What I Tell Myself When I Want to Quit Writing
and why you shouldn't quite either
The front porch at the beautiful house at The Paper Seahorse, where I’m attending the Beauty in the Wilds workshop
Lately, I’ve been trying to do more of what I advise aspiring memoirists to do: write from the heart, even when it’s hard. Sometimes, the words feel like molasses and doubt rears its ugly head, like a little red devil tapping your shoulder.
Last week, I joined 6 people I’ve never met for a writing workshop called Beauty in the Wilds. Inside the dining room of a decades-old house turned into creative space, next door to a papery, we talked about performance versus perfection. We talked about enchantment, and what that means as it pertains to writing. I’m already excited about what the next 5 weeks will hold. It’s increasingly difficult to feel enchanted or excited about the world, but I trust that learning to find beauty in a wild world by using our words will leave me a better, more enthusiastic writer.
We signed up for this 6-week session, hosted by my longtime friend and former coworker Stacy. We met almost 30 years ago in the marketing department at the St. Petersburg Times. Over these decades, our lives mirrored each other’s, even though we live one hour apart.
We were pregnant with our first children, both girls, at the same time, with due dates within days of each other. We adopted our 2nd kids, another daughter for her, and a son for me. We’ve loved black labradors, and each have one that is a therapy dog. And we are now in the same book club.
I love the way life intersects like that, which is why I didn’t hesitate to take this opportunity to gain experience from Stacy in her Beauty in the Wilds workshop. Signing up meant committing to embrace the honesty that is rooted in our stories, emotions, and memories.
Less than 30 minutes into our first session, Stacy’s gentle guidance unlocked our past so that we could unapologetically show others who we were. It wasn’t a simple introduction of name, birthplace, married or not, number of kids, job, etc. Instead, I learned that the breath worker has lost a child, the therapist lost her church, the artist holds daily tea parties for her daughter and husband, the Frenchman, who is a retired army colonel and his wife, the teacher, raised 5 children, and the former pediatric nurse is also married to a Jewish man.
As I listened to their introductions, I recalled the evening in 2014, when Rick and I accepted an invitation from Gen. Lloyd Austin and his wife, Charlene, to have dinner at their home at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, just 30 minutes from St. Pete, where we live.
After venturing beyond their foyer, I was astonished to see other couples milling about. I thought it was just going to be us and them. I later learned that the former director of the Joint Staff, and commanding general of U.S. and coalition forces in Iraq who headed U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) hosted these dinners regularly.
Rick had been elected mayor of St. Petersburg just a few months before, and despite being in the political world for 14 years, this new role meant more invitations, and an increased interest in the person beside the politician: me.
To make things more interesting, spouses weren’t seated next to each other. This was to encourage conversation among the guests. Each of us was tasked with introducing ourselves. Thank goodness I was the 12th to do so. It gave me time to concoct something that I thought might sound intriguing among the many accolades, awards, and achievements the other guests were listing.
I wrote about this moment in my memoir, Accidental First Lady. It was my first lesson as the new first lady of St. Petersburg, and it felt like a crash course in overcoming nerves, learning to embrace my unique story, and how meaningfully articulate what I deemed mundane.
That was mistake number 1, thinking my life experiences, compared to the others I was hearing in the room, didn’t measure up. In addition to my role as a public relations manager at a local non-profit, I decided to introduce myself also as a volunteer puppy raiser who guide dogs for people with visual impairments and service dogs for veterans with PTSD.
I wasn’t a CEO, and the only accolade I’d received in this role was the Presidential Service Award for the number of hours I devoted to puppy raising. This was part of my story, a role I was proud of, and one I hoped would resonate with the other veterans in the room, and certainly Gen. Austin.
I may have been momentarily paralyzed by the thought of introducing myself, because I knew that many often saw me as nothing more than Rick’s accessory, but I decided to lean into my story.
I’d spent more than a few minutes obsessing over what I would say, how it would be received, and whether my voice would shake when I spoke. I had no idea that that evening would be the first lesson in learning how to embrace the experiences that shaped who I am, defined my life, and created my unique story.
That evening prepared me for the moment 4 years later, when at the suggestion of a friend, I started writing my memoir of political spouse life. Since publishing my book in 2021, I know the power that lies in embracing our stories, telling them to the world (if we want to), and understanding their role in changing another’s life.
That’s also why I teach aspiring authors how to write, publish, and promote memoirs that inspire, educate, and entertain.
But even as someone who teaches writing, I get stuck too. I overthink. I question structure. I wonder if I’m getting it “right,” whatever that means. I stare at the blank page and think, “Maybe I don’t have it in me this time.”
Sound familiar?
But then I remind myself why I started.
I wrote my first memoir not because I was certain, but because I was compelled. I had lived through things that cracked me open, and I knew someone out there needed to hear the unpolished truth. I wasn’t famous. I wasn’t a literary darling. I was a woman with a voice, a story, and a tiny ember of courage.
So, I showed up. Page by page.
And it changed my life.
Now, I help other aspiring authors do the same. And if you're reading this, I have a hunch that you’ve got a story bubbling up inside, something that won’t stop whispering, “Write me.”
That’s why I’m inviting you to a free one-hour workshop I created just for writers like you:
The Memoir Blueprint: How to Stop Overthinking and Start Writing. This free, one-hour workshop is perfect for beginners or writers who feel stuck. It’s a safe space for reluctant writers, overthinkers, or those who jot journal entries and wonder, “Could this be something more?”
You’ll walk away with:
A clear, simple structure to finally begin your memoir.
A better understanding of what makes a story compelling (hint: it’s not drama or trauma)
Permission to start exactly where you are—with all your mess, wisdom, and voice intact.
I won’t just be teaching from a script. I’ll be teaching what I wish I knew when I sat down to write my book. I’ll share how that shaky bravery released the vulnerability that was necessary for me write Accidental First Lady. I’ll teach from the inspiration I’m feeling among strangers who I’m certain will be friends in this Beauty in the Wilds that is teaching me new ways to write.
You don’t need to wait for clarity.
You don’t need a book deal or a perfect outline.
You just need the blueprint—and the belief that your story matters.
Let’s start there.
👉 Save your spot here for The Memoir Blueprint
(And yes, it’s 100% free.)
Your story is waiting. I’ll meet you on the page.