Why I’m Returning to Writing—Even If It’s Messy💫

During the last week of December, I spent far too much time setting up an account on a new writing platform. I learned the ins and outs, adjusted the layout to make it look nice, wrote an introductory post, etc. It wasn’t until I sent out invitations to my closest friends and family that several of them asked the obvious question:

“Why don’t you just post this on your blog?”

It’s a good question.

For the last few years, this blog has become more of a home for family photos than a place where I share my heart. And I like it that way. It feels safe, straightforward (even if still time-consuming), and serves as an excellent family record. But lately, despite the prevailing sentiment that “no one reads blogs anymore,” I’ve realized—I still have a lot to say.

Looking back, I see how fortunate I was during my first two decades of writing. It was easy to write something, send it off to a newspaper or magazine, and see it in print. When publications cut back, I was lucky to transition into the golden age of blogs and mommy websites, where there was always a demand for content. But when blogging crashed, I stopped writing publicly—just as so many of my friends did.

Writing faded, replaced by photos, TikToks, and Instagram Reels. Still, there will always be readers.

Last year, one of the accomplishments I’m most proud of was finishing my first novel and sending it out to agents and publishers. I’d heard that querying a book could be soul-crushing, and that’s absolutely true.

I was lucky enough to find a publisher last fall. And yet, after all those months of writing, the hours and dollars spent querying, and dreaming of just one yes, I decided not to send it to press.

At least, not yet.

I can only describe my decision not to publish on divine hesitation. It’s not the right time for this book. Maybe it never will be.

I’ve felt this before. Years ago, I received an offer to write a parenting book. I turned it down for the same reason and never regretted it. I know I would have written the wrong book.

In the writing world, there’s so much pride attached to publishing a book. It’s a benchmark, a gold star on your résumé that articles or essays can’t replace. So I know what it looks like: I’m a fool to turn down the opportunity.

But I don’t regret it.

The process of writing taught me so much. I’d started novels before but never finished one. This time, I scheduled the hours, put in the work, and learned that inspiration doesn’t come first—it follows effort. When I sat down and wrote, the ideas came.

And now I know: I can do it again.

I don’t know what my next book will be. Maybe children’s fiction. Maybe a book of essays. Maybe I’ll retell a myth, write a murder mystery, or delve into a book on temple worship.

For now, I need to focus on my master’s thesis, which I love. Still, at least once a week, I will share a story here: a lesson learned, something silly, maybe even a chapter or two from my novel. 

Here’s the scary part: I’m also attempting to share some writing on Instagram. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes, lose followers (as if I have a lot!), and occasionally embarrass myself. But as Mary reminded me, “It’s almost impossible to do something creative without being a bit cringey.”

So, forgive me as I find my way back as a writer. It might get messy. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll write something worthwhile.