🎧 Press play above to listen as I read Chapter 1 to you!

I should be paddling in. Instead, I linger in the lagoon’s sun-warmed seawater, clutching my spear to my chest as I twirl through a school of snapper, not bothering to aim as they reshape around me in a cloud of silvery red. Their black eyes follow me, wary, but I need no more kills. I filled my hunting basket by high sun.

When the conch calls me back to the village, it calls me to the Offering. First will be the newborn boy the villagers all pray for, to be drowned for the gods. Then the girls who’ve turned sixteen harvests, to be given to the primes to breed as matrons. That includes me. After tonight, this water will no longer be mine.

My lungs contract, attempting an inhale, but I clamp my lips and count the seafloor’s corals until the discomfort passes—the same way I’ve learned to swallow every feeling the gods don’t allow.

My old hunting partner, Relfy, used happy thoughts as her breath-holding trick, but thinking of happy thoughts makes me think of her, and thinking of her leads only to unhappy thoughts, of the silence that was carved into her. So counting corals it is.

I swoop once more through the school of fish, then I kick upward until I burst out of the water. Grabbing the side of my canoe, I release my held breath and suck in an inhale. Though I’m prepared for the poisoned air, its harshness still cramps my lungs.

I break into coughs. My salt-stung eyes beg for a rest, but up here, I might hear the conch’s call. I’m not ready yet. I never will be. I prepare another breath-hold, pursing my lips and bringing air into my belly, then chest—

A canoe cuts through the gray haze, its paddler wearing the red-dyed barkcloth of matronhood.

I deflate like a pufferfish. A matron? But they aren’t allowed in the lagoon.

The paddler takes form. A long braid of squid-ink black, a strong body of soft curves, and those wide, expressive eyes always seeking mine. Relfy.

My chest tightens like I’m still holding my breath. We aren’t allowed to be alone together. Not since last Offering. Not since we—no, she. . . I fix my gaze on her tattooed forehead, avoiding her full lips and the injury they hide inside. I hang from my boat, as limp as my dead fish, and make no effort to close the distance. Perhaps she seeks a different girl.

But Relfy glides closer, her face scrunched in a closed-lip smile that reaches nowhere near as high as it once did. I watched that smile fade over the past twelve moons as Relfy sat alone on the docks, ignored by her fellow matrons. Avoided by me. That was easy enough to accomplish. We girls spend our suns on the water; matrons cannot leave the village.

Yet, she’s found me.

Relfy whistles, and though her tongueless mouth can no longer speak, the memory of her sing-song voice dances in my head like wind rustling the palms. Easla. Calling for me.

The dull pain I’ve buried deep lurches awake, a spear to my heart. I want to swim to her, be near her. I’m sorry. I should shout it. Instead, I shake my head, and my tangled braid snakes through the water. “You shouldn’t be here.” It comes out sharper than I intended.

Relfy rummages at her feet. From a sling wrapped around her chest, a scruff of black hair peeks out. The baby girl I’ve only seen from a distance, no older than three moons.

I don’t even know her name—which creature Relfy chose for her. Something quick, like Relfy’s squirrelfish? Or colorful, like the sea slug I was named for? I want to ask.

But that’s how I know I can’t. Wanting is how all of this started.

Relfy sits upright. She’s holding out. . . a scallop shell.

My hand slips from the canoe, and I sputter out a mouthful of saltwater as I glance around. Within our pocket of haze, the lagoon is empty. We’re finally alone. I swim to Relfy and place my hand on hers, the scallop shell cupped between us. Hiding it? Accepting it?

Only last Offering, our hands were reversed. I held a black-spotted cowrie shell, and Relfy’s hand rested atop mine. As we huddled together in our shared canoe, still dripping saltwater from harvesting urchins, I lowered my voice in a mockery of a prime’s, repeating the same words the man who chose her that night would use. The relationship she was meant to be in, the one the gods allowed. “I, Easla Born-to Cowrie, take you, Relfy Born-to Scallop.”

I offered the cowrie shell lightly, smiling like it was a joke. Even then, the Ocean Law called louder than a conch in my mind. Man is the Atoll. Woman is the Lagoon. Two Atolls can bring no life. Two Lagoons will not survive. We weren’t breaking the gods’ rules. Not truly. But still, my hand retreated.

Relfy scooped up the shell, her eye contact strong. “I am Relfy, Given-to Cowrie.” Then she pressed her face to mine and we laughed against each other’s lips. Laughed because there was nothing else to say. Laughed because with our eyes closed, harvested urchins poking into our feet, we could pretend this was real. As we lingered there, afraid to pull apart, to end what we had, our laughter faded and our kisses tasted of salt.

Relfy’s hand shifts beneath mine, and it’s no longer last Offering. I’m no longer hopeful. Her voice lingers in my ears, confident and caring, but it’s a voice I’ll never hear again. Because of me. Because of us. Something that cannot be.

Blinking back the sting in my eyes, I pick up her scallop shell. A hole has been carved through it. I peek at Relfy’s neck, where a thin string still hangs. Only I know what’s tucked beneath her barkcloth. My cowrie shell, hidden but there. She wants me to do the same.

Relfy leans forward and traces my tattooed forehead: the wave-like curves of my born-to cowrie shell, the straight bar of womanhood inked after I first bled, and below, the bare skin where no given-to shell has yet been carved. Her fingertip presses into that empty space, and we both know what will fill it tonight—a prime’s shell. Never hers.

I should tell her what she wants to hear. A few words to show her we’re still us, that we can make this work.

But we can’t. Not if we want to survive. Relfy has already lost her tongue. In trying to stop that, my mother lost her life. How much more are we willing to lose? I dig a fingernail into my thumb, where crescent-shaped scars cluster. The sharp sting brings me back to reality. Alive with pain is better than dead with none.

I drop her scallop shell into the lagoon.

Relfy chokes out a sound, but I don’t look up. The water is so perfectly clear, I can see her shell drift toward the sand, spinning and soaring like I was only breaths ago. Burying itself away from watching eyes, watchful gods. I take a deep inhale, my lungs pinching from more than the air’s grit. “No more, Relfy,” I whisper, like I don’t want even her to hear.

Relfy’s eyes are as dim as those of the snapper I killed. But this way, she’s alive. We’re both alive. I glance at my basket of fish, at the empty second bench it sits below. We do what we must to survive. I nod at her necklace. “You should remove that.” Then I roll into my boat, refusing to look again at the matron who risked a forbidden canoe ride to visit. The friend who risks more by wearing my shell, the friend who saved me with her sacrifice. Someone much more than a friend.

Relfy whistles. The way it rises sounds hopeful—an unanswered question—but it fades behind me as I paddle. Toward the village that smothers me, the matrons who watch me, this lie I live. And away from the lagoon I love and those trembling lips I desperately want to kiss again. I know who holds the power over my life, and it’s not me. Not yet.

Soon, I’m winding my canoe through a tunnel in the mangroves, ducking to avoid low-hanging limbs. The laughter of other girls itches my ears before I’ve even reached the tunnel’s end. My arms ache from paddling fast enough to put distance between Relfy and me, but I dig another stroke and pull into view of the village.

The docks bustle with action. Younger girls haul up nets and shake out minnows. Older girls huddle in pairs in canoes, rinsing bloody scales from their arms. Some of them will be given to the primes alongside me tonight. If they’re saddened by this, they don’t show it. Not to me.

I glide through their half-circle. They nod in greeting, but their eyes catch on my empty second bench and, as always, those smiles fade.

After Relfy returned to the docks as a matron last Offering, that night’s celebration marred by what was done to her, no girl has asked to take her place as my hunting partner. They fear they might catch Relfy’s sin, her punishment, her ruin.

Good. Let them keep their distance. I was coward enough to stay silent while Relfy took the blame, and for twelve moons since, I’ve said nothing, done nothing. Like I’ll continue to do. Alone is what I deserve.

I drift to a stop, grabbing my rope and throwing two half-hitches around the nearest piling. Then I haul up my fish.

From behind their nets, the younger girls gasp. In their boats, the older ones go quiet. My snappers far outweigh theirs.

As the whispers start again, low and sharp, I glance back at the mangroves. I don’t know how Relfy plans to slip back unseen with a stolen canoe, but when she does, I need to be elsewhere. I hop onto the dock.

In front of me, two girls hunch over their mortars, grinding more blue coral than any prayer calls for.

One glances up, and when her eyes catch mine, they drop just as fast. “The matrons keep asking for more,” she says into her mortar, a bead of sweat rolling off her nose.

So the pregnant matron’s birthing has already begun, which means this coral’s bound straight for the Cowrie hut, and its crowd of matrons. The perfect witnesses to see I’m nowhere near Relfy when she returns.

I crouch beside the girl. “I’ll finish this. Can you descale those?”

She goes still—wary, the way they all are around me. Then she works her fingers loose from the pestle, flexing them one by one. I’ve spent enough suns at a mortar to know that ache. However she’s been taught to feel about me, it’s no match for the chance to stop grinding. She passes me the pestle, careful not to let her fingers brush mine, and turns to my fish.

I take the stone mortar and rise, grinding the coral fragments as I leave the girls behind and wind through the maze of docks that forms our home in the lagoon. The blue coral releases a heavy stench as I crush it, a misleading contrast to the bliss and courage the powder brings once it melts on the tongue. I turn a corner into the Gathering Place.

Ahead, the Cowrie Hut rises on stilts from the sea, its thatched roof strung with the black-spotted shells that give its name.

Matrons huddle in the doorway, same as when I left at sunrise. Then, they whispered their predictions, talking over one another in their fight to be heard.

“She’s craved fish soup,” a Whelk matron said as she shooed my little sister and me out of the hut. “Definitely a boy.”

“And her belly hangs low,” a Sand Dollar matron said, barreling in with swaths of barkcloth, forcing me to press my sister against the wall so we wouldn’t be knocked over. “A boy, I know it, praise the gods.”

They raised their voices louder, nodding so hard their shells clacked, as they all claimed the same outcome. A boy. The only boy that would be birthed for this Offering, since all the others had come out dead. The boy we would offer to the gods before we girls of sixteen harvests offered ourselves to the primes.

Now, those same matrons from this morning wait with closed mouths and tapping feet. The pregnant Cowrie matron must be close.

As I approach, I avert my gaze to the powdered coral in my hands, displaying my piety as clearly as I can. Girls are not allowed to watch a birthing—not until we’ve experienced one ourselves.

The Sand Dollar matron snatches the mortar. “Thank the seas. He’s nearly here.” She passes it back, and it moves from matron to matron, disappearing into the hut.

The blue coral is forbidden outside of prayers, where its euphoric bliss gives us a glimpse of the gods’ promised afterlife. Only birthing matrons are allowed more.

Inside, she cries out, and the matrons wail in response. The unified sound is a crashing wave, frightening and powerful—women telling a woman, we hear you, we feel your pain.

The cries crescendo, but I keep my mouth shut, as I should, forcing a faint smile to my lips. The unease in my stomach intensifies. This will be me. This is what the gods want.

The matrons drop into silence.

My foot takes a step, and it’s in the wrong direction. Away. I dig my fingernail into my thumb. No, let them see me here, not with Relfy. Helping. Good. “May I bring—”

“Where’s the coconut water?” A Scallop matron pushes out and glares at the Sand Dollar matron. “The Holy Crone has asked twice.”

I drop my gaze so it can’t look like I’m peering inside. The Holy Crone’s in there. The woman who used to be my Grandma Almti, before her new position made her something more. I imagine she’s squatted by the birthing matron’s side, delivering orders she knows will be obeyed, her face set in that permanent frustrated focus that warps the black cross inked down and across her forehead, blocking out her old marks. As Holy Crone, she’s no longer born-to or given-to. She executes the gods’ will. She never worries of survival. She decides it.

The Sand Dollar matron scowls and cranes her neck, holding a flat hand sideways to the sun. “I asked the girl two fingers ago.” Her hand folds into a pointed finger and swings toward the coconut grove. “And she’s still there!”

Atop the tallest palm, a small figure perches among the fronds.

The Scallop matron tsks—slow, drawn-out clicks of the tongue—and shakes her head, her well-oiled braid rolling on her large chest. “A pious girl would’ve had it back by now.” Her narrowing eyes slide to me. “Should we be concerned for Elly’s piety?”

Seas, it’s my sister they speak of. My throat thickens. I clear it, and it turns into a cough—the dry, scraping kind the poisoned air leaves in all of us. “I-I’ll see to it.”

Before they can respond, I run toward the grove, my feet slapping the sun-warped boards harder than they need to. Of course Elly’s being difficult. She has been since our mother’s banishment. I know this is how she grieves, but a small part of me prays she would take care of herself, so I don’t have to carry the burden for both of us.

Reaching the palm trees, I slow, burying the frustration. Numbing my own grief so I can attend to hers.

Elly’s foraging partner Dams leans against the tallest palm, swinging a loop of barkcloth around one finger. She straightens when she sees me. “She won’t come down. Hasn’t dropped me a single coconut either.”

I don’t blame Dams for the edge in her voice. Last Offering was their tenth harvest, which meant they earned their first canoe. But the lagoon is where we last saw our mother, so Elly refuses to leave the docks.

The Holy Crone allowed it. A safety concern, she called it. A girl who panics on the water is a danger to herself and others. So Dams is trapped here too.

Except once this boy is born, we’ll paddle out for the Offering to the gods, and everyone must attend, including Dams. And Elly. I wipe my hands on my dress, leaving streaks of fish scales. “Give me the climber.”

