There are two women living inside my head.
One is a productivity machine. She’s an editor and publishing partner who thrives on deadlines, project plans, and the satisfaction of moving a book from a manuscript to a published reality. She loves her work, and she’s good at it. The other woman? She just wants to curl up with a good book, a warm cup of tea, and shut the world out for a little while. She craves slowness, quiet, and the comfort of a familiar story.
This past week, it feels like that internal conversation has been front and center, not just in my head, but in my writing and in the things I've been drawn to online. It’s this constant, creative contradiction: the drive to build and produce versus the deep, essential need for rest and comfort. It seems I’m not the only one feeling it.
Part of navigating this has been a conscious shift in where I spend my time online. I’m deliberately pulling away from the noise, the drama, and the vitriol of mainstream social media and returning to my original blogging roots from way back in 2013. It feels like people are craving depth and real connection again, wanting to read more than a two-second soundbite. It’s like this form of engagement is a fashion trend and suddenly I’m trendy. Which is hilarious, because I’ve never been trendy; I’ve just been doing this for a very long time.
This recap is a collection of those thoughts, and as I gather them, I’m thinking specifically about who I’m sharing them with. It’s a way of honoring those of you who were with me long before the move to Substack, those who still visit the website for new posts, and especially my silent readers—I see you, and I’m grateful for you.
This is my way of saying thank you to all of you, for being here.
The Author Behind the Stories
Getting to know Emma through this process has been a privilege. In the book’s dedication, she thanked me for believing in her, but honestly, believing in her was easy. She is every bit the "hopeless romantic" and "introverted extrovert" she describes in her author bio. Her passion for food, cooking, and her own cats isn't just a part of her personality—it’s the heart that beats within these stories.
From our earliest conversations, her vision was clear. She wanted to "capture the joy of falling in love for the first time and celebrate relationships where passion and purpose align." In a literary world that can sometimes feel saturated with heavy drama, her focus on gentle, affirming love stories felt like a necessary and welcome balm. We both agreed that these were the kinds of stories people needed right now.
Her love for the short story format was also a key part of our discussions. She sees them as "quick literary escapes," and I think that’s a brilliant way to put it. We worked to ensure each story in the collection could stand on its own as a perfect, bite-sized dose of happiness, ideal for a lunch break or a quiet evening or waiting for the train after a long day at work.
From the Desk of Deanna's World
I published two pieces this week that were, in hindsight, a direct result of this internal dialogue. They explore the why and the how of the stories we turn to when we need that warm hug feeling.
That Warm Hug Feeling: A Deep Dive
What is it about certain stories that feels like coming home? In this piece, I took a closer look at the psychology behind comfort reads and why they are so essential for our well-being. It’s about more than just escapism; it’s about seeking a safe and predictable space in a world that often feels anything but.
The Art of the Comfort Read
Building on that feeling, this second article gets a bit more personal. I share some of my own go-to comfort reads and what, specifically, I get from them. It’s an exploration of how we use these stories not just to relax, but to process emotions and find our footing again.
Notes and Musings From the Week
Substack Notes has become a space for my more immediate thoughts—the kind of thing you'd text to a friend or mull over while waiting for the kettle to boil. Here’s a little tour of my brain from the last week or so, which shows the progression of this theme pretty clearly.
(Each of these notes can be found on my Substack, linked below the text.)
I'm an editor and publishing partner by day, and a reader and writer by night. I love both sides of my life, and I'm so grateful that I get to do what I love for a living. This is who I am. Hello!
For the listeners of the world, you are the readers who use your ears. This one's for you.
The comeback after the setback is a delicate thing, isn’t it? My June was supposed to be a strategic reset—two weeks of intentional vacation to refresh and unwind. Instead, the universe threw in a nasty bout of the flu and other medical curveballs that turned the entire month into a wash.
I see a lot of authors wrestling with the idea of a "brand."
The advice they get is often tactical: Pick a niche. Find your aesthetic. Post three times a day. It sounds like another project plan, another system to manage. But what if your most powerful brand isn't something you build, but something you excavate?
It’s a bright new day.
