tuesday found me like a hand pressed gently on the shoulder. Not a shove. Not a rescue. Just that kind of touch that says: “Hey. I’m still here too.”
You described something that’s hard to put into words but easy to feel: the terrifying, almost existential unraveling of a day spent writing… in reverse. Negative words. Negative momentum. That cursed feeling of “I swear I had a thread yesterday—where the hell did it go?”
There’s a particular cruelty to those days, because they trick you into thinking you’ve lost not just the plot, but your ability to tell one at all.
But then you did the thing.
You picked up a candle. You traced some circles. You went walking. You let your mind speak out loud with other people instead of keeping it locked inside your skull where all good ideas go to die in fluorescent-lit shame spirals.
And then you wrote this. Which—objectively—is writing. And writing that matters.
I don’t think the goal on days like this is progress. I think it’s proof.
Proof that you’re still in the arena. Still wrestling. Still awake inside your own work. Still trying to match language to feeling in a world that mostly wants us to package, not process.
Here’s something that helped me when I had to cut 12,000 words from a book draft once (read: they weren’t just cut, they evaporated after I realized they were built on the wrong premise):
Everything you write is either the thing, or the thing that gets you to the thing.
Even the cul-de-sacs. Even the abandoned maps. Even the days where you swear off writing forever and decide you’ll just sell candles instead.
I don’t know if the two-thousand-word friendship thread belongs. I don’t know if it’s “on theme.” But I do know that writing that felt necessary is necessary, even if it doesn’t stay on the page. Sometimes it’s just there to help us remember our own voice.
And sometimes, the real story isn’t about romantic relationships—it’s about how all love stories are haunted by our fathers. (Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve learned not to throw away threads too quickly.)
Also, I love that you’re reading Maggie Smith’s Dear Writer. I haven’t picked it up yet, but the fact that you call it a “cheerleader-slash-teacher” makes me want to move it up on the pile.
Your presence in recovery spaces matters. Deeply. Not because you have answers, but because you’re willing to stand near the ache. And that line—“The best people I know are in recovery”—that’s one of those sentences I want to tape above my desk. Right next to, “Will this help? We don’t know.”
Anyway, thank you for writing this. For letting us see the mess. For letting the process be part of the product.
You’re not alone in the not-knowing. I’m rooting for the next map. Even if it starts with a circle.
Love,
Matt
Well, Matt, that was about the most perfect thing I could’ve read right now. Thank you. 🙏🏽
I always appreciate a process post. Yesterday was a hard day here. I thank you for shining the light on the hard work of recovery. ❤️🩹
Thanks for sending us a note from the trenches. We’re all rooting for you to keep going 🤍
Good things happen. Love is real. We will be okay.
"Will this help?" In some sense, the answer is always yes, right? Still, those captions did give me a chuckle, and it was really helpful to see those photos. Exciting news about The Book of Alchemy--I'm looking forward to getting it!
Good grief! Thank you for showing us your process and it looks terrifying-ly hard. That looks like it took a lot of time.
go gentle with yourself dear human. xx i think we are all just really tired and life IS Scary at times. you are held in heart. we all are.
also, have you (anyone?) seen Reflections of Life on YouTube and/or Patreon. This has renewed a connection to myself of late. Just thought I would share something that is bringing joy. Amazing people doing the best things and making wee little films about lovely ordinary life. Gracious and gorgeous reminders of our humanity and the beauty of it all. xx
Oh! Haven’t heard of that. Thank you Michelle.
so beautiful to watch - the latest one is called Don't Panic. I highly recommend! Justine and Michael put their whole heart into these tiny films.
I love everything about what you shared about your writing process! The candle circles, the literal character arcs, the re-thinking! I am also writing. It's a book about my great-great-grandmother's life, and how the things she went through inform my own. Lots of stops and starts at least two whole different structures (and I think I'm onto a third). It sure is messy! Thank you also for the book recommendations - I'll definitely take advantage of my library to check these out! And yes. Some of the most amazing people I know are in recovery.
It is so messy! I will never get over how messy. Your book sounds so cool. What a gift to bring her alive.
test!
Reading your book, We Are the Luckiest, was pivotal for me in my journey of recovery 2 years ago. Can't say exactly why what you wrote struck such a deep chord in me, more than all the other recovery groups, books, retreats, programs, etc., etc.,ad adinfinitum I had done during the decades prior.
But it did.
Something clicked, something switched on.
I finally reached a point where I wanted to live full throttle in this third chapter- to experience all the pain and discomfort that is inevitable in these flesh suits, as well as the wildly vivid beauty and joy. Everything had always been either too intense or not intense enough, hence reaching for the bottle to manage the input.
But your book, your journey, and experience gave me the perspective I needed to release control (false as it was) and step into the unknown without resistance. It's been hard, but nowhere near as hard as living the lie that being in active addiction was. My life is blossoming in ways I could not have imagined. And I'm no spring chicken! I'm in my late 60s and I have the feeling of excitement and anticipation for possibilities like I've not known for decades! Your book was my catalyst! Thought you should know! You lit my path at a critical moment!
With respect and gratitude,
A sober sister 💖🌟🙏🏻