March 17, 2026

I am sitting in my office in Oviedo. It is sunny outside and the light through my windows is painting hard shadows across the wood floors.

I'm home from the cafe, where today I wrote the initial sections of chapter 2 of You're Doomed! the new novel.

It is so lonely being a writer: alone with an idea, before and after the page. I wonder what my writing feels like to someone else. Whether the things I've tried to say arrive intact or at all. I'll never really know. I currently have 16 query letters out to agents who might like Where My Soul Might Be, the novel I finished last year. This includes my first batch of letters, which means 7 of those 16 have been sent my first attempts at querying, before I knew what I was doing.

I wonder if a novel about men in a Jewish fraternity is an unmarketable idea. It doesn't matter. The novel is a story I needed to tell.

I also have a short story out to magazines for consideration. "Memorial in a Red State" is out to 9 magazines. They are high profile magazines, with low acceptance rates. Once those have finished rejecting me I'll send it out to another 10.

So much rejection and so many drafts to get there and yet I've never been happier as a writer.