Dams hesitates, her gaze flicking up to where Elly must be, then back to me. She chews her lip—afraid, I realize.

“They’re not going to banish her for a coconut.” I keep my voice level, if just to comfort myself. Not for a coconut. Right?

Dams hands me the climber—a strip of barkcloth knotted into a loop. “Gods willing,” she murmurs, and I think she means it.

I tug the knot, expecting slack, but it doesn’t budge. “You tied this well.”

“Yes, I—” She scratches her neck and drops her voice. “Earlier, I could hear Elly. . .” She glances down the walkway toward the huts. “I haven’t told anyone. But you know I’m supposed to.”

Singing. She doesn’t need to say it out loud. Elly’s done it before. A sin.

How does a song hurt anyone, my mother’s voice whispers in my head, but I shove it down where it belongs. Thoughts like that are what got her banished. To hear a sin and say nothing is to share in its evil. If a matron catches Elly singing while we stand here, Dams and I are as guilty as she is. I suck in a breath and release it slowly.

Tonight I’ll be given to a prime. That I can’t stop. But tomorrow, I have a chance to make this better.

The old Holy Crone died after last harvest, and Grandma Almti rose to take her place—which means, for the first time in thirty harvests, the Holy Crone needs an apprentice.

Tomorrow, all of the matrons will race for that honor, out in the lagoon where the first Holy Crone proved herself. I’ve trained every sun, alone, swimming laps around the village until my arms gave out.

Win, and I’ll stand at the Holy Crone’s side. Maybe it won’t be enough to keep my sister safe, maybe nothing is. But piety is the only thing I have, so I’ll give more of it than anyone else: be perfect, be useful, be worth keeping. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

Tomorrow. If Elly doesn’t get us in trouble before then.

I slip the climber’s loops around my ankles. The matrons were already asking after that coconut. It won’t be long before one comes complaining. If she finds Elly up there refusing to work, if she hears Elly singing, the plan is done. And so are we.

I grip the tree and jump onto its rough bark, splaying my knees to the sides. I haven’t climbed since I received my canoe, but I haven’t forgotten the motions. Bend, hop, pull with one hand, grip with the other. I sync my breath to the movements, exhaling as I leap, inhaling as I steady and prepare to go again. I don’t look up or down, only at the trunk’s ridges and cracks.

I’m out of breath and huffing when I see toes curling around the trunk from the other side. Elly’s. I close the remaining distance with small hops, careful not to crush her hands beneath mine. At the top of the palm tree, I bring myself eye-to-eye with my little sister.

Her blonde hair whips around in the wind. She stares past me into the lagoon, tears streaking down her dirty cheeks. In her squatted position among the coconuts, Elly holds perfectly still, so unlike the moon jellyfish our mother named her for. The baby who never stopped bouncing and squirming. Now, Elly grips the palm tree with fingers as white as sand.

I look over my shoulder to where she stares. The stretch of mangrove trees that grows over a dock. Our mother liked to take us there on our rest-suns. Canoes couldn’t approach it, and we could spot villagers before they walked in.

Mother would sit in the shade, leaning against a piling and weaving a basket, and she would sing. It was forbidden, what she did. We may only raise our voices in praise of the gods. That’s what the Ocean Law said, and this wasn’t prayer. But her voice was too beautiful to silence, so I would sit at her side and repair nets, practice knots on my climber, whatever I could to keep my hands busy, until I blinked and it was sunset, and my hands had forgotten their task.

On cooler suns, she’d even untie her braid. Shake out her hair and rub her sore scalp. Another small sin. Always in private.

The first occurrence, I dropped my climber and gasped. “The braid is the seaweed. By wearing the braid, we welcome the harvest.” I recited the words always told to me, the Ocean Law flowing from my tongue as smoothly as water spilled from the Gathering Place’s freshwater spring.

Mother fanned her sun-lightened hair over her shoulders, leaned over, and tapped my nose. “Why do we have the Ocean Law, my little Lug?”

Another sin. Calling me by a different variation of my sea slug. The gods did not give us names so we may change them. But I didn’t know how to disagree with my mother, other than reciting rules. I wasn’t much older than Elly then, or Oonj as Mother would call her there. Old enough to want to be older, but young enough to not know what that meant. “To. . . to protect us.”

Mother’s mouth crooked into something that wasn’t a smile. “To control us.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed. But Elly rushed past, chasing a crab down the dock, and pounced, hands cupped. The crab skittered on as Elly shook her tiny fist. “Once I have my canoe, I’ll catch every crab.”

Then Mother laughed, a full-bodied chuckle that claimed space, demanded attention. A laugh I never heard from any other matron. I didn’t disagree again because I wanted to be as happy as her, so I listened to her songs, let her unbraid my hair too. Responded when she called me Lug instead of Easla. And Elly as Oonj. Only there. Only with her. Maybe it wasn’t the gods who were strict, but the villagers.

I was wrong. Those peaceful rest-suns misled us into believing our hidden behaviors would go unpunished. But all sinners pay for their sins. Relfy, my mother, and through their losses, me. None of us can escape the gods.

I look away from the overgrown dock. Beyond it, the lagoon glitters bright blue. Up here, the haze thins enough, I can see the red-gray waves of the unholy waters, held back by the stark white ring of sun-bleached corals encircling our lagoon. The atoll. The place the Holy Crone abandoned our mother. Abandoned her own daughter. The place we’ll be returning to soon.

I lean into Elly’s view, blocking the atoll. “You won’t have to look at it. I’ll turn the canoe to face the village—”

“I’m not going. I won’t.”

I reach for more Ocean Law to recite, words I’m not sure I believe, but I say them anyway. Because we all do. “The Ocean Law says everyone must attend.”

“I don’t care about the Ocean Law.”

The same defiance our mother had. I squeeze the tree tighter with one hand and release the other, rest it over Elly’s. Like mine, it’s scarred from climbing for coconuts. “Then care about me.” Her arms tremble. Her muscles are fatiguing. “We need to get you down.”

She’s staring at the atoll again, her eyes unfocused. Reliving last Offering. “What if you leave me too?”

“I’ll never leave you.”

Her green eyes cut to mine. “Promise?”

I twist a bright-green coconut until it snaps free. Give the matrons what they want. Avoid attention. “No one will banish us.” I whistle twice and wait for Dams’s responding whistle below. Then I drop the coconut. “The sea slug stays with her jellyfish.”

Elly’s lips purse into a tiny pucker. “How do you know the Holy Crone’s apprenticeship will keep us safe?”

The question lingers in the air, resisting even the breeze. I don’t know, I can only hope. But I can’t say that to Elly. I bring my hand back to hers and rub my thumb across it in a small circle, creating the shape of our shared cowrie. “Because the gods save the pious.”

Elly nods like she understands. “May we please the sea.” She blinks back her tears and reaches for a coconut.

Below, a matron screams.

Elly flinches, and then she falls.

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Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline. I write dystopian fiction set in a flooded world — and this is where I show my work.

Ok, here’s the big news:

I’m self-publishing my dystopian novel, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA.

It’s the book I quit my job for. The one that got me two literary agents. The one (almost) none of you have ever read. Want the pitch?

That’s the pitch, and now here’s the twist. I’m not self-publishing it, yet! At least, not in the way you think. Becauseeeeee, I realized recently this isn’t meant to be one book. It’s actually four. (More on that below!)

So before I dig into this book to revise and expand it, I’m doing something very new for me:

I’m inviting you into the revision cave

and letting you read Act One (what will become the “first book”), starting next Saturday.

So that’s the TLDR. Now, let me tell you how I got here, because boy oh boy, it sure took a while!

The Win that Turned Icky

Last year, I finished writing my second book, MOONSHOT, and sent my pitch out to literary agents (having previously parted ways with my two agents for book one). Eight literary agents requested to read the full manuscript.

Do you know how rare that is?! Agents typically request the full manuscript for 1-2% of the pitches they receive. That’s a harder acceptance rate than Harvard!

. . . Have I told you recently that I went to Harvard?

So there I was, refreshing my email, waiting to hear back from these eight big-name agents who were actively reading my book, and instead of feeling excited, all I felt was. . . dread.

That was the first clue

I’ve been hosting a monthly meetup for fiction authors in San Diego for the past four years, so I’ve heard all about what happens behind the scenes in traditional publishing: the delayed edits followed by rushed deadlines, the soulmate editor who leaves mid-deal, the promised marketing budget that never materializes, the lack of control, data, and transparency (things I LOVE).

So I’m sitting there with my eight pending full requests, thinking, “Do I even want this?”

And this was a very confusing thought to think! Because that has always been my goal! A goal big enough that I quit my job at LinkedIn to pursue it.

The Compliment That Made Me Feel Like a Fraud

Last August at a Harvard friend’s wedding, as we were all settling into our seats for dinner, I scurried across the empty dance floor for a last-minute drink, and an old classmate stopped me right there, in the center of the room, to tell me how amazing it was that I was writing my books. That I was brave.

Y’all, this guy had co-founded a start-up that had just received a ton of funding.

And he said he was proud of me?

All I felt in that moment was shame.

I went back to my table and thought, “this is exactly why I can’t self-publish.” Because right now, this guy is impressed by me. By my literary agent. But if I told him I was thinking to publish it myself, he wouldn’t be any more.

Seeing my face, David asked what was wrong, and when I told him, he said, “Wait, did that guy even mention publishing?”

No, he did not. He said he was proud of me for writing books.

I was the one who decided that a book I published myself would be one I’d have to apologize for.

The Pivots 💃🏼

I’ll spare you the full spiraling of the following months. The short version:

• I decided 1) to self-publish and

• 2) I would self-publish my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, first.

I booked a book cover designer, shared the story with some trusted readers, and then one of those readers (an author whose books I love) told me:

Instead of being frustrated that there was more revision to be done, that I quit LinkedIn six years ago, and I still don’t have a book out in the world (my favorite negative self-talk), all I could think was, “dag nabbit, he’s right.”

I had beta readers from earlier rounds tell me over and over that they wanted more, more, more, all while my literary agent at the time was telling me to cut, cut, cut.

The reasoning? Attention spans are short. You’re competing with TikTok. Get to it faster.

Does this mean I’m about to disappear again?

That’s what I did all these prior times. Countless revisions, two agents, dozens of beta readers. Six years of work — all behind the closed door of my revision cave.

I’m not doing that again.

I’m rebuilding this book into a series over the next few months, and I’d rather not do it alone. The version of MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA that exists right now is the manuscript that won over two top-tier literary agencies, the ones behind The Hunger Games and Ender’s Game — and nobody outside of them and my beta readers has ever read it.

Which brings me to the terrifying part: I’m giving it to you.

Confession: I’m Scared

The thought of self-publishing this book was already scary, but the thought of sharing these chapters with this list of friends is even scarier.

I don’t know if anyone wants to read my book. I don’t know if I’ll open my email after this and find that only four people joined me in the cave, and three of them are related to me.

(The irony being that I currently have exactly three paid subscribers: my mother, my grandmother, and my college roommate’s mother.)

Hi, ladies. 👋

But there’s an excitement here that I haven’t felt in a long time. I’ve spent the past few years waiting for someone with more authority than me to say yes.

Which is strange, because that has never once been how anything in my life has worked.

• When I wanted to work in China after college, I was told to get a job in New York finance first, then transfer over. “That’s how it’s done.” Instead I flew to Hong Kong over winter break, set up interviews with alumni, arranged a summer internship, and landed a full-time job there straight out of school.

• When my dad died and I wanted to move back to the US and into tech, I was told to go to business school to help with the pivot. I started writing the “Why Business School?” essay and thought, “this is silly, why don’t I at least try first?” I moved to San Francisco with no job, interviewed, and LinkedIn hired me.

• When I wanted to write a book, I was told to keep the job and do it on the side. I did — for the first draft. Then I was hooked, so I quit, gave myself one year, and I got literary representation for the first novel I’d ever written!

Then I got an agent, and I stopped following my own advice. Which led to years of waiting for permission, for approval, for something outside my control.

The Truth?

In addition to wanting to get my book out into the world, I want to find out whether I can build an income stream from writing. One that doesn’t require me to bill hours building someone else’s business. This is an experiment, and instead of waiting for things to be perfect, I’m doing it live. (GULP!)

Whether you want to read for free or dive all the way into the deep end, here is how you can join the experiment:

🌊 As a free subscriber, you get:

📖 The First Half of Act 1 (Chapters 1–5)

Get the opening story arc delivered straight to your inbox every Saturday morning.

🎧 Chapter 1 Audio

Press play on your morning walk, commute, or while doing dishes to hear me read the opening chapter.

🎥 The Chapter 1 Director’s Cut Video

The first one’s free, and it’s the best introduction to how my brain works. I pull out the research notes I haven’t opened in six years, show you my terrible village drawings, and explain how a shark tank in the San Francisco aquarium, a sunburn in Mexico, and a Mandarin word helped shape this book.

Subscribe now

🔦 Ready to Go Deeper? (Inside The Cave)

If you join me in The Cave ($9/month or $90/year), you unlock the complete experience — this is built for readers who want the full story, ocean-obsessed nerds who love research rabbit holes, and doers who want co-working accountability.

📖 The Complete Act 1 Story (Chapters 1–10)

Don’t get stopped halfway through the arc. Get weekly access to every chapter drop, including the Act 1 finale where the story takes a massive, irreversible turn, o0o.

🎧 The Complete Author-Read Audiobook

Turn Saturdays into hands-free story time with my author-narrated audio for all 10 chapters.

