Jenn Johnson

My writing brain last night: Sure, stabbing a main suspect 3000 words from the end of the novel seems like a good idea. Never mind he was supposed to lead our sleuth on a wild chase through the mountains. My writing brain this morning: You don't even know who stabbed him. #amwriting

The damn cat ate three leaves of my lucky writing four-leaf clover. Now I have a one leaf clover, and 5000 words to write to finish this novel.

Just had a big party for a milestone birthday (I won’t say which, but there was an 80s dance-off). At the same time, our town was hit by a major windstorm and some people were without power for days. So naturally we talked about both aging and gratitude for electricity. Now Facebook, having clearly listened in, is serving me posts about how Age is power.

I will say this about Chat GPT. It may be lying to me, but it lies eloquently and with conviction, and I can appreciate that.

Hosting 30+ people for my December milestone birthday this week. Also doing a cookie exchange the day before, despite being a terrible baker. Introvert panic rising. Plan: write a murder mystery about a cookie-exchange birthday gone wrong. #ThingsThatGetInTheWayOfWriting

Okay seriously self, get it together. You used to write until 11 pm. Surely to god you can still form a sentence at 8:15.... #aging #theresistanceisreal

Listening to "We Regret to Inform You" podcast—all these books and shows that only made it because someone refused to quit. The rejection history of A Wrinkle in Time is wild. Being an arbiter of taste is harder (and less accurate) than we pretend.

Does nobody drink at bookclubs anymore? Or am I just old (and therefore nobody drinks in *my* bookclubs anymore)? I remember when they used to be rather boozy affairs. Now rarely a drop of anything other than tea is consumed.

I met with a coach to help me build confidence in sharing my writing. Her suggestion: host an event at my local library about my writing process. Me: crawling under table Really... I was just hoping to feel braver about tweeting sometimes.

Returning to my WIP after a few days of resistance - unsure where the plot is going, too much energy needed for the day job. But the meditative state of writing, of being with the characters in the scene is always restorative. The words will always come.

Very proud of myself for getting through Cyber Monday without buying ALL of the books. Well I bought some books, but not ALL the books.

At 70,000 words. I've set the stage, laid all the clues, and all the suspects are together at a Gala on top of a mountain. But I'm not 100% sure who did it!! Which makes that final scenes a bit hard to write. Converting to writing just the story beats to test different endings.

Went dancing at a bar with some workmates last night after our holiday party. The lead singer was my neighbour growing up. I told everyone he wouldn’t remember me. Turns out he did—and came over to chat during the break. And me, being the absolute idiot I am, casually called him by his brother’s name in my “I’m cool” voice. Arg!

Writing is one of the most guilty activities in my life. Guilty when I don’t write due to life's pressures. Guilty when I steal time from work or cleaning or family or exercise to get the words out. And yet I’ve been driven to do it for almost 23 years. Honest question: does the guilt go away when you’re actually making money writing?