A client recently asked me what a typical day looks like around here. That made me laugh because there isn’t one.
Books don’t seem to care much about schedules. But I was intrigued by the question and thought I’d jot down a few notes this past Thursday . . .
5:00 a.m.
It’s still dark, but I wake up naturally, excited to get started. Before I even think about diving back into the page-turning manuscript I’m reading or answering fun emails, I spend eight minutes meditating, followed by another ten or so writing my daily Gratitude List. I’ve learned that if I don’t fill myself up first with spirit, I don’t have as much to give others.
Then it’s off to the races.
Before 6:00 a.m.
I’ve already edited an agent pitch for one of my Virtual Retreat writers, emailing it back so she can make sure it still feels like her, paid bills, reviewed my online bank statements, and texted a client in Europe who’s headed to Paris. She’s revised her book proposal overnight and wants to know if I can squeeze in one more review before I send it to an agent who’s requested it.
Of course I can. Probably before lunch. I hope. I’ll figure it out.
6:10 a.m.
Next comes reviewing yesterday’s call transcript with an agent about two of my clients. One project? She’s passing. (Didn’t read past chapter three. Ugh. You can lead a horse to water, but . . .) The other manuscript? She loves the writer and her “gorgeous prose.” Yay! She has notes; fortunately, I agree with them, and I send an introductory email to the agent and client so they can set up a joint call to discuss next steps.
One client mourns and regroups (next!). The other celebrates. Often, both realities happen on the same day. #Duality
6:30 a.m.
The dogs remind me that, despite the fast and furious tapping of keys, their breakfast remains the day’s highest priority. How could I not agree?
Sit-ups in the family room. Followed by lunges and heavy ball lifting. Not much, but enough to temporarily ease my panic about gravity and its unforgiving effects.
7:15 a.m.
I’m at the barn feeding the horses, checking water buckets, giving everyone their daily dose of fly spray because the Arizona morning is already heating up and the flies are having the time of their lives. By three o’clock, the summer monsoons will come whipping through like they own the place, but for now it’s all sunshine, buzzing wings, and horses looking at me as if to say, A little faster with that relief, please.
I say good morning to our rescue pigeon (because yes, we have one) and wonder how my life somehow became this strange, wonderful collision of literary dreams and ranch chores.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Back inside, a pot of stew goes on for my husband, who’s due home soon from a fishing trip. (I can’t wait to see him or the fish!)
9:10 a.m.
My phone buzzes. Five texts pop up in a group chat. Another client and her ghostwriter are debating whether to add what they think is a crucial fact to their query letter. My vote? A big no. “I’d prefer not giving away the whole arc in the pitch. Let’s leave them wanting more.”
But they make a strong argument. We talk it through and find a win-win-win compromise.
Which works . . . the agent requests the full manuscript twenty minutes later.
Then, because this is my life, the conversation somehow veers into astrology, publishing timing, and deadlines. Normal biz around here.
I make a giant glass of iced tea and say a silent prayer that I’m not indulging in an unhealthy amount of Stevia. Ha.
I send three voice memos in quick succession to my Europe client, who’s offering to organize a possible book signing tour and writing retreat for me in Bath, England next May. (Hmmm. I’m thinking likely yes, if my sister will join me—also a likely yes.)
I reply to Random House, Isabel Allende’s publisher, about when we’re going to record her Beautiful Writers Podcast episode—and a possible guest co-host. Swoon!
This fall. Wheee.
10:00 a.m.
Then it’s time for our Beautiful Writers Group Write-In.
This is the heart of everything.
On this particular day, two women are exhausted. They’ve reached that dangerous place every writer eventually visits—the place where you’re convinced the book isn’t good enough, or maybe you’re not.
Before anyone writes a word, we spend twenty-five minutes talking. Some of us cry. We all laugh. Everyone understands because we’ve all been there.
I love these women like mad and tell them I can’t believe I had this membership for nearly ten years before hosting my own Write-Ins. We take our group photo to post in the Facebook group and include in our newsletter—so we’re reminded of showing up for ourselves and our art—and I cannot imagine my weeks without these connections. I feel so dang grateful.
By the time we log off to go write (before coming back 2.5 hours later to report what we accomplished), nobody feels alone anymore.
Those twenty-five minutes may have mattered more than the writing itself.
10:30 a.m.
Read the aforementioned proposal (adore the changes and forward it to the waiting agent). Jot down editorial notes for another writer and brainstorm her book titles over a quick FaceTime call while giving my blind dog the first of her nine daily drops and feeding her and her six “siblings” their now-tardy breakfast.