🎥 10 Exclusive Director’s Cut Videos

For every chapter, sit down with me for a candid video where I pull out my research folders to show you the “iceberg” beneath the page—from UN mangrove village designs, freediving courses where I held my breath for two minutes, primitive horizon timekeeping, and naming characters after sea slugs.

⚡Live Deep Work Co-Working Sessions

Need accountability to make real progress on your own big project? Sit down and body-double alongside me live twice a week during our 9-week sprint:

• Tuesdays: 4:00–5:00pm PT / 7:00–8:00pm ET

• Thursdays: 9:00–10:00am PT / 12:00–1:00pm ET

💬 Subscriber Chat & AMAs

Hang out in our private chat, plus two dedicated Ask Me Anything threads during the sprint — worldbuilding details, productivity setups, life behind the scenes, whatever you’re curious about! I’ll answer in text and voice notes.

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🐠 Want to Become a Big Fish? ($250 / year)

For supporters who want to sponsor the independent creation of this multi-book universe, get direct 1-on-1 access, and back this experiment.

🔦 Full Access to Everything In The Cave

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🧠 A 1-on-1 Strategy Session with Me (60 Mins)

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Regardless of which tier you go with, or if you want to follow along for free, I’ll see you next Saturday, September 19th for Chapter One. Woo!!

🌟 Oh my, a BONUS! 🌟

Join In the Cave this week and get an early sneak-peek of the book cover of MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA in your welcome email — before it’s shown anywhere else! Here’s a teensy preview to whet your appetite:

🌊❤️, Caroline

P.S. [ADDED LATER] You might have noticed that I said I would send this out on Saturday — and if you didn’t notice, that’s perfectly okay — and it’s actually Sunday morning.

Well, I was all prepared and hyped and ready to send on Saturday, but then I showed a friend my book cover and they didn’t like it, (they actually hated it), and then they said people don’t read serialized fiction. And I felt very demoralized and delusional and “why bother?” and I didn’t send this email.

Then, this morning, I woke up and I decided, “you know what, I’d rather take action and learn through doing, even if it flops” and I opened up my Substack to send this email. . . and I noticed something new in my dashboard. (Actually took me a few clicks because I’m not yet that familiar with the dashboard).

Turns out, an author friend from the monthly Writers Group I hosted yesterday had found this and signed up as an annual paid subscriber without telling me (which, keep in mind, I hadn’t even sent out this announcement yet!) and now I’m sitting at my desk at 9am, tearing up over $90. 🥲

What I’m feeling right now that I wanted to share is:

1. do it scared. Even when people seem like they “have it all together”, we don’t. As evidenced by me, even at the last minute, waffling and hesitating and missing my own delivery date.

2. support and encourage your friends. and I don’t mean that in a manipulative, bottom-of-this-email-about-me way, I mean it because I wasn’t expecting that, this morning, to see that from her. It was a kind gesture anyway, but it was a really extra special gesture this morning. Just the little reminder I needed to keep going. So, whoever that friend may be for you, pop in every once in awhile. It can mean a lot more than you think it does.

Okay, I’m sending this email now ♥

P.P.S. If you know a reader who loves the ocean and dystopian sci-fi, or a doer looking for a deep-work focus container, forward this their way!

Share

About the Author:

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline, the author behind The Deep Dive. When I’m not writing, you can find me gardening my veggies and fruit trees, training my German Shepherd to talk with buttons, or working on my pull-ups.

💬 Feel free to like or comment on this post so more Substack users can find it!

More from The Deep Dive:

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline. I write dystopian fiction set in a flooded world — and this is where I show my work.

I stopped this swimmer from being swept out to sea without ever touching him. How?

🌊

I was a rescue kayaker for the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon in San Francisco in 2019. The rules were, if the swimmer touched your kayak, they were disqualified.

Seems reasonable enough, since it is a race, except there was a very strong outgoing current, and I was assigned an outlier position in between the race course and the Golden Gate Bridge, which leads to the open sea.

This poor guy who drifted into my Zone of Supervision was clearly not a very strong open water swimmer. (Otherwise, why was he all the way out here with me, and not on the race course?)

The Alcatraz swim is a VERY technical 1.5 mile swim. It’s 50-58F, which leads to disorienting cold water shock upon entry, then you’re dealing with intense currents that require intentional navigation, and choppy waves impede your visual sighting.

So, back to our poor guy, who is meant to be going left, but keeps swimming right (remember the current?). I can’t touch him, so I am constantly rearranging my kayak into his line of sight and banging my oar, but swimming is NOISY, and he’s buried in waves, so for over an hour, we do the following:

• he swims and nearly collides into my kayak, which is blocking him from being swept out to sea

• he is confused, he angles left, facing shore, and swims a few strokes

• the current pushes him back toward me

• repeat

He is not happy. And now he’s tired, and embarrassed, and he’s still not accounting for the current. Finally, he gets to shore. . . a mile down from the transition area, so now he has to RUN a mile, in his WETSUIT, to join back with the race, where he will have to then do a hilly 18 mile bike ride, then an 8 mile run.

Poor dude. The look on his face when he neared the shore and realized how far off-course he had gotten?

I’ve felt like that recently.

When I quit LinkedIn in 2020, I gave myself one year to write. At the end of that year, I was hooked. I knew I could never go back to corporate. But, I needed some way to make money.

I ended up working part-time with an old college professor for his new startup. I helped him launch their 2nd facility in 2021, and now, we are launching their 27th!

The thing is. . . there’s no upward mobility there, and that’s been fine because I haven’t wanted that! I’ve stayed in this job because it’s been a stable source of income, working with someone I enjoy, on a cause I feel good about (dental surgery for low-income and special needs children) AND it supports my pursuit of writing.

It was all working out perfectly. I had just revised my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, for my agent, we were about to go to publishers. But then my agent dropped me.

And that’s when I started drifting. . .

First, I stayed focused. In Fall 2024, I found a second agent for MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, but their legal contract was problematic so I walked away, and I was so burnt out on that book, that I focused on writing my second book idea, MOONSHOT, instead.

Then, I sent MOONSHOT to agents in Fall 2025, and I was so tired, that I stopped writing anything new. I waited.

You see, I didn’t want to write more until I knew what would come of these two stories I’d already written. I knew that another story meant committing to at least another full year of focus and energy. And did I want to put myself through that again, when I already had two books, with no success?

So I waited for agents. And in the meantime, I took on more consulting clients. More work.

And then one day, I looked up and saw the shore, and how far away I was for the race I had signed up for.

The Job I Escaped, Rebuilt

I hadn’t written in months.

Sure, I was working from home, and I controlled my work, and my schedule was flexible. . . but it was one day, when a client of mine was offering to refer me to other people, that I realized. . .

I don’t want more clients!

And like poor ol’ swimmer guy, I popped up confused, so far from where I was originally intending to go, and feeling like I was fighting against the current just to get back to where I was.

What Will I Actually Regret?

Recently, I heard someone say, “when you’re on your deathbed, what will you regret most?”

I closed my laptop, put away my phone, and went into my hot tub, with just me and my brain thoughts and Fletcher (because he’s always there).

I made myself sit in silence and really think, beyond the should’s and the could’s and the pressure of more clients, more money, what will I actually regret on my deathbed?

I immediately thought, “well it won’t be, ‘darn I should’ve signed another client.’”

That’s when I knew. . . I had drifted.

And as I stared up at the full moon, the next thought that came to me was, so strongly: MY BOOK.

It was so obvious and yet, so random. I hadn’t thought about my books in MONTHS. My silly books that had taken so long and given me so much heartbreak.

When I told David, he asked, “Is the act of writing enough? The fact that you wrote two books? Could you put them in a drawer and be happy?”

I think I actually stepped back in disgust.

For me, it’s not the proof of “could I do it?” It’s the joy and connection of sharing it. I had glimmers of that with my beta readers and it was so special, so energizing.

But I’ve lost it since.

Angling Back Toward Shore

I had already planned my client work, and my future client work, and I easily saw a path there for how to bring in more money.

But that’s not what I’ll regret.

So, I’m proud to say, I’ve stopped taking on any new clients.

My even bigger Big Move?

I ended work with my second largest client, one who was taking up a significant amount of time. (No, don’t worry, not my old college professor and the dental surgical facilities for low-income youth, that’s still my part-time).

I am freeing up time for writing. I am angling left to get back to shore.

Next Saturday, September 12th, I’m going to share my ~ Big Announcement ~ with you. I don’t think you’ll guess exactly what it is. . . because it’s evolved.

P.S. Do you feel like you’ve drifted off-course from whatever you’re working towards?

Hit reply and tell me. I read every one.

🌊❤️,

Caroline

About the Author:

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline, the author behind The Deep Dive. When I’m not writing, you can find me gardening my veggies and fruit trees, training my German Shepherd to talk with buttons, and training to do pull-ups. (I’m almost there!)

🌊You can also find me on Instagram.

💬 Feel free to like or comment on this newsletter so more Substack users can find it!

More from The Deep Dive:

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline. I write dystopian fiction set in a flooded world — and this is where I show my work.

I stopped writing to you because I was embarrassed. What fixed it was a spoon.

🌊

I have a set of nice silver cutlery that my mother gifted me long ago. It claims a full drawer in my kitchen, taking up space, but I never use it. Because it’s FANCY. I should only use it for special occasions.

So, I never use it.

Until one day, I hadn’t run my dishwasher, I needed a spoon, I was out of spoons, and lo and behold—I used a fancy spoon.

It was not a special day. It was just me and a single-serve Greek yogurt. Coconut flavored, and I added blueberries. Which, honestly, to me, is quite fancy.

And that’s when I realized. . . How silly to wait.

I am the fancy!

My Other Silver Drawer

And in my bout of realizing realizations, I realized I have a much bigger “silver drawer”.

You.

Here.

My Substack newsletter.

Something Sensitive

I am going to tell you something sensitive now. Please be kind.

Remember back when I had signed with my first literary agent for my first novel (a YA dystopian sci-fi), with the agency that represented the Hunger Games, and I did a year of revisions with her, and then we were finalllllly about to pitch the book to publishers?

I was so close. So full of hope and determination and grit. I would do anything that might possibly help me.

Well, publishing is a business, and a bigger platform can get you a bigger book deal.

So, every night, after finishing my freelance consulting work for the day and after chipping away at this “final” revision (lol, I thought so many revisions were the “final” one), I sat at my computer and reached out to friends one-on-one, asking them to subscribe to this newsletter to help support me in my mission of impressing publishers with my newsletter subscriber stats (wow, such a “big platform”!) as my dear agent and I prepared to pitch them my book in a few months.

That might be why you are here. Because I asked you directly.

Thank you.

Thank you for supporting me. Each subscription felt like a digitally shouted, “you go girl, you got this!” It truly meant a lot. Nearly 400 of you said yes!

And I’m sorry I overpromised. It’s definitely been more than “a few months”….

But that’s where the Fear of the Fancy Silverware kicked in.

I had worked so hard to attain this NUMBER. (That’s you, sorry. I’m referring to you as a number. . . And don’t get me wrong, it was so lovely to check in on your latest life updates and reconnect and learn what you’d been up to), but oh, how that number became scary.

Because, as I was riding this high of “I’m doing it!! It’s actually happening! Sweet, sweet victory shall finally be mine!” . . .

And Then She Dropped Me

That’s when my agent dropped me.

All of a sudden, I no longer was “about to pitch my book to publishers,” the exact thing I had promised you when I asked you to support me here.

Now, I was a liar. And embarrassed. An embarrassed liar.

I had worked so hard, every night, chip-chipping away, to accumulate “this number” that I didn’t want to lose.

So I froze. I left the fancy silverware untouched in the drawer.

I stopped sending newsletters.

Eat Your Best Food First

On the very first day of freshman year, one of my new college roommates returned from a pre-orientation camping trip, all stinky, and shared with me a lesson they had taught her there: “Eat your best food first, because then you’ll always be eating your best.”

Maybe that’s an obvious one, but I’m not gonna lie, it took me a few minutes to process the meaning. Eat the yummiest thing now, and then out of whatever food you have left, you’ll have a new favorite. Now eat your new yummiest. And repeat. Yumminess all the way down. How joyful!

The Epic Twist

That memory popped up for me back when I was revising MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA to send out to literary agents.

I had this EPIC twist planned, and I was going to have it be the opening to the sequel. Oh sure, the first book was going to end in a great way, but not the epic twist. I only have one epic twist, I have to save it. Space it out. Don’t eat the best food yet.

But then as I was getting my hundreds of rejections, and pasting them on the wall, I thought, “gosh darn it, why am I holding back? I may never get to write the sequel if they don’t like the first book!”

So I pulled that epic twist into the end of book 1, right where it belonged. I pulled out my tastiest treat, and I ate it with the fanciest of silverware. It’s a great ending, and. . .

Well, my agent still dropped me.

(Despite my numerous references to that incident in this singular newsletter, I truly am over it.)

The point is—I’m here to tell you:

I'm Pulling Out the Fancy Silver

I’ll be writing here more. Weekly. Sometimes an essay like this one, sometimes some nerdy research behind my books.

Because at the end of the day, I like writing, and in the last year, I’ve lost that.

In high school, I wrote in a journal while traveling through China, then I moved it to a blog called the traveling bird. I even blogged throughout college.

I have always found joy and catharsis through writing, so why did I leave it stuffed away in a drawer?

When it comes to publishing and book updates, I haven’t had any special occasions, but you know what?

