The Zing of the Perfect Thing

And how you make a huge difference.

Scene: My son’s bedroom, lights dim, the first attempt at bedtime. Earlier this week.

“Oh, Mom. I forgot to tell you…”

“What?”

“My old teacher loves one of your books.”

I beamed at my not-so-little one as I pulled up the covers and tucked him into bed.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” I said. “Which book?”

“Everyone But Myself. She said to tell you. Sorry, I forgot yesterday.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, smiling. “You told me now and it made my night. I have to tell Julie.” (The author,

Julie Chavez

. Who I’m telling right now. Hi Julie.)

Hearing that readers connect with any of the books we publish or books I recommend gives me goosebumps. After all, this is what I do it for: those zings of pleasure. To have my kids hear that what I’m doing is affecting others? Icing on the cake that Mounjauro has taken away my craving for.

Scene: The school lobby at the beginning of drop-off. Yesterday.

As the kids and I said goodbye at school, I ran into that same teacher, one of my favorites, with whom I’ve had a special relationship for years. We text.

Our eyes lit up in the lobby seeing each other.

“I hear you loved Everyone But Myself,” I said, hugging her.

“I’m listening to it,” she answered, then mimicking earphones. “You know when something is so good you just don’t want it to end? I only allow myself one chapter a day because I don’t want to finish it too quickly.”

“Aww!”

“I love that she’s a school librarian and that it takes place in a school and I’m in a school and it’s just so relatable. I love books like that. Where you hear the author’s voice.”

My son and daughter glanced over at us occasionally as they greeted their friends. I knew they could hear us.

Scene: The floor of our playroom after doing art projects, gearing up for what would be a two-hour bedtime dance.

“You know, guys,” I said. “What your teacher said to me was so important. I know it’s not always fun for you that I have to be on my phone and computer so much or that I have to run to meetings and get stressed so often or whatever. But when a reader like your teacher really connects with something I’ve played even a small role in putting out in the world? It’s like magic. And you play in a part in that. So thank you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” my daughter said, going back to drawing.

Okay, fine. It was a big moment for me if not for them. But I’m hoping it sunk in.

I don’t always get to see the fruits of my labor up close so this was ridiculously meaningful, but our “New Year New Chapter” event last weekend had the same effect. We brought 150 book lovers and authors together for conversation, panels, and more to extol the virtues of writing.

(You can watch all five hours of panel discussions, all moderated by me, here. I dare you.)

Jen Butler

, an attendee, wrote a fabulous article about it called, “Wait, Women Can Actually Be This Kind?” capturing the vibe far better than I could, excitedly talking about the feeling in the room and how she was all-in for the Zibby-verse. It makes it all worth it.

Scene: My head. Don’t even.

My everyday life is chaotic and my moods are even less stable. Sometimes I’m calm, happy, smiling, engaged, and upbeat — especially during a podcast session in which I’m completely focused on the person at hand. Other times, I’m frantic, like when I scream at the kids to get to school in the morning. (Yesterday, as we were out the door, I realized that the kids had their grandmother on FaceTime. Oy.)

Sometimes I want to throw in the towel when things go sideways. Sometimes I put my head in my hands on my desk when I realize how many emails I have to respond to or the length of my to-do list. I’m starting to make mistakes. I lost track of time twice this week, including once for a kid-related event and once for a podcast I was a guest on.

Why? I’m starting to do publicity for my novel Blank which comes out SO SOON on March 1st and it has tipped me over the edge. (Tour info here.)

It’s a lot. It’s everything I’ve worked for for decades. Seriously. It all seems to be happening now. Ahhhh!! Almost 30 years after interning at Vanity Fair in college, filing contributing editor contracts, and realizing there was no path from intern to author, I’ve finally gotten a Condé Nast article contract of my own. Full circle.

But good things also come with stress and anyone who knows me knows that managing stress isn’t exactly my strong suit. But I’m doing it. And micro-managing every single detail per usual. Because I just don’t learn.

Moments like this weekend’s big event after which I, and many attendees, couldn’t stop smiling and hearing from a beloved teacher are everything.

So, if you’ve been moved by a book, tell someone. Tell the author via direct message on Instagram. Leave them a glowing review somewhere (can’t say the GR word). DM the publisher. Send an email. Post on social. Spread the word.

And even if it wasn’t a book but something else that affected you emotionally — a TV show, a song, a play, a speech, anything — tell the creator. The creative life can be challenging. Feedback feels so good.

Inspired by my experience yesterday, I reached out to two publicists last night to tell them how obsessed I’ve been by their clients’ books: The Wedding People by Alison Espach and Julia Alvarez’s The Cemetery of Untold Stories. So good. Why not tell them?

Your assignment from me (hahaha): reach out to one person this week to thank them for creating something that has meant a lot to you lately. See what happens. I guarantee it’ll make both of you happier.

Scene: The school assembly today, packed with students, teachers, and parents.

The teacher walked by my row.

“Chapter 11, “ she said. And smiled.

p.s. Just missed another Zoom writing this. Oh boy. Time for alarms.