It would be easy to look at the clock and see only four hours of sleep—a result of a late-night pasta craving, a lovely chat with Hubby, and just a general mucking around. It would be easy to listen to the storm still raging outside and feel a sense of gloom. But what if this isn’t a bad start? What if it’s a gentle invitation?
There are two women inside me this morning, watching the storm roll in.
The first woman sees the gale-force winds and the sheets of rain. She feels the headache pressing behind her eyes. She sees the groceries we bought, the computers already backed up. She points to the cozy bed, the unread book, the promise of a favorite show. Her voice is a soft whisper: “The world is giving you permission to be still. Listen. Hunker down.”
The second woman hears that whisper and frowns. She’s looking at the calendar. She sees the end-of-financial-year deadline circled in red. She sees the accountant’s email, the author invoices waiting to be sent, the edits that won’t make themselves. Her voice is crisp and clear: “A storm doesn’t move a deadline. Let’s be responsible.”
Note to self:
There are some new people here. A little notification popped up, then another, and another. Look at that. The circle is getting wider.
Pause for a second and remember why that matters. It's not about the numbers. It's about the connection. It’s a sign that the light you’re putting out is being seen.
...Tell them the door is always open. Encourage them to use the chat, to start a discussion, to ask the questions they think are too simple. Remind them—and yourself—that the best things happen when we learn from each other.
You've got some new people here.
And you're so, so glad they came. Don't forget to tell them.
So, end this note. Turn to them. And tell them.
Community and Conversations
One of the best parts of writing online is the conversation that happens around it. It’s a reminder that we’re not just shouting into the void.
That note about the "two women" seemed to strike a chord. I received this comment from Cae Hawksmoor, and it was one of those moments that makes sharing your work feel so worthwhile.
“Oh, this is such a mood. I feel this in my bones. The constant tug-of-war between the part of you that has to function in the world and the part of you that just wants to create and be. It’s a delicate dance, isn’t it?” - Cae Hawksmoor
It really is a delicate dance. It was also great to connect with author William Lutz after he posted a note about the power of having a "true fan." I chimed in, and it led to a lovely little back-and-forth about the author-reader connection. It’s these small interactions that build the community we all value. You can see our exchange unfold starting with my comment here.
Sparks of Inspiration I've Shared
One of my favourite things about being on Substack is the community and the incredible writing that crosses my feed. I often share or "restack" posts that make me stop and think, and this past week was full of them. Here’s a look at what caught my eye.
There was a lot of talk about the business of being an author. I shared Tom Vaughan's excellent note, because he makes a crucial point: being a successful author isn't just about plot; it's also about understanding the business you're in. On a related note, I also restacked a piece about Amazon secrets for publishing. To counter some of that industry weight, it was great to see an optimistic note from Kern Carter highlighting some real growth stats in readership, which I was happy to share here.
Beyond the business talk, I was really moved by some of the more personal and creative posts. I absolutely loved this from Danny J. Li about his class writing to various authors, including Kurt Vonnegut who actually responded. It was a beautiful and heartwarming exchange that I shared immediately. On the lighter side, I couldn't resist sharing a hilarious post from Daniel Piper imagining a "Serious Literary Author's Wedding." It was the perfect opportunity to publicly remind Hubby that he still owes me a honeymoon, as you can see in my personal note here.
Finally, and this ties into so much of what I've been thinking about lately, I shared a simple but powerful note from Karl Dunn about the importance of treating yourself like someone you truly believe in. It was a message I needed to hear, and it felt like the perfect thought to pass along.
A Final Thought
If there’s one thing I’m taking away from this week, it’s the importance of giving ourselves permission. Permission to rest. Permission to create quiet content. Permission to be both the organised professional and the messy creative. They don’t have to be at war. Maybe, just maybe, they’re two sides of the same coin, and learning to let each one have its moment is the real art.
Let's Chat!
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. How do you balance the different parts of your creative self? Do you have go-to comfort reads or shows that feel like coming home? Let me know in the comments.
You can also find me on Substack (I hang out there most these days), through my newsletter, via email, or on Facebook.
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