I feel like eating a yummy Greek yogurt on a sunny San Diego day, writing here, to people I love, who care enough to support me with my dream of writing dystopian fiction. . . so yeah, that seems like a great occasion to me!

You Are Not a Number

My “number” might go down. And that’s okay. Because, you, dear friend, are not a number.

At some point, I heard the phrase “1,000 true fans” and I fixated on the wrong part. The 1,000. Not the true fans.

If you’re not excited to be here and I roped you into an awkward pity-subscribe, be free! Be gone! You are released from your obligation. You might not even think there was an obligation. Perhaps this was all in my head.

But I feel freer. I hope you do too.

One More Tasty Treat (since we’re eating those first now)

I’ve been working on something. It’s about my books, it involves a decision I’ve been ruminating and perseverating on for most of this year, and it starts in three weeks.

I’ll tell you all about it on Saturday, September 12th. Eeks!!

🌊❤️,

Caroline

P.S. do you have something special you’ve been saving for a future special day? Why not enjoy it today?

Hit reply and tell me. I read every one.

In case you missed the last three years:

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline Davis, a YA sci-fi author represented by the agency behind The Hunger Games and currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers.

Represented by the agency behind Ender’s Game and currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers.

Not currently represented by anyone, but I finished my 2nd book! This newsletter shares my latest author updates & creative process musings.

Who am I?

It’s a running joke in my family, dating back to that time in college where I semi‑accidentally dyed my very blonde hair…black. (And not my eyebrows.) It was a tragic era for my appearance and yet, at the time, I shockingly did not care.

I’d gone to the hair salon, finally embracing that I no longer was a Florida girl basking in the sun, but a college student in Boston—ok ok, fine, it was Cambridge! I went to Harvard!!

Whew, sorry, don’t know what came over me there.

Anyways, I asked the discounted assistant-to-the-regional-hairstylist (because that’s all I could afford) to “please match my roots”, which I will always claim are dirty blonde, but one might describe as light-brown, and well, some time later, I looked into the mirror and…I had black hair. Dark black hair.

With no money left to fix it, and my hair now too badly fried to do more to it even if I could, I said “thank you” in my best people-pleasing tone and scuttled back to my dorm room, where I then scared the shit out of my roommates because they thought a stranger had broken in.

The best (or worst?) part of this was…I just accepted it. Unplanned black hair, light brown eyebrows, and oh yeah, this was during the recruitment process for Harvard’s final clubs (which are like sororities or secret societies). Not the best timing.

Almost every club cut me. I assume because they were like, “Who’s that random chick with black hair?” (But it also could have been because they didn’t like me. Whatever.)

For the one club that didn’t cut me, it was because an upperclassman I worked with was kind enough to inform everyone of my new black hair.

Thus, I successfully joined the Isis (which was named for the Egyptian goddess of fertility, just so you know) and I got some really great sweatshirts and hoodies that boldly proclaimed ISIS all over them. Sadly, we had to rebrand shortly after, for obvious reasons, and those clothes had to go.

***

The “Who am I?” family joke was born because I truly looked like I was going through an identity crisis.

I wasn’t then.

But I kind of am now…minus the eyebrow mismatch.

Who am I? I studied Mandarin Chinese from age 13, took upper-level Business Chinese in college as a freshman, moved to Hong Kong after graduation, where I emailed about real estate investments in Chinese. Now I speak more Spanish than Chinese. (Duolingo on Day 641!!)

Who am I? In Hong Kong, I studied and passed all three levels of the CFA exams (That stands for Chartered Financial Analyst, and it’s one of the hardest finance designations you can get). Then I left the finance industry, which means over 900 hours of studying and I can’t even force you to call me “Caroline Davis, CFA.” (But I would respond.)

Who am I? At LinkedIn in San Francisco, I won a cross-functional MVP award for my 3-year massive change management project in operations and analytics. Then I quit to write a book.

Who am I? I wrote that book, heck I wrote two books, both in the dystopian sci-fi genre, and I got literary representation from the agency that repped The Hunger Games. Then again with the agency that repped Ender’s Game. Those are both keystone books in my genre! Yet there’s a voice that whispers, “it’s been six years since you left the corporate world…and you still don’t have a book published.”

Who am I? I invested in building an Instagram presence for my future author platform. One reel went big, grew my following by 15,000 people, and even landed me an interview with NPR’s All Things Considered.

But then I stopped.

Was I an influencer? Of what? My dog? My garden? My still-not-publicly-available book? Why was I on here and what was I doing it for anymore??

I didn’t know. So I paused.

Who am I? Even on my entrepreneurial side (aka how I make money, which we all know isn’t coming from book sales), I don’t talk about it, but I have clients who pay me for fractional Chief of Staff and COO work. How cool is that?

Except, because everyone I’ve worked with has come to me versus me selling my services to them, I’ve never truly felt like an entrepreneur.

Yes, I make money that’s not through a full-time employer, but I don’t have a long, fancy sales page with a big blinking “Book a Call with Me” button, so…

Who am I?

Growing up, I always heard my dad talk about “all the pieces of the pie”— the idea of attending to all the aspects of a well-balanced life.

If I was stressing out over an exam, he’d say, “Don’t forget to work out! Work out your brain, work out your body.”

If I was feeling guilty about not studying Chinese so I could go to a party (which was with Isis, but you know which one), he’d remind me, “Social breaks are important too. All the pieces of the pie.”

So…what if, instead of agonizing over this, I applied that life motto now? What if, instead of trying to pick one version of myself, I embraced all my different pie pieces?

Because the truth is: I am multi‑passionate. I am someone who builds many things at once—creatively, professionally, personally….slowly.

Maybe I don’t need to be the Writer, or the COO, or the Influencer.

Maybe the answer to “Who am I?” isn’t a title at all.

Maybe I’m the person intentionally building a life made of many pieces.

I’ve been sitting on this draft for months now, simmering with my pieces, and finally, I feel ready to release this into the world. I have things I’ve put into action, and I can’t wait to bring you along for this next stage in my journey.

Sneak-peek into the first of The New Things:

In the past six years since I left LinkedIn, all of my clients have come to me—a surgical facility group, an interior design studio, an author on book tour, a real estate agency, a dog trainer.

Different industries, different problems, same thing every time: someone smart and capable who needed help getting clear and getting moving.

It always ends the same way. At the close of our meeting, they exhale and say some version of: “Whew. I feel so much better.”

That moment’s my favorite part :)

So here’s my new part: I’m finally doing this entrepreneur thing on purpose.

For the first time ever, I’ll be opening up coaching. And instead of waiting for people to find me, I’m inviting them in.

Inviting YOU in!

It’ll be built around exactly what I’ve been doing for these founders for years: helping you get clear on what you want, and actually making it happen.

So if you’ve ever wanted my brain on your goals, your stuck points, your “I have too much going on and I don’t know where to start”—just reply to this email. I’d love to tell you more.

***

And if you’re not looking for coaching, fear not!

This newsletter is not becoming a sales pitch. I’ll still show up here the same way I always have—with my stories and deep-dives and the occasional identity crisis.

Coaching is just one of my new pieces of the pie. If it’s not for you, no worries at all—in this world of shortening content and shortening attention spans, how amazing that you choose to share your precious time with me.

Like I said, there’s more excitement to come!!

But don’t worry…it won’t involve dying my hair black again. 😉

🌊❤️,

Caroline

Since starting this journey,

+843 people have joined my newsletter

+204 virtual teas have been sent to me on Ko-Fi, yummy! Thank you, friend! 🍵

Send Me a Tea

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline Davis, a YA sci-fi author represented by the agency behind The Hunger Games and currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers.

Represented by the agency behind Ender’s Game and currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers.

Not currently represented by anyone, but my mom still thinks I’m awesome. This newsletter shares my latest author updates & creative process musings.

🚨First off, big announcement! 🚨

I’ve finished my 2nd book MOONSHOT. If you’re interested in beta reading, please respond! First 10 responses will get the elusive, only-offered-once-before Beta Reading slot. Ooh aah.

Yeah wait, what’s MOONSHOT?

It’s the book I’ve been writing since I shelved MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA. (We’ll get to that later). 🫤

*Clears throat to begin the pitch she gave to 10 agents last weekend*

MOONSHOT is a young adult dystopian novel about a deep-sea oil rig welder on a floating company town in the Pacific who hacks her way into the Lottery to win a chance for a better life on the moon, only to discover it’s a televised competition to the death…and her estranged childhood crush is also a competitor.

Bum Bum bummm. If that sounds up your alley and you want to read the finished manuscript and give me feedback, let me know!

🎵and now back to our regularly scheduled content. 🎵

Psh, well that’s a joke. This newsletter is far from regular. I haven’t emailed you since last summer, and I had to remember how to use this platform. Surprise, surprise, I found an unsent draft from last November. Soo…instead of writing more, I’m going to share that draft with you:

From PAST CAROLINE of Nov. 2024 with *edits* from PRESENT CAROLINE:

I’m looking out over mountains as I write this (*accurate at time of writing*), my back sore from sitting on this cross-country flight, my eyes dry from binge-reading Shift (the sequel to Wool/the tv series Silo) on my phone’s tiny Kindle app screen, and I’m deep in the throes of a book hangover.

How devastating and beautiful and tragic that I read this book across two flights and a layover, 7 hours in total, when it took the author far far longer to create it. Such is the way of creation vs. consumption.

I’m returning home from YALLfest, the Young Adult Literature Lovers festival in Charleston, South Carolina that I’ve gone to the past four years.

Every year, I leave YALLfest energized: to write more, to write faster, to write better and to more accolades. It’s a dangerous energy, like consuming one too many drinks or whizzing down a steep hill on my tri bike.

I’m more of a slow and steady energy, not the frenetic type. I like to joke that if only I did cocaine like Stephen King, maybe I would writer faster, but for now, that’s still a joke. Which is why I’m not allowed to do cocaine.

It’s been a slow year (*2024*), one where I haven’t shared my updates because things kept changing. You might be thinking, uh, doesn’t that mean it’s been a fast year? Well, the turbulence light is on, (remember? I’m on an airplane?), so sit back down for a second and let me tell you why I kept not sharing….

🌊 Last December (*2023*), I told you how excited I was for my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to finally get pitched to publishers.

… but then my agent decided she didn’t want to try to sell it. She wanted to shelve it and focus on something new.

🚀 I sat with that disappointment and channeled my energy into my second book, MOONSHOT (another YA dystopian sci-fi), still working with my agent. In March (*2024*), I prepared to tell you how I was making peace with shelving MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA and how I was finding excitement to complete this other book to sell instead. I sent my agent MOONSHOT’s detailed outline and first chapter….

…and my agent dropped me.

I told you that part. Kind of. I said “we split”. The truth is: she dropped me. Why? I’ll elaborate another time. The point is—>

📚 I was left with a book my ex-agent didn’t want to pitch to publishers and another book I hadn’t even finished writing. So I had to find a mindset shift. Just after convincing myself that MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA wasn’t good enough, I had to find my belief in it again. That took time.

…but I did. After avoiding my book out of fear of how bad it must be, I sat down and read it. And I loved it! (again!). And I got back on the proverbial horse and I pitched that book to new agents through the summer (*yes, we’re still in 2024*), again and again.

🖊️ And I got a new agent!

I hadn’t told you that part either. It happened in August (* still 2024*). And it ended in August. A relationship not much shorter than my first boyfriend in 7th grade, who dumped me in the hallway while I was wearing a turkey costume for the middle school play and I had just started my period for the very first time and was walking out of the bathroom with a tampon hidden up my wing: a “woman”, a turkey, and newly single.

That’s basically how I felt this (*past*) August, minus all those very specific details. But a jumble of unexpected good and bad mixed together.

The agent was great, but alas, the agency and the decision maker behind her were not.

So I walked away.

I had author friends tell me to stay. “It’s better than nothing.” And just like my 7th grade breakup, which I honestly have not thought about in 20 years, so I too am intrigued with where this is going…. Ah yes, I’m comparing my red-flag agent to the relationship fear of “but what if I never find anyone else?”

That sentiment probably aligns better with my more life-impacting break-up in my late-20s, but it’s far more fun to talk about the one involving me in a turkey costume.

So here I am, flying back from a book festival for the fourth time, with some lower back pain to remind me I’m aging. Last year (*2023*), I had a powerhouse agency that represents The Hunger Games representing me, the end of revisions for MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA were in sight, and I was absolutely positively boiling over with hope and optimism for a book deal in 2024.

That’s not what 2024 entailed. I’ve had two agents this year, and I’m back to zero. See now how it’s both fast and slow? A hop-skip forward and a stumble-fumble back.

But that forward-back direction depends on the axis used.

[I was going to draw a really creative Chart here, except I can’t be bothered]

Yes, objectively, I’m further away from a book deal. But that’s only one metric to measure. What else has changed?

This YALLfest, I didn’t have imposter syndrome. I didn’t go hide in the bathroom or have a internal moment of overwhelming crushing doubts. I had the most energizing, revitalizing visit with old friends and new friends.

So let’s put that on an axis.

[Again, pretend I have a cool Chart here. Wow. Oh, it’s so insightful. There’s no chart. just go with it.]

I was brave enough to walk away from the thing I’ve wanted and talked about with you for the past—oh my—four years, because it didn’t feel right to me.

How amazing is that!

That’s not nothing. That’s growth and progress. Maybe not in the external self-validating goal-accomplishing way that I’d really prefer.

[See the Chart. Be the Chart. Are you inspired? Good. Me too.]

