It’s not that I don’t enjoy writing, or that I find it tedious or difficult. I love to write! Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I constantly wrote. I’ve tucked away terabytes of spec scripts, novel chapters, and journal entries. During the pandemic, I even garnered quite the following on my fanfic blog. But the majority of my writing always lived in my head, as I narrated my days, romanticizing the mundane to make them more bearable.

Now, in my late 30s, I instead find myself doing dishes in dispassionate dormancy, loading laundry to Love is Blind lore, or prepping my makeup primer to polite playlists. I never understood mindless media, but after the past decade of life, I finally get the appeal behind trash TV. It’s the equivalent of plain rice porridge. It sustains, just enough.

I don’t know when I lost all of my free time.

I think it slipped away somewhere between starting my relationship with my significant other, moving in with him and his/now our beloved dog, and living a life that romance embedded in every single cozy corner.

Someone once told me that this might be my death knell.

“A friend of mine stopped writing completley after she met her partner,” they warned me. A sigh left their lips. “She was good, too.”

I’ll admit that losing my alone time has certainly kept me from writing like I used to, holed up in my room, surrounded by empty chip bags and candy wrappers, tangled up in slept-in PJs and a coffee-stained blanket.

But I haven’t necessarily stopped writing completely.

It’s all just still in my head.

Or in random notes on my phone.

Or in bits and pieces of my notebooks.

Writing this way, in disconnected spurts, feels unsatisfying. I want to work on my craft in a more consistent manner. The COVID-prompted lockdown gave me about 2 years of freedom to hone my voice and style, and I feel like I matured a lot as a writer by having a group and community to center my focus.

Now, I’m in a different chapter. If I don’t intentionally schedule the time or set goals, I might miss the opportunity to get a thought down onto the page.

So that’s where I’m starting.

My new year’s resolution of sorts is to try to post something, anything, on this blog, once a day, starting in 2026. I’m setting up shop in the coming days. There will be some sort of filing system that will feel haphazard at the start, but I’ve learned how that takes shape over time. And there will be lots of topics. Life. Love. The impending doom of an ever-churning political conversation at the Christmas Eve dinner table (more on that later, maybe?).

Whether it is one word or a whole novel, I will aim to post at least once a day in 2026.

Hope you enjoy what ends up on the page.