I get this question a lot, and I’m always so grateful for it, and for the followers and friends and friends-of-friends, far and wide, who were the readers of the very first things I ever wrote here, and are so kind to ask. The question, and your encouraging comments, in the eponymous section of the blog and in line at the Cockeysville Target, have been like bottled oxygen in my summit of Cringe Mountain, looming like Everest in the space between thinking I could write something and being brave enough to put it out into the world.

But the answer is yes, I am still writing, though in different spaces and in a different way (and thank you so much for asking). It wasm’t so much that I stopped, but that the children I so often wrote about here on the blog had the nerve to grow up, and even, if you can believe the unmitigated gall, to start their own families. (OK, I can’t even pretend to be mad about this, the daughters-in-law so beloved, the grandsons so delicious.) They’ve become the young families we once were, and their stories are not mine to tell.

I’ve spent the last few years working on a novel, an undertaking that is a story of its own, with more twists and turns than you would believe. I hope I have the chance to tell it to you one day, once I know how that story ends. So far, all I can say is that it has been a hero’s journey of the highest order, complete with all of the beats: the supernatural aid, the mentors. The road of trials and more ego death than I would have opted in for. As women of a certain age find are prone to say about the things that mean the most to us, it has been so much harder than I dreamed it could. If I’d known, I never would have done it. And also: I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I’m not sure if it’s the twinkly lights on the Christmas tree or the hits of the novel writing, but I’ve been thinking about some of those old blog posts, about my first stabs at being a writer. About the community who met me here, in the way that you are met at the train station when you arrive somewhere new and unfamiliar. And about reconnecting with that commmunity, and with the impulsive, unedited writer before the months of restructuring and revision and writing mechanics. just writing stuff down and putting it out there, and finding community in that space.

So, I’m back today to tell you that I’m starting again, on Substack, and to ask if you might consider joining my community at substack.com/@quivervoice and clicking the “subscribe” button, and by sharing the link, as we go, with anyone you think might enjoy reading. Maybe one day, you’ll be the first to get news about the book there, but I can’t promise that part. I can only tell you that I’m doing my level best, and that I would love the company.

Anyway, I’d love to see you over on Substack. And I hope you’ll keep telling the truth about your own stories, even if your voice shakes.