Where does that leave me? I took a pause on MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA. I’m focusing on MOONSHOT again. It’s 40% drafted (*remember, this is Past Me*) and I’m going to channel that book festival energy into finally get this book done.

But not right now. I have 20 minutes left in this flight, and I need to stare out the window and bask in this book hangover from SILO/WOOL. My books are taking me years to write, but maybe someday, someone will binge-read them on a plane ride.

Slow and steady my friend,

Caroline

WHEW. ok, lets hop back to Present Caroline.

Honestly, I don’t have much to add. Past Caroline-on-a-plane, just like some snakes, really gave you the full run-down there. 2025 has been drafting Moonshot, revising Moonshot, and next week, I’ll be sharing Moonshot for the first time with some beta readers. Woohoo!

P.S. Remember that I said I pitched 10 literary agents recently? (Even though I wasn’t done with revisions, teehee, look at me, finally being a rule breaker). Well, all 10 of them requested to see my book!

So once I’ve had some beta readers read Moonshot to make sure this crazy plot I’ve cooked up actually works, well then, it’s off the races once again!

ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?? [looks for an emoji with an twitchy eyeball, and can’t find one and moves on]

What else have I been up to (2024 version)? I…

• moderated a friend’s book launch (funny, because I’m still not a published author)

• harvested my first onions, garlic, and strawberries from the garden

• cried at a wedding during the father-daughter dance

• completed a 60-mile bike race (and got an impressive thigh and upper arm tan)

• sliced my thumb on a veggie chopper and learned many others have done the same

• planted banana trees, a fig tree, a peach tree, a cherry tree

• built a fence

• spent a lot of Author Energy on pitching, and finally, slowly, wrote the first ten chapters of my next book → and now that book is DONE!

Books I Wouldn’t Shut Up About in 2024 when I drafted this email, and honestly I still think about:

Wool and Shift by Hugh Howey:

Wool is great. Shift is greater. Granted, I’m even more fascinated than usual with the end of the world and doomsday and bad choices and anti-heroes. To be clear, my cozy comfort TV show is Naked & Afraid. I think that conveys my tastes.

Buy "Wool"

Buy "Shift"

On the 🌟Instagram🌟:

I went viral for a reel in September 2024 that got me 9.3 million views, 15,000 followers, an NPR feature on All Things Considered, and the lesson learned that people can be really mean online, even about the most innocent story of a stranger helping me unload gravel and how it reminded me of my dead dad. Sheesh people.

🔗 Watch the Reel

Since starting this journey,

+848 people have joined my newsletter
+203 virtual teas have been sent to me on Ko-Fi, yummy! Thanks friends! 🍵

Send Me a Tea

Thank you for being a part of this journey with me!

🌊❤️,

Caroline

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline Davis, a YA sci-fi author represented by the agency behind Hunger Games. I’m currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers. This newsletter shares my latest author updates & creative process musings.

I’ve been in my Big Loosa slump.

If you don’t speak Caroline, a “big loosa” is a loser, but with an -ah at the end, which makes it sound slightly endearing even though you’re still being mean to yourself.

So far, 2024 has been my year of the Big Loosa. I haven’t shared updates because I was told that no one wants to hear bad news. No one wants to read a bemoaning of woes. But publishing woes did occur.

This newsletter doesn’t mean I now have good news. I don’t. But I’m not here to bemoan woes. I’m here to tell a tale.

But, let’s rip off the band-aid first, shall we?

Whew, that felt good to say. I mean, no, the situation itself was disappointing for both of us. But in Publishing, there’s the Empty Restaurant Syndrome. The packed restaurant must be delicious, the empty restaurant must be downright awful. So if I’ve separated with my agent, then I must be a difficult diva, an unwanted mistake.

Hence, no one talks about the ugly. We don’t want to be the empty restaurant that others don’t want to enter.

Which means, for the last few months, I’ve been looking for a new agent. Silently.

The best comparison I can use for how I’ve been feeling is: Chutes n’ Ladders.

I wrote a book, revised it for a year, pitched it to agents, got a revision request, rewrote the book over another year, signed with an agent, revised the book more with her for six months, then revised for another six months, and then, that 100th Square Win was starting to feel real.

We were going to send it to publishers. It was going to sell. It most definitely was going to sell. I mean, my beta readers had loved it! I started allowing myself to envision what that meant—would I, after four years of writing and revising, finally make money off of this story?

And then I hit that chute—that really long one in the middle of the board—that took me back to the beginning.

But if you look at the board, that chute doesn’t take you to the beginning. It takes you to Square 24. Yes, I’m back looking for an agent, but I have a better book, I’m a stronger writer, I’m more confident in what I need and want in my business partners.

I had forgotten that.

Until I went to my college 10-year reunion.

I’m bopping around, talking to friends, when a classmate comes up to me and says, “I’m so inspired by you!”

My response was, “Really? Why?”

But it kept happening. People kept telling me they found my journey inspiring. And I’ve been so focused on the squares ahead, that all I could think was,

“But I no longer have an agent”,

“But I still don’t have a book deal.”

This reunion, and those classmates, reminded me—I’m not at the beginning.

May We Please the Sea (yes, my first book, still that same book I’ve been talking about) is currently out with nine agents who are reading it. That means I could end up with nine offers.

Or none.

But that’s more interest from potential agents than I ever had before!

So, for now, I have no news. Only a change in perspective:

We spend so much time looking ahead and feeling bad about what we have yet to accomplish, that it’s easy to forget how far we’ve come.

Maybe I’ll be back with news of a new agent, or maybe I’ll be zero for nine.

Either way, I’m working on my next book.

And maybe, just maybe, despite the lack of exciting announcements from me, you’ll find this inspiring.

What else have I been up to? I…

• moderated a friend’s book launch

• harvested my first onions, garlic, and strawberries from the garden

• cried at a wedding during the father daughter dance

• completed a 60-mile bike race (and got an impressive thigh and upper arm tan)

• sliced my thumb on a veggie chopper and learned many others have done the same

• planted banana trees, a fig tree, a peach tree, a cherry tree

• built a fence

• spent a lot of Author Energy on pitching, and finally, slowly, wrote the first ten chapters of my next book

Books I Won’t Shut Up About Recently:

The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker:

I’ve been hosting a monthly authors group at my house for over a year now, and this book is what inspired it / helped me create the structure for the day-long event. I know it works because my guests keep coming back!

Favorite take-away: Be a benevolent dictator. Provide structure.

Buy "The Art of Gathering"

The Art of Mingling by Jeanne Martinet:

This book isn’t as mind-blowing as The Art of Gathering was for me, but it was a good refresher and confidence boost before going into a series of networking events.

My favorite take-away: how to escape a long-winded talker (but I can’t tell you in case I use it on you, mwahah)

Buy "The Art of Mingling"

On the 🌟Instagram🌟:

Since starting this journey,

   +818 people have joined my newsletter
   +181 virtual teas have been sent to me on Ko-Fi, yum!

Send Me a Tea

Thank you for being a part!

🌊❤️,

Caroline

Yoo-hoo! I’m Caroline Davis, a YA sci-fi author represented by the agency behind Hunger Games. I’m currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers. This newsletter shares my latest author updates & creative process musings.

Last year, I was all hustle and bustle. 🏃🏼‍♀️ This year, I’m a green-yellow grapefruit.🍋

What do I mean by that?

Last year in February, I received a Revise & Resubmit from my to-be agent. (An R&R means “if you revise your book, you can resubmit it to me and I’ll look at it again”). I started the mega-rewrite in March, but in July, I had doubts. This rewrite wasn’t guaranteed to get me an offer from the agent. I was 5 months in and only halfway done. Was I wasting my time? Would this rewrite (and this story) go nowhere?

I was obsessing on this “will I, won’t I?”, and it wasn’t healthy. So I decided I need another commitment to distract my mind and refocus my fixation. What did I decide to do?

A Half Ironman.

Yeah….I am not an athlete. I’m 5’3. When I run, my thighs chafe. Everything chafes. When I did a bike fitting, the man told me, “you’re all torso and no legs.” Cool.

This goal didn’t really make sense, but the race day was my birthday, December 4th, so it caught my eye. I figured…it’s only July. That’s 5 months from now. I can finish my book then do this race. That’ll be my birthday gift to myself. (I’m a terrible gift-giver, clearly.)

In hindsight, I didn’t know a half-marathon was as long as it is, and I’m surprised I wanted more commitments when I was already feeling overwhelmed, but as the saying goes, “if you want something done, ask a busy person.” It was the kick in the butt I needed.

I submitted my full story rewrite to the agent on November 30th, 9 months after receiving her edits, and then raced a Half Ironman 4 days later.

That race took me 7 hours, 32 minutes, and 59 seconds (no, I’m not rounding up, you aren’t taking that 1 second from me)….but I did it! I needed that stubborn, barreling-forward energy. I needed to channel that “I’ll show them!” energy and grind.

🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️

This year, I needed a different energy. I received an offer from that agent the first week of January 2023 (yay!), with the caveat that she wanted another rewrite (boo…). Yes, you heard me. More rewriting. It was the first time I cried during the publishing process (even after 86 rejections). I think it was because I thought I’d crossed the finish line, but my finish line had moved.

I said yes, we signed, and I rewrote my story…again. It took me January through mid-July. (almost 7 months). I thought I was done. I thought it was perfect. (I know, I know, this is a character flaw of mine). It was not.

She wanted another revision. No tears this time, but I did stomp around for a week, bemoaning the world’s lack of appreciation for my brilliant art, and then I sent her back an email asking for help. (I don’t like to ask for help. I expect myself to be perfect at everything.) But I was stuck and didn’t know where to go with her edit suggestions. She waved her magical agent wand and helped me get excited for the revision I needed to do.

I did it. From mid-September through last Friday, Dec 1st. Now, I’m “done”. For now. But the finish line keeps moving, the race doesn’t end.

🍋🍋🍋

During this year of revisions, I dug into a different energy—slowing down, spreading my roots, tapping into a deep, steady confidence. Of who I am, of what I want, of what my story is and isn’t. Filtering through feedback and knowing, yes this is for me, or no, this is not.

As I revised, I looked out onto my garden. We planted citrus trees this spring, and the trees came laden with fruits. Ruby red grapefruits, oranges, and tangelos—all green at the time. I thought we’d have citrus within weeks! But the fruits stayed green, then green, then green. I stopped waiting for the harvest. I just enjoyed my trees. Their bright green leaves, the hummingbirds zipping around them. What they were, instead of what they could be.

That is what publishing has taught me this year. To slow down, enjoy the process. I’d love a juicy harvest at the end of it all, but for now, I’m a green grapefruit. Hanging on the tree, slowly turning yellow. I’m not sure when I’ll ripen. Tomorrow? In three months? More?

Maybe my agent and I will pitch this book to publishers in January, like I’ve been expecting*. Maybe it’ll go to auction and it’ll be a whirlwind of glorious hubbub as publishers fight to buy my book, dollar bills flying in the air. Or maybe my rewritten-and-rewritten-and-revised-again manuscript will sit in their inboxes unread as they tackle their own lives’ stresses and celebrations.

I can’t control when they read it, other than breaking into their houses and hacking into their email to set my pitch as their background screen. (My confidence says I can do this, the fact that I get scared by my own partner in our house says otherwise).

So that’s what this year’s energy has been. Not rushing toward a finish line, but enjoying the process of creating. Of reminding myself that I do this because I enjoy it. And not just for a shiny gold star at the end of it all. (Though I do love a gold star).

This year, I didn’t race a Half Ironman. But I did build a fence, a firepit, a retaining wall. I planted more garden beds. I laid some concrete. I built things. Not just a book. And all of it was satisfying.

I’m not sure what energy next year will bring, but I hope, whatever form it comes in, it’ll motivate me to keep pursuing this dream, and other dreams too. I’ll let you know if/when I have exciting news, but until then, I’ll be ripening.🍋

*When I first signed with my agent this January, I was convinced we would have a book deal from publishers by end of year. This year. HA.

I had some beta readers read this latest version of my book. Were you feeling like you needed a waterfall chart in your life? Because here it is:

49 people expressed interest in beta-reading my book. 12 of them never clicked the link. LOL, no judgment to you, my non-link-clickers. I too have volunteered to read a friend’s book and still haven’t opened it. We have good intentions!!

Anyhoo, of those 37 people whose eyeballs did glimpse my words, 14 of them didn’t finish the book. Whether that was taste or time, they didn’t finish. But 23 readers did. They read my whole book! (On a pretty bad betareading software, too).

Are we just itching for a percentage, now? Me too.

Of the subset of 23 finishers and 14 non-finishers, I had a 62% completion rate! (She stands there, arms raised, shouting this into the void, slowly realizing she has no idea what a “good” completion rate is.)

*Shrugs* As someone who’s become horrendous at finishing books, I think 2 out of 3 interested people finishing mine is…a gold star for me!

I went to Yallfest (Young Adult Literature Lovers festival) for the 3rd time this November. Set in Charleston, South Carolina, it’s a gathering of authors, future authors, and young adult book lovers. An author friend gave me a VIP badge to sit in the auditorium’s front row with the published authors, and interestingly, it triggered some serious imposter syndrome!

Because I had this badge, I felt this obligation to take advantage of it. To go sit in the front, alone, and hope some published authors would talk to me. But I’m not published. I don’t have a book deal. I’m not supposed to be up here. Everyone can see I’m sitting by myself. It awoke a feeling in me I hadn’t felt in a long time.

