Ohhhh, The Path Was Supposed to Be Windy

Here's to a fabulous new year of challenges, new books, and unexpected journeys

My school reading list the summer after 4th grade.

Piles of old diaries were stacked on the tray table in front of me, my handwriting morphing from one to the next. Green ink and swirling, bubbly letters became blue slanted print and then simple black type.

I was doing “research” for the middle-grade novel I’d promised my two younger kids I would write: The Diary Hoppers. But research is so much easier than writing, so that’s what I was doing.

As the flight zoomed across the country, I’d open up a journal, find a relevant passage, and then type the transcription with one hand, holding the diary with the other. First the one with a flower cover. Then the diary with a lock. The one with beautiful Italian paper. The red travel journal.

Who was I back then?

Then I found this. On August 13, 1988, at age almost 12, I wrote:

“I’m definitely going to be some kind of writer when I grow up. I’ve always wanted to. I’ll either work for an ad company, a newspaper, a publishing company, or write books. I’d like to do magazines or TV ads! Who knows?”

(Note: even at age 11, I said I’d “always” wanted to be a writer.)

My first novel is just coming out now, 35 years later. I worked at two ad agencies during college and business school. I’ve written for newspapers. I interned at Vanity Fair, wrote for magazines, and now started a publishing company. Crazy, right?

When you know, you know.

And yet I spent so many years feeling adrift, like my resume made no sense.

I’d gotten so off track jumping from marketing the launch of the new Vera Wang fragrance at Unilever to negotiating group deals for idealab!’s marketing team; working at an inpatient psychiatric unit, to launching a crumb cake business to writing a blog for a daily deal site for moms. I was all over the place.

Everyone else seemed to be driving on a straight road forward, methodically passing the exits, one by one, getting closer to the final destination in a prearranged way, whereas I was on the backroads, constantly making sharp turns, driving past random driveways and neighborhoods, holding on for dear life.

I thought I was lost. That I’d never meet up with everyone else again. I couldn’t see then that I was always on the right track. That was the path. I just couldn’t recognize it because it wasn’t what I thought it would look like.

There is no shared path for authors. Dramatic turns? Different jobs? Ups and downs? Yes. That’s the way to author-land. On a totally predictable career trajectory with few surprises? Probably not going to write that book.

Emma Grey, author of The Last Love Note, posted a photo this week of an empty sheet of paper with 100 things she would attempt in 2024. It was supposed to remind her that as an author, you can’t get ahead without trying things and seeing what lands.

Every so often, someone asks me, “What would your advice be to your younger self?”

I say: “Someday, this will all make sense.”

Two other choice diary moments:

May 12, 1988 (age 11): “Josh is so cute but people are saying he’s a liar and a jerk! But I like him anyhow.” Ah, how much heartbreak I could’ve been spared not going for the bad boys.

March 20, 1989 (age 12): “I just finished the best book called Someone to Love by Norma Fox Mazer. I loved it. The ending was strange but I still adored it. It was definitely ‘my kind of book.’” Always good to have a clear bookish bent.

Speaking of rejection, The Diary Hoppers still hasn't sold, even though I think it’s a good idea. I’m teaming up with an illustrator to potentially turn it into a graphic novel which is all my kids want to read anyway. And I’m working on a new novel and a proposal for another memoir. When will I write these? I’ll find time. I’ll make time. Because I “always” wanted to be a writer. And right now, I’m doing it.

That’s the other thing I’ve learned lately: when the windy path somehow gets you where you always wanted to go, stop. Don’t drive by. Take a minute. Learn. Feel. Enjoy it.

That’s why I’m turning what could’ve “just” been a small book tour into a nationwide “Zibby-verse” tour for Blank with Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books podcasts, books, community, sponsors, and more. It’ll be a celebration of authors — and readers. A tongue-in-cheek homage to authors as rock stars. Sunglasses required. A mega book party from coast to coast and in between. Uniting readers.

My first novel was rejected 20 years ago. But I didn’t give up. I went off-roading. That’s the only reason I’m here now.

So here’s to a new year of challenges, windy paths that make no sense until they do, building community around books, not taking ourselves too seriously, laughing, sharing, meeting up in real life, and avoiding bad boys.

And here’s to finding your ‘kind of book.’ It’s out there waiting for you. Because someone else didn’t give up.

Happy New Year, readers. Thank you for all the support. I hope you’ll come out, meet up, learn about Blank, hear from big deal authors from my podcast, and say hi to me on the Zibby-verse tour. Rsvp here!