I love to write. I hate to write. It’s a thing.
Almost daily I complain to the husband: “My characters are stubborn,” “This plot is not behaving as it’s supposed to,” “What do I feel like eating?” or most commonly “AAAHHH, I HAVE NOTHING!!”
To which he always says, “You’ll think of something.”
Helpful? Not really.
And yet when he gifted me this banner for Hanukkah, I immediately hung it over my desk, hoping, perhaps, that it would motivate me to, well, think of something.
Has it worked yet? It’s only been a day. Check back with me in a month or so.
This Substack is a way to help me think of something. What to write. What to read. What to eat. What’s of interest to me. Will it be of interest to you? I can only hope. How often will it come out? I’m thinking monthly? But maybe weekly. Or quarterly. Who can tell? Anyway, let’s dive in.
I’ll think of something…
about Dry January
Why does Dry January always occur in January? The month when it’s bitter cold outside and all I want to do is sit around the fireplace and drink bourbon? The month that has 31 days? The month in which a new House, new Senate, and a new (gag) president are sworn in? Yes, I’m observing this year (as I have for the past bunch of years). No, I’m not happy about it. The husband says, “You know you can just have a drink, if you want one,” but I’m not a quitter! I mean, yes, I quit the guitar, the clarinet, ballet, boyfriends, plenty of jobs, going to the gym, Duolingo…. The list could get pretty long. But I’m not quitting Dry January if only to show the husband that I’m happy to make myself miserable to prove the point that I’m not a quitter, even if I really am. (That made total sense in my brain.)
about television
My parents nagged me to suggested I watch Bad Monkey, based on the book by the same name. If you haven’t started watching it (on Apple TV), you must. I’ve adored author Carl Hiaasen since I read his first novel, Tourist Season, in high school. As a reformed Floridian, I appreciate his wackadoodle tales of the craziness of South Florida. His work transforms beautifully onto the small screen. And Vince Vaughn is the perfect Hiassen hero.
about politics
Actually I don’t want to think about politics. You’re welcome.
about the benefit of being an author
I’m lucky enough to be asked to blurb books occasionally, and recently I read Sarah James’s upcoming novel, Last Stop Union Station. The novel takes place in 1942 and is about espionage, Nazi collaborators, Old Hollywood, love affairs, martinis, and a “show must go on” mentality. It’s not out until this summer, but I suggest adding it to your Goodreads list now, so you’ll be notified when it’s available.
about my writing
My latest book, The Whisper Sister, is a Kindle deal for the month of January. If you haven’t read it yet, grab it now for $1.99!
about my dog
Well, that’s easy. I’m ALWAYS thinking about my dog. She’s the goodest dog ever. (I’ll fight you on that.) This is Bailey. She barks a lot. She doesn’t really love cuddling. She’ll pester you all day for rubs. Like I said, the goodest dog ever!

Is there any better way to end than with Bailey? I think not. If you have any suggestions on what I should think about, let me know! So until next time, make good choices!
jennifer
Hi Jenny! This blog is so fun! And I have a thought about one of your thoughts and your thought is dry January and my thought is fuck it!!! I'm turning 60 this year. How many more Januaries do I even have? Ten? Fifteen? Thirty at the very most and if I get hit by a bus in 2027 I will have only two! I observed Dry January for years with more devotion than I have given any known religion, yet it only took one near-death experience for me to see the rude tunnel of time shortening in front of me and why, oh why, would I deliberately make myself suffer for even one of my possibly paltry remaining Januaries? So I am cozying up to the fireplace with a lovely Dark Manhattan with no regrets. And if you are ever tempted to quit the quitting in earnest I offer this gentle reminder of your fragile mortality as a perfectly respectable offramp into, say, Damp January. And cheers to you, fellow bourbon gal!