12:45 p.m.
An email pops up from my publisher with some happy news: Amazon is planning a $3.99 Kindle sale on Beautiful Writers soon. They asked me not to announce the timing to my list in case Amazon changes the schedule, but I start ruminating on how to celebrate it when the day comes.
A post? A giveaway? A behind-the-scenes story?
Not sure, but I have options! Marketing never sleeps—it just changes costumes.
Log into my writing app in progress, hit the timer, choose a project (my divorce memoir) and write for 30 minutes. Heaven.
1:00 p.m.
Five of the seven writers from this morning’s BWG Write-In pop back in to report on their progress. We have a delightful chat about signs and synchronicity, and I leave feeling like magic is in the air, a normal occurrence with these ladies!
1:30 p.m.
Lunch with my man. He says Alaska would have been better with me there, but I love hearing his stories of fishing with his best friend and secretly thank God for the quiet week, despite how much I wish I could have been in two places at once.
2:15 p.m.
An email arrives in our Team@BookMama inbox from a gal who read my newsletter about a last-minute Virtual Retreat opening yesterday and wanted to sign up and join our first brainstorming session. Because I didn’t see her message in time, I’d already filled that fifth spot myself.
I’m taking my own workshop!
And I wasn’t about to give that spot up—now that I’d felt the delight of it so personally. Those ladies are brilliant! (No surprise there.)
And . . . turns out, reading your own work after spending hours immersed in everyone else’s manuscripts is harder than I’d remembered. By the time I finished, I either needed another tea or a nap. My better nature chose to make a carrot juice instead, and that did the trick.
Grateful for how vulnerable and exhilarating it is to put fresh pages in front of people who care enough to make them better, I doubled down emotionally and recommitted even more to working on my own book.
I write her back, apologize for the missed connection, let her know I’ve just posted the next Virtual Retreat (it begins December 2), and breathe a sigh of relief after confirming that my assistant has already updated the website with the new date and our latest retreat testimonials.
She had. Phew.
2:45 p.m.
I download yesterday’s retreat brainstorming session, export the video, and email it to one of our writers who got stuck in traffic driving home from Italy to Tahoe and missed the first two women reading.
No one gets left behind if I can help it.
3:00 p.m.
It’s time for a marketing call, where we brainstorm and pitch magazine article ideas I’ve been kicking around. We talk headlines, angles, editors, and how to get stories into the hands of the people who most need to read them.
4:15 p.m.
Before wrapping up for the afternoon, I hop onto Upwork and message my two of eight favorite app developer candidates my son, Tosh, and I interviewed. Both are finalists for building the Beautiful Writers accountability and time-tracking app Tosh surprised me with last Mother’s Day. I tell them I’ll make my final decision within the next few days.
They both promise that, if all goes according to plan, we’ll have a beta version ready for writers to test this fall.
The thought makes me ridiculously happy. It feels magical to be able to create a tool that actually helps ME and other writers finish the books we’re aching to birth.
Afterward it’s back outside.
More horses. More fly spray. More dogs. More pigeon love. The monsoon does its muddy dance and Larry and I put all seven dogs into the outdoor dog washer to clean feet before letting everyone back inside.
Somewhere in there, laundry + calls with my sis and best friend.
6:00 p.m.
Before Larry and I sit down to stew and salad, I catch MoJo, our youngest German Shorthair Pointer, at the kitchen counter just before she makes off with an entire stick of butter.
We lock eyes.
She knows she’s been caught.
I know she’ll absolutely do it again. Apparently, policing the butter dish is part of my job description, too.
By the end of the day, I’ve probably read fifty pages, edited three proposals, talked at least one writer off the ledge, celebrated another’s breakthrough, shoveled lots, cooked beautifully (if I do say so myself), answered questions from three different time zones, dreamed up three new dimensions of the app for writers, crafted a new scene for my book (tracking both word count and time spent in my app prototype), and reminded myself, again, that books are never created by perfect days.
They’re created by ordinary people who keep showing up.
Messy, hopeful, tired, stubborn people. I’m proud to put myself in that category. Whether we’re in a Manhattan publishing house, a little writing nook in Paris, or on a horse ranch in Arizona.
I guess that’s what people are paying for when they come to a retreat or seek me out. It’s not just editorial feedback or my industry connections. It’s a front-row seat to a life built around books. Around writers, “impossible” dreams, agents, editors, horses, dogs, and yes, the occasional butter emergency.
You come for the writing.
My wish is that you leave with your people.
And then we all wake up the next morning . . . and do it again. 
Write on,
Linda xo