In my first job out of college, which was private equity in Hong Kong, my boss took me to a conference. I had only been working for him for maybe two weeks, so I had no idea how to talk about….well, anything. I was thrown into a room of old men in suits, who assumed I, as a young woman, was a salesperson and not in finance. They exited conversations with me as fast as I could start them. At a certain point, I went into the bathroom and hid in a stall.

At Yallfest, I didn’t go hide in a stall. (Though I did consider that strategy ). I stayed seated in the VIP area, and reminded myself, no one is paying attention to me. If I make even one new author connection, this will be worth it.

And I did. And it was.

Whether you’re ripening slow or hiding in a stall, I’ve been there. We probably all have. 🌊❤️,

Caroline

On the 🌟Instagram🌟:

Hello! I’m Caroline Davis, a YA sci-fi author represented by the literary agency behind Hunger Games. I’m currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to pitch to publishers this Fall. This newsletter shares my latest author updates & creative process musings.

I’ve been eagerly waiting to announce my next big milestone of “I’m pitching my book to publishers!!”, but….

(For those of you who have been here awhile, you might already suspect what I’m about to say)

Yep. More revising.

My agent got back to me yesterday on the 4-month rewrite I submitted in July—the book needs another round. (As a reminder: I also did a 9-month Revise & Resubmit before that rewrite, so it’s been a lot of revision).

I’m not angry. Or sad. If the book isn’t ready, it isn’t ready. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I’d rather spend the time on it now than later, when I’m on deadline and under pressure. But still, there’s that simmering feeling of doubt. “Can I not pull this off?”

I have to remind myself that I’m new to this. This was a career switch. I was the Intern, then the Analyst, and now I’m the Senior Associate chomping at the bit for a chance to manage a team and (whew, sorry I reverted to my LinkedIn corporate days there for a sec). Anyways, my writing journey is slow. And I have to be okay with that.

I’m driven by external validation. Let’s be honest, most of us are. Our society, our schooling—grades and awards and performance reviews—they instill that in us. A need to perform. To please. To achieve.

The slowness of my author journey has forced me to embrace a deeper patience. To look at my timeline for success on a scaled-out level….years, not months…and to find satisfaction in that day-to-day.

I’m working on reframing my mindset towards my Author Career from that corporate hustle-bustle must-hit-these-goals-by-these-dates fixation to more like my gardening approach: TLC, chipping away over time, and hopefully a little rain. One day, there will be a harvest. But for now, more planting and weeding await me. (🥲 except it’s a revision)

You are amazing. Wow. Thank you for being here. As I was gearing up to pitch to publishers (🥲 yes, not yet, I know. One more revision), I knew I needed to grow my newsletter. Publishers want to commoditize my art by plugging my stats into an Excel model to determine my profitability see that authors have an engaged community, so I decided to sell myself out to capitalism be vulnerable and ask for help.

And y’all delivered!

Starting Aug 16th, I gave myself the goal to ask 6 friends every weekday to join my newsletter. It felt SO cringy. So…shameless. How dare I interrupt your life to inconvenience you with such an ask! But I reminded myself that I love helping others, I love when I can do something to boost someone else. So I took that tiny kernel of goodness and I pressed send. Over and over. And no one told me I suck. In fact, people were…gasp..SO NICE!

This is the Stats section, so I have to give you the stats:

❓ Friends Asked: 180

✅ Friends who subscribed: 144

🌟 Success Rate: 80%

I don’t share this to reduce you to a number (but, aren’t we all, she asks in her somber cynical tone), but to show you the power of leveraging your community! To show you that asking works! Don’t be afraid to tell your friends what you need from them. They might overwhelm you with their enthusiasm and support 💕

But seriously, ya’ll’s responses were so lovely, I screen-shotted them to look back on on those more frustrating days (like this week 🥲). Thank you for supporting me.

Between my day job and my author career, my writing and my obligated self-marketing, it’s easy for me to feel overwhelmed. Like I’m not doing enough. I need to do the job stuffs, and write the author newsletter, and post on the social medias, and oh don’t forget that book you’ve rewritten three times. Do that some more. And also, start your next one. And why aren’t you on TikTok??

When my brain gets into that frenzy, I ask myself,

“what, if I accomplish it, will destress me the most?”

I know, it’s not rocket science. But the tweak here is I’m not telling myself, YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. I’m not saying, this is #1 on my to-do list and if you don’t do it, you suck. I’m identifying the source of my anxiety, and I’m cheering myself on to tackle it.

Because sometimes the thing causing the most stress isn’t that hard to do. And getting it done will be less stressful than thinking about it all day.

So try that framing. See if it helps. 💕 It’s helped me.

🌊❤️,

Caroline

P.S. I hope to have more exciting updates for you next month, but who knows. Until next time, I’ll be revising.

On the 🌟Instagram🌟:

Hello! I’m Caroline Davis, a YA sci-fi author represented by the agency behind Hunger Games. I’m currently preparing my first book, MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA, to sell to publishers this fall. This newsletter shares my latest author updates & creative process musings.

I pressed a button. Just a tap of the same mousepad I tap every day, but with that touch, I sent my rewritten manuscript to my agent. The third major rewrite of this novel, and also, the fourth time I’ve taken a big breath and hit send to her:

• The first time was in Dec 2021, when I sent her my first chapter after pitching her at a virtual conference

• The second time was 2 hours later, after she read the first chapter and loved it, and asked me to send her the full manuscript

• Fast-forward a year later to November 2022, I sent her a revised manuscript, 9 months after she requested a substantial Revise & Resubmit (also called an R&R)

• Seven months after that, in July 2023, is when I sent her this re-revised manuscript, which was 4.5 months after she signed me as a client

Four times I’ve sent something to her, and each time, it’s been a wave of excitement, relief, and unknown. Will she like it?

Of course she’ll like it. It’s the best work I’ve ever done!!!

But…I’ll probably definitely have to revise it again.

The irony in being a writer is you must simultaneously think your work is the most glorious thing ever (otherwise why spend so much time on it?) while also knowing that it will never be perfect. It can always be better. In fact, some people will downright hate it.

And there will always be more rewrites.

As a wise man once said, “if I had more time, I would’ve written a shorter letter.” Over these rewrites, I cut my story length significantly and yet, it is fuller and stronger than before. My first draft I sent to agents was 103k. When I rewrote the story as an R&R for Alli, I cut it to 82k. In this rewrite, I pulled out plot lines and cut characters, and ended up at 75k. Which is interesting because I also added POVs and pre-chapter snippets, so it felt like net-net, I was adding!

I’ve learned the mistakes of not planning out my story thoroughly enough in advance, especially for the complex plot twists and world-building of sci-fi. For this draft, I spent just as much time planning out what I was going to write (68 hours of planning) as I did doing the actual initial drafting, which was 60 hours. So actually, more planning than drafting!

For me, all the work came in revision: 137 hours! Finessing and tweaking what I’d already planned.

That’s 265 hours spent on just this one rewrite! And this still isn’t the final product.

Next steps:

My agent will review it, hopefully think it’s perfect (ha), and then we will submit it to publishers this fall. Hopefully they love it, too.

Lots of hope. 🤞

(and a healthy dose of cynicism)

There’s been this shark shadow lurking in the depths of my mind. This thought I swim away from. The whisper of…“what if this book doesn’t sell?”

The thought triggers a narrative: oh that poor Caroline, spent over three years trying to become a published writer, and she FAILED.

The more evil cousin of the F words.

The thought leads to another thought, as thoughts tend to do:

If I don’t sell, does that mean … this was a waste of time?

I almost fell down that downward spiral, and then I thought, “hold up. Why is THIS a failure? There are so many things in life we do and move on from, and we never consider those ‘a waste.’ So why this?”

I studied and passed all three levels of the CFA exam, and then left the finance industry. Now, no one can even call me Caroline Davis, CFA. (Sigh) Was that a waste? Money, time, lack of social life. Maybe.

I threw myself full-on into my 3-year project at LinkedIn, even winning the cross-functional MVP award in front of my entire department in Las Vegas. Now, I don’t even know where that award is. Or what to do with it. A paperweight? I could… carry it around my neck? Since I’m no longer working in tech, the award means very little.

Was that a waste?

Maybe you’re nodding- yes, they were. Maybe you’re shaking your head-no, they weren’t. But I’m not arguing for or against the wastes in my life. I’m pointing out thats it’s all about perception. How we choose to view and perceive a narrative. The villain is the good guy in their own story, no? We can tell a story from many angles. It’s up to us.

Maybe this book won’t sell. Maybe everyone will whisper, poor Caroline, what a waste.

But they probably won’t. I am not the protagonist in your life to consume that much brain space. I am a mere side character, with my own goals and dreams. Waste or not, isn’t this what life is about? The process of living it?

Wasted Time or Living Life?

I change strategies depending on where I’m at in a book, but for these final weeks of sick-and-tired-of-this, I relied on:

1. public spaces

2. body doubling

I found an author friend on a similar deadline and we dragged ourselves to a Starbucks for two weeks straight, every day, for 3-6 hour stints. I would crank out my non-author job from 7am-1pm and feel too burnout to write, but I’d haul myself to that Starbucks, and together, we wrote. The temptations of home were too great. And the accountability of my writing buddy got me there.

I’d like to write to you more frequently, with the goal of 1x per month. (No promises though, seeing as my previous cadence has been once per year). What type of content would you like to see from me? Do you like this “format” (it’s new) of a writing update, some musings (which I’m full of), and a productivity tip?

I came up with this as I sit on a 1.5 hr flight to Sacramento for a wedding, so I won’t be insulted if you want something different than this. Airplanes make me pensive. (And cry during movies)

Let me know!

🌊❤️,

Caroline

On the 🌟Instagram🌟:

This story is 4 months overdue, which is funny because as I was suffering through the finding-a-literary agent hustle, I always looked forward to the “How I got my Agent” post I would one day write. I clung to that dream to keep me pushing forward, rejection after rejection after reject…ok, you get the point.

And then, I got the agent. And another round of revisions. So I buried myself into revising, and let that milestone fade into the background.

But here I am, a bit weary and worn, a bit more jaded and cynical, but I am declaring my slightly-aged milestone and documenting it for the world!!

I HAVE A LITERARY AGENT!

No, that does not mean my book is on shelves for you to buy. But I promise, this is still exciting! An agent represents me for my writing career—for my future books and movie deals and international rights. But for now, I still have not made any money off this book. Please refer to my diagram:

Once I finish this revision (don’t ask me which draft this is), my agent and I will send the manuscript to publishers, and then, maybe then, will I see a dollar bill.

Until then, let’s procrastinate from revising with some story-telling:

Rejections

I started sending this manuscript out to literary agents in Fall 2021, and I’m not going to sugarcoat it…I got a lot of rejections.

Pitching at an online conference

It was after 34 rejections that I decided I needed to try something new, so I signed up for an online conference where you can pitch to agents. I practiced with IG semi-strangers on Zoom the week before, and that Saturday, I woke up at 7am to pitch my little heart out. Ten 15-minute sessions, sprinkled annoyingly from 8am to 1pm.

In between pitch sessions, I blasted “I am Woman” on loud and struck power pose lunges around my office.

Here is where we introduce a key character— Agent Alli. Now, Alli was one of the ten agents I had booked for the Saturday pitch sessions, but she had to last-minute reschedule her pitches to Monday. (Take note of this).

I pitch Alli on Monday. Alli, unlike the other agents, plays Bad Cop. She seems uninterested, she’s not giving much back. She asks if I’m working on anything else, and I pitch my 2nd book idea: Moonshot. (Mind you, I’ve learned by now how important THE PITCH is, so for this new idea, I crafted the pitch before I wrote the book). So it was a good pitch.

Lo and behold, Alli loves this other idea. She’s like, “wow I want to read that!”

I’m like, “uh Agent Alli, that book isn’t written yet, don’t get distracted, back over here, yoo-hoo, let’s talk about the book I did write.”

And Agent Alli, in true Bad Cop fashion, is like, “hm, fine, sure, I’ll give it a look.”

~~

Jump ahead a day. I’ve polished my pages and my pitch letter and I’m ready to send. In total, 9 out of 10 agents liked my pitch enough to request pages. (That sounds like a toothpaste ad, doesn't it? Like…what happened to the 10th dentist?)

I send out the pitch to the agents on my list from the Saturday pitches, and….I FORGET ALLI! She wasn’t on the Saturday sticky-note. Because she rescheduled to Monday. Remember that key piece of information??

Later that day, I’m like, “oh sherpas, I forgot Agent Alli!” And then dear reader, I’ll be honest. I pause. I think to myself, “should I even bother sending to her? She wasn’t that excited.”

(If you can’t tell yet, Agent Alli is who I sign with.)

Well, I send to Agent Alli.

SEVENTEEN MINUTES LATER, Agent Alli responds.

Needless to say, I turn on “I am Woman” and do more lunging power poses, across the whole house this time. Then, I send Alli a super chill business-profesh email with only 2 exclamation points and attach my full manuscript.

Revise & Resubmit

Yeah….we wish this story was over, don’t we?

Agent Alli starts following Caroline (that’s me in 3rd person, but I need to disassociate) on Instagram. Caroline freaks out and starts stalking Agent Alli in a perfectly-legal but a little bit creepy way, where she tries to figure out how far Agent Alli is into her book by the stories she’s posting about birds on a lake. (That must mean chapter 12…right?!)

December fades into January. Caroline is no fool. She prepares for the worst. Because she is a Stage-5 Clinger, she was checking when Alli watched her Stories. Alli has stopped watching her stories.

Caroline knows rejection is coming.

On February 7th, 2022, an email arrives. *Ding*

Caroline opens it, preparing for tears.

But it’s not a rejection. It’s a….Revise and Resubmit? Caroline doesn’t cry. Because she’s too busy nodding and agreeing with the numerous paragraphs of feedback detailing what could be better.

She aggressively googles R&Rs, going into Page 20 of Google. (Although, now Google does endless scroll, but you get the point).

She hems and haws and wants to go work on Moonshot, but she decides that she MUST see this through and she WILL do this rewrite, even though there’s no guarantee of an agent offer at the end. But she’s tired and jaded.

Ok, switch back to 1st person POV….

I REWROTE THE ENTIRE DANG BOOK.

From March to November. 9 months. Basically, a book baby.

566 hours of writing. Yes, I tracked it in a spreadsheet.

On November 30th, I send Agent Alli the revised manuscript. Again, only two exclamations in the email. Go me.

*Ding* Alli responds immediately.

More Rejections

Since I’m waiting, I send out my amazingly-revised manuscript to a few of the agents who had rejected me in the past who will regret missing out on this super fantastic revised story, andd…….

They reject me again. Lol. Cry. Lol.

The Offer

Agent Alli is called Agent Alli for a reason. Because I talked about her and her feedback for NINE MONTHS as I revised. To myself, to anyone who would listen.

My family knew Agent Alli. She was Agent Alli. But was she MY Agent Alli?

On December 14th, I receive an email *ding* Pukes in mouth.

It’s not a rejection. She’s still reading. I google the meaning of “I’m very hopeful here” and call 5 people to analyze the wording. Then I send a super chill response. Again, limited to 2 exclamation points.

On December 24th, Alli sends another email *ding*. It’s not an offer, but it’s not a rejection. It’s…

MORE REVISIONS!

This time, I do cry. I go into the garden, which is just weeds because I haven’t taken care of it, and I pretend to fix my always-broken sprinklers but really I’m just crying, and David comes out and takes away the pipe cutter that I’m crying onto and making it rust, and asks, “why are you sad?”

And I say, “because I have to rewrite my book again.”

“But you knew you would have to revise it again, and you will, with a publisher.”

And I say, and I genuinely meant this, “Yes, but I wanted it to be perfect and I wanted Alli to love it and I wanted her to want to change nothing and send it to publishers immediately.”

And David hugs me and says, “you knew that wasn’t going to happen.”

And I sniffle and say, “Yes, I know.”

🌊

Stats

Queries: 98

Rejections: 86 (88% negative response)

Full manuscript requests: 12 (12% positive response)

R&Rs*: 3

Offers: 1 (1% success rate)

Timeframe: 3 years, 2 months

**I accepted Alli’s offer before the other 2 R&R agents had time to read. They couldn’t commit to the 2-week notice I gave them, and I was ok with not waiting for them because..AGENT ALLI!

Timeline

11/01/2019 - Wrote the 1st draft in November National Novel Writing Month

Draft 1: 30 days (didn’t log hours)

04/16/2020- Left my job at LinkedIn, started revising

draft 2: 351 hours

Draft 3/4: 538 hours

Draft 5/6: 287 hours

07/08/2021 - Sent first queries to agents. Rejections.

12/14/2021- After hitting 34 rejections, decided to pitch my book at an online conference

02/07/2022- Agent Alli asks for Revise & Resubmit (R&R)

~revise for 9 months~

Draft 7: 566 hours

01/03/2023- Offer of representation

01/26/2023- Signed the contract!

In Conclusion…

Well, that got a little melancholy there. But that’s why I’ve been postponing this story. Because, yes, it is a “success story”, but it’s also the summary of a lot of writing and rewriting and rejection. 1,742 logged hours, to be exact.

But let’s end with some happy thoughts…

Agent Alli is at Stimola Literary, which is the agency that represented Hunger Games. And guess what, my books are Dyssstoppiaaaan. The genre is back, baby!

Basically, Suzanne Collins and I are BFF. This is almost as exciting as when I asked Amy Tan to pass the green beans. But that’s a story for another day. ;)

Thanks for reading,

Caroline

P.S. the best way to help me right now is to share this newsletter with your friends and force them to subscribe! Publishers will look at my “Author Platform” when considering a deal ($).

Slow & Steady. Revise & Resubmit.

You haven’t heard from me in a while. Ten months to be exact. And that’s because I kept waiting for good news. Not COVID, not rejections, I wanted to tell you I'd signed with an agent. So I waited, and waited, and here we are.

I still don’t have an agent, but I’ve made some exciting progress. And I think it’s okay to celebrate that, too.

In this newsletter:

🌊 Revise & Resubmit

🌊 Wait, You Have a Second Book?

Revise & Resubmit

Last fall, I sent my pitch and first chapter for May It Please the Sea to many, many agents. (the newsletter link details the early stages of my querying process).

Caroline Fowler Davis

Six drafts later, I finished my book!

September 2021 I've finished my book. 1.5 years. 6 drafts. 3 alpha readers. 3 critique partners. 45 beta readers. By now, I'm sick of reading my own words. But that's when they say it's time to put it out into the world! In this newsletter: The dreaded querying process…

Read more

5 years ago · Caroline Fowler Davis

I got 7 requests to see the manuscript (big deal!! Agents typically request the full manuscript for ~1% of the pitches they receive) and I bit off all my fingernails as I waited for the possibility of an offer.

I didn’t get one. Instead, I got 3 R&Rs. “Revise and Resubmit”. Not an offer, but not a rejection. As the name suggests, it means the agent likes your work enough to take the time to suggest feedback (Revise) and would consider it again once it’s been fixed (Resubmit), but they don't like it enough to take it on as-is. It needs too much work. Especially in today’s overworked and understaffed publishing industry, R&Rs are a good filtering mechanism. Can you handle feedback? Can you tackle a meaty revision?

I thought I’d be sad as I read my first R&R email in mid-February, realizing it wasn’t an offer. But the agent's feedback was so spot-on, I was nodding along and mumbling “dangit, she’s right.” In that moment, I knew I wouldn't get an offer from any of those other agents still reading. It wasn’t pessimism, it was fact. My book wasn’t good enough yet. But her feedback inspired me.

"I don’t take the time to write notes when I’m not head-over-heels for the writing and see potential, so I hope you’ll be motivated and excited by these thoughts and not too overwhelmed." - Agent X

I forwarded the email to all my family members so we could dissect every word, then sat in a chair and stared at the wall and accepted the truth. To do this right, I have to rewrite this entire book. Yikes. Couple that with the fact that an R&R does not guarantee an offer...I could go through the whole process and still end up with a rejected manuscript!

But when I followed up with the agent to clarify that she actually truly meant it when she said she wanted me to cut 25,000 words (nearly 25% of my manuscript!!), she said.....

"If I see that there is more structure, heart, clarity on these notes, I can easily take you on and we can do a final revision before submission if it needs it."

Decision made. Goodbye, shiny new book idea I had started outlining. Hello, story I'm sick of. We meet again.
 

Here's a quick look into my Writing Life since then:
 

In March & April, I re-outlined the new shorter plot. This consisted of scribbling on paper, flipping through craft books, and What-If-ing up a storm.

In May, I wrote and re-wrote my Act 1. The world and plot twists stayed mostly the same, but everything changed just enough that I decided to write this new draft from scratch. (And change it to present tense, too!)

In June, I speed-drafted the entire manuscript based on my detailed outline. I got COVID during that time, but somehow still finished. (The writing might be terrible, but it's on the page).

Now, I'm revising! I'm ~35% done with revising. Once I'm happy with my latest batch of chapters (and I don't like to share my work until I've revised it multiple times), I send them to my Critique Partners. We have Zoom feedback sessions, and based on their feedback, I revise again (and again). Rinse and repeat until the full manuscript is done. Then, I'll send the whole thing to beta readers, so they can read in one-go. Wait a few weeks, bite off my nails, which will have just regrown, and based on reader feedback, I'll...get ready for it...revise again (and again). After banging my head against a wall a few more times, I'll send it to agents! 

I use Asana's calendar feature to color-code my writing-specific deadlines (revise, upload, marketing, meetings) and estimate a deadline

I aim to submit by end of September. Maybe this R&R will go nowhere, and maybe I'll be embarrassed I shared this news with y'all, only to tell you later, "after all of that, it didn't work out." But this is what I'm up to. And even if this book doesn't get picked up, I'm becoming a stronger writer through the process.

Wait, You have a 2nd Book?

Outlined but not drafted. I started Moonshot while I was querying May It Please the Sea, so it's sitting there waiting for me to return to. I mentioned it at a virtual conference while pitching my other book, and agents were excited by it! Here's the pitch:

MOONSHOT
YA Sci-Fi
SQUID GAME meets DON'T LOOK UP (the movie)

In a climate-devastated Florida, a deepsea oil rig welder hacks her way into the Lottery to win a spot on the Moon, only to discover it's a competition with deadly consequences

I created the pitch for Moonshot before writing it, so it's snappier than May It Please the Sea's. (Learn from my mistakes-- pitch is everything!)

MAY IT PLEASE THE SEA
YA Sci-Fi
WATER WORLD meets RED RISING

When her island floods, a talented spearfisher seeks the sea gods to save her people, only to discover an undersea station of scientists who demand she must win a hunting competition and defeat their enemy in order to earn their help

The beginnings of a third book are marinating in the back of my mind, but for now I must retreat into my revising cave! Just kidding, it's Saturday, so we are going to organize the garage. Very exciting stuff.

🌊 Enjoy your summer, and let me know what you've been up to!  🌊 

I finished my book.

1.5 years.
6 drafts.
3 alpha readers.
3 critique partners.
45 beta readers.

By now, I'm sick of reading my own words. But that's when they say it's time to put it out into the world!

In this newsletter:

• The dreaded querying process

• Beta reading bonanza

• Want to write a book with me in November? (NaNoWriMo)

• Drink wine with me

The Dreaded Querying Process

Unfortunately, once you finish a book, you can't just print it out, walk into Barnes & Noble, shove all the other books off the front display table, and put yours there. I know...right?!

Instead, you need an agent.

Then a publisher.

It's complicated, so I drew an infographic:

I'm on Step #2: Find an Agent

You write an entire manuscript, and all you send to agents is a one-page pitch letter and your first chapter. That's it! Then you wait 1-6 months for a response.

I've been silent on social media about the querying process because:
1) selfishly- no one likes to talk about being rejected,
2) practically- I don't want agents to see how long I've been querying

But I think it's important to show the real behind-the-scenes, not just the good stuff, so here comes vulnerability!

So far, I've queried 24 agents:
- 7 rejections
- 17 pending submissions
- 0 mega-million offers (yet)

Of those 7 rejections, 3 weren't the best fit (I shouldn't have queried them, but I was looking for a confidence boost...HA. FAIL), and one I sent too early with weak materials. The other 3 rejections semi-hurt. (This batch is my C-Tier of agents). But still, I think my book is great. How dare they disagree!!

What's worse than the generic "it's not you, it's me" form rejections is the WAITING. And the GUESSING. Instead of rejecting, some agents never respond! You devolve into guesswork...Are they still considering me? Did they hate me instantly? Most of my submissions have been out for ~45+ days, and I just don't know! It's enough to drive a girl to wine. *sips wine as she writes this*

Luckily, there's a query-tracking software (called QueryTracker, crazy I know) where authors self-report their submissions and responses. So for agents who do reject, I can watch my Judgement Day creep closer. Of my 17 pending submissions, at least 3 agents have skipped over me in the queue, which I like to believe means I'm being considered! 

Below is the past 90 days' submissions for an agent who passed over my submission (highlighted in yellow):

My excitement over being in the Maybe Pile has melted into angsty ennui

Yeah, that list is long. Some agents receive over 150 submissions per DAY! Seems like I wasn't the only one to write a book during COVID. Sigh.

For now, I'm trying to adopt healthy coping mechanisms like not checking the QueryTracker website every day and not rapidly refreshing my email just in case a manuscript request came through in the last 5 minutes. *Sips wine again*

But because I'm a masochist, I require myself to go for a run after every rejection and then hang the rejection on the wall.

Do you like my new wallpaper?

If you're a super-sleuth with microscope eyeballs, you might've noticed--my last rejection was August 18th. Almost a month ago! I've paused querying until I hear back from the 3 agents who I know have Maybe Pile-ed me. (I can make up words, I'm an author). If those end up also being rejections, I might need to rewrite my first chapter! Yuck.

Fear not, I'm not terribly sad. Mostly impatient. This batch of agents was mainly meant to assess my query materials' quality...which hasn't been as ego-boosting as I desired. Nevertheless, I still have ~30 A/B-Tier agents to query, so the party (and running / wall-papering) has just begun!

Beta Reading Bonanza

If you follow my Instagram, you might've seen I posted a "Call for Beta Readers" there a while back. Well, it went astoundingly well! The amount of people willing and eager to read my book warmed my wine-filled heart.

Having had a low completion rate with my Alpha Readers (only 1 out of 3, albeit with a much rougher draft), I decided to invite a larger list of 51 beta readers, expecting most of them would drop out...

Yep, we all knew the graphs were coming

Not the case! 41% of invited beta readers finished the entire book! Keep in mind, I wasn't asking these people to leisurely read. This was a massive favor. I asked them to read a 53-chapter, 106,000 word novel on clunky beta-reading software (Betareader.io) and add comments/feedback within a 3-week timeframe. And 21 people did exactly that!

...Now I HAVE to get it published, since I promised signed copies to those who finished...

Joking aside, I've lived in this story for over a year, developing characters and plot twists that I didn't speak about with anyone, waiting patiently for my book to be ready enough (in my eyes) to share, for a reader to finally read my ending and say, "it worked."

And they did.

Having people read and critique something you created, a story you pulled from your own mind...it's scary.

But it's also an honor.

Thank you, my glorious beta readers! Though I am still digging through your comments (and procrastinating with this newsletter instead), I am already so grateful for your support. Your feedback has made this book stronger!

Yes, I lied. I' not technicallllyyy done with Draft 6. I got feedback overload and had to take a break. Luckily, those agents are so darn slow, I have time to polish :)

Let's write a book!

Every November, (National Novel Writing Month), people commit to sprint-writing a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. This was how I wrote the very first draft of my book! Now, I'm itching to start a new one.

Want to join an accountability group? Let's gather the book-writing troops and hang out in silence as we spew garbage onto our keyboards. Let me know if you're interested!

Wow, Caroline, that sounds (and looks) so...FUN!

Drink wine with me!

Did you know I've been a virtual wine tasting host for In Good Taste wines since March? Nothing pairs better with writing & revising than a glass (bottle?) of wine! I've hosted everything from bachelor parties to 100+ person corporate events.

If you order 6+ wine flights, a tasting with Yours Truly comes free. Reach out for more details!

Thanks for reading!  

That's all for now! Hopefully, I'll have more exciting news for you in the coming months. Or, I'll become a professional runner and wall-paper-er. 🌊

Since starting this journey,

   +446 people have joined my newsletter
   +150 virtual teas have been sent on Ko-Fi to show support
Thank you for being a part!

I finished Draft Two!

I did it. It's done. Draft 2 of my manuscript is complete. My mind is mush and my printer is out of ink. We are almost to November, which marks the one-year mark since I started writing this story.

In this newsletter:

• Behind-the-scenes of Draft 2

• Lessons learned

• What's next? Revisions.

• Thank you for your support!

Behind the Scenes of Draft 2

Draft 1:
50,000 words
1 month

Draft 2:
109,500 all-new words
250 pages
351 focused hours of writing

I tackled my first draft last November during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) with nothing but a faint idea of a freediver girl discovering an underwater station. For 30 days, I forced out words and made the story up as I went- tucked away into a deserted meeting room at the end of the workday for an hour or two. If you want a good forcing function to make you write, I recommend checking it out. Nothing better to jumpstart a new project than an aggressive deadline! And it's free.

After November, I put the story away and went back to work.
Fast forward 4.5 months.

On April 17th, I finished my 3-year project and left LinkedIn with the goal of pursuing this book full-time. Starting the next Monday, April 20th, I sat down at my desk and opened the story back up. Every minute of writing / revising / outlining was logged with Pomodoro or Focusmate (more on those below in Lessons Learned) and recorded in my Book Tracking spreadsheet. Because of course I had a spreadsheet. 
 

Draft 2 in Numbers

(Daily Words on left- black line, Hours on right- blue bars)

From April 20th to October 16th. How did I do in 130 work days?

My initial goal was 3 hours of writing per day. (I just picked a number). And three hours meant fully-focused, no distractions. If I started to text or clicked open a website tab, I paused my timer. If I researched articles, I didn't record.

So a goal of 390 hours and I completed 351. That's 90%. That's an A..... 

I was going to make a joke about Harvard grade inflation, but I'll just show you this t-shirt instead.

"If I wanted an A, I would've gone to Harvard."

What happened with that orange and yellow in your chart?? We moved from San Francisco to San Diego end of June, so I took most of June off to pack/move/unpack and since David didn't start work till August, we used July to travel. Well, "travel". The original plan had been Italy. HA! Instead, we explored California: scuba diving in Catalina, trailrunning in Santa Barbara, whitewater kayaking in Kernville, exploring our new home San Diego.

It was worth it.

So what if I exclude those pesky summer months? Then, I averaged 3.5 hours/day. Look at that 116%. That's gotta be an A++. Extra credit. And if I were to chart my average hours of writing per day, I'd be pleased with the positive slope. That's called character growth, people.

What? This is my self-evaluation. I can handle the data how I want to. I'm "finding insights."

Okay, self-congratulations aside. Where did I mess up? I spent too much time in the first few months rewriting the early chapters- polishing the words like a line editor- when really I should've focused on the larger picture... my plot needed restructuring! Hence the spike in words for May. It was still helpful though. I focused on reading craft books and finding my writing voice.

But then I hit the Act 2 opening, where I knew it needed a new storyline, and I came to a screeching halt end of May. There were no more fun words for me to rewrite. It was time to brainstorm.

Brainstorming was not fun. Those 40 hours in July with no words written? Brainstorming. I would sit for a full day freewriting in a notebook and have 1-2 ideas. In the moment, it felt tiny. But a week of small ideas led to a handful, and then the next week's ideas built on those, until one day- yowza, I had a full spreadsheet outlining every chapter.

I now had a clear path forward.

But even then, I dawdled. I would write a scene, then spend hours tweaking it the next day before I moved on to a new one. If I was going to send out scenes for feedback (just to my sisters, don't get your feelings hurt), they needed to be perfect.

But this meant my brain was constantly switching between revising and writing. Between critically evaluating words and then shutting off that same filter in order to capture my brain's thoughts on paper.

"Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open"

- Stephen King

I switched back to speed writing. Sorry, sisters. No more chapters for you. 50-minute sprints with a 400 word goal. If I stopped writing to look up a fact... NO, back to work. Just put in a placeholder. [ ] became my friend.

• [NAME] entered the room.

• Maria had done her hair in [SOME COOL STYLE].

It was like a game of MadLibs. But you're playing alone. Despite having a super cool spreadsheet, I tracked my sprints on paper to really feel my progress.

So here we are. Draft 2 is finally finished. A full reworking of the plot. Not even the original character names survived. Instead of celebrating, I was grumpy and tired and emotionally spent.

Some days I feel like Pinky & the Brain and I'm going to take over the world, other days I want to print out my words just so I can crumble them into a ball and throw that fist-crunched paper in the trash.

Ah, the highs and lows of writing.

Lessons Learned

I've taken a week to clear my brain and now it's time to revise. But before jumping into the next phase, I would be remiss if I did not put on my Project Management hat and find some lessons learned.

 

1) Don't polish the turd

I tinkered with my opening chapters for a month. And now they have been banished to a folder titled Unused Writing #2. 

40,541 words. Time spent fixating on grammar and sentence structure and word choice when I needed to focus on the novel's global issues. I was formatting my slides before I'd decided the presentation I was giving.

Going forward, I have to let the little things slide. Allow myself to get to them later. Build the foundation, then make it pretty.

 

2) Don't edit while writing

It felt so natural that I didn't even realize I was doing it. Reread the last day's writing, get excited that it's better than I remembered, and start improving it. NO! So many of those scenes are going to be rewritten now that I've finished the story. Things changed. Characters made different choices than I originally intended. 

Writing is a creative process. The characters' voices take over your body, speaking through your furiously typing hands. You are teleported to a different world, experiencing the scene. What do they see? smell? touch?

If I switch to Google to start researching "smells in an underwater station", I lose my flow.   (If you were curious, according to aquanaut Fabien Costeau, grandson of dear Jacques, "With greater air density, voice patterns change slightly, the sense of smell is subdued, and people lose their sense of taste.")
Whoops. See how distracting that was?

Editing, on the other hand (/other side of the brain), is methodical. Precise. A surgeon with a scalpel. I think. I've never held a scalpel. Slicing away extraneous words, cutting back those info dumps. Finding that overly-repeated word and banning it from your lexicon. There's a time and a place for the Reaper of Words, but it's not when you're still trying to write the story in your mind. Get it on paper first.

 

3) Always have a metric, even if it changes

• For writing- Word Count. It forces the words out.

• For brainstorming and revising- Hours of deep work. Butt in chair.

4) Keep improving upon your process

I started with a Pomodoro timer. 25 minutes on, 5 minutes off. A great tool for short sprints and for building your concentration muscle. But I found it was interrupting me mid-flow, and I was celebrating a false sense of progress when I'd only done two hours. I also could pause it whenever I wanted. Tea, bathroom, phonecall. Press pause.

I switched to Focusmate, an online platform that pairs you with a partner over video for a 50-minute work session. This was great when I was writing and brainstorming. When I would hit a wall and suddenly decide it was time to make more tea or water my plants, there was a person on the screen working away. They would notice if I left. And I'd book back-to-back sessions with 10-minute breaks. With a person waiting to meet, this meant my breaks actually stayed ten minutes.

Since starting it in August, I've done 151 sessions. Now, I feel pretty darn good about focusing and maintaining my own schedule. For revisions, I expect I'll use FocusMate less. Now even 50 minutes interrupts my flow! So don't be afraid to try out new ways of working.

"If I organize my life in such a way that I get lots of long, consecutive, uninterrupted time-chunks, I can write novels. But as those chunks get separated and fragmented, my productivity as a novelist drops spectacularly."

-Neal Stephenson

What's Next? Revisions.

Here's the plan: The plan is to make a plan.

I have my printed manuscript and my colored pens. This week, I am reading it from start to finish. I haven't done that yet since I first started rewrites.

I will read things I love that I forgot I wrote, and I will read things I hate and want to fix.

But I won't make edits. I will only identify problems. A long-running list of changes categorized by Plot, Character, Setting, and Other.

Next week, I will create my revision list, ranking issues from global to local and assigning them deadlines. Transforming this revision into managable tasks, starting with the big meaty ones, not the shiny grammar.

Once I have my plan, I'll share it.

Execute like a Business:

1. Focus on the Wildly Important

2. Act on the Lead Measures (deep work)

3. Keep a Compelling Scoreboard

4. Create a Cadence of Accountability

- Deep Work by Cal Newport

Thank you for your support!  

Since I left LinkedIn in April,
   +77 people joined my newsletter
   +116 people sent me a virtual tea on Ko-Fi to show their support
   + lots have shared articles, encouragement, and well wishes :)

Time to crawl back into my hole. These chapters aren't going to read themselves. Thanks for reading and have a good week!

Happy December! It would seem the Fiscal Year of Caroline runs November to October because my Year of Fitness has come to an end, and my new year's theme, The Year of Creativity, is already in full swing!

In this newsletter:

• The Year of Fitness & Lessons Learned

• Announcing the Year of Creativity

• P.S. I have a job

• Things I'm Loving

The Year of Fitness

It started with a few sticky-notes as a way to discover the city, and grew into a monster bucket list! Over the past year, I:

• joined an Open Water Swim Club

• raced 3 Sprint triathlons (1/2 mi swim, 15 mi bike, 5k run)

• competed in a 30-mile bike race

• started running/biking to work for my commute 

• started volunteering as a scuba diver at the SF aquarium in the shark tank

• competed in a 1-mi sprint relay 

• raced my 1st 5k (a bit out of order, yes I know)

• joined a Triathlon Club

• raced my 1st duathlon (1.7mi swim, 10k run)

• raced my 1st Olympic triathlon (1 mi swim, 25 mi bike, 10k run)

I marked each milestone with an image from the day, the date, and the accomplishment. Check it out below!

(Animation moving too quickly and you want all the details? You can also go to my Year of Fitness page on my website to see each image.)

Whew, who would've thought I'd do all those things! As I look back, I learned a few key lessons:

1) Start Small

Follow the trail where ever it may go. 

My original goal was simple: attend an open water group swim in San Francisco Bay. I had done it once in Hong Kong - where I cut myself on the shark nets, swam head-first into a dead fish, and was woefully less fit than my fellow swimmers - and for some reason, I wanted to experience that again, but in colder water. 

That simple goal of swimming in the bay once evolved into joining a swim club (The South End) that prides itself on not wearing a wetsuit in 58F water temperatures, joining a triathlon club (Golden Gate Tri Club) that likes to bike up mountains at 6am before work, and ballooning out excessively to other bucket list items from there. And look where it led:

~ Last October, I swam a mile for the first time. In May, I swam over two miles. 

~ Before this year, the farthest I had ever run was 4 miles in college... unintentionally. I had gotten lost. (Nothing like a cold Boston evening setting in to motivate you to get home). Last month, I ran a half marathon without stopping!

~ A year ago, I didn't even own a bike, and now... well, I'm still a terrible biker, ha! But I biked a 30-mile bike race, even though my butt hurt and I thought my legs were going to fall off.

~ One scuba trip last year evolved into getting certified for advanced open water, wrecks, nitrox, and dry suit. On my first dive, the dive master asked, "when was your last dive?" "...Four years ago." Now I volunteer twice a month at the aquarium and feed the sharks! My sister Mary Patton and I also successfully organized an 8-person dive trip to Honduras this November. Can you believe people trusted me enough to follow me to a different country (and allow me to force them to wear mermaid pants)??

P.S. If you want to join the next scuba adventure, let me know!

My takeaway is, just start!  Remove the obstacles (excuses) and rent that wetsuit! Who knows what crazy hobby it will evolve into.
 

***

2) Learn as You Go

How often do we get the opportunity to learn something new? To leave our domains of proficiency and put ourselves into a position of being a beginner again?  For the last year, I've put myself into situations where I am far from being the most skilled in the room, and it's been embarrassing... I mean, freeing. Okay, maybe both.

~ A few months after buying my bike, I took it to Sports Basement with a flat tire, worried that I had broken it somehow. "What's wrong with my bike, what did I do?"  The guy smiled patiently and told me, "you have to put air in your tires." To his credit, he didn't laugh.

~ At a track workout with the triathlