Sometimes I think it’s the pen. My favorite for a while was a white pen that said Walt Disney Resorts on it in gold. The pen always wrote smoothly. I’d never run out of words. (It was probably just a white Bic pen in fancy clothes, but I liked to pretend otherwise.)

Sometimes I think it’s the notebook. Smaller is better for road trips. Larger is better for home. A soft cover is great; decorated leather is perfect. Notebooks that are pleasant to look at must also be easier to write in.

Sometimes it’s the time of day, or the amount of doomscrolling I’ve done, or whether I’ve slept enough. But really, I know none of that matters. Magical thinking is fun to indulge in—especially when you’re writing about magic—but it won’t get the story finished. The only thing that does is showing up, day by day, and putting words down. The writing is what matters.

I’ve been batting around this dybbuk novel, trying to figure out the balance of horror and humor, trying to figure out how to play the inevitable scene where I explain Jewish folklore for readers who might not know it. Some days I know what I’m writing next; other days I scowl at the notebook for a while. But that’s the process, and I’ll keep at it.

And frankly, it beats doomscrolling.

Hoping for good things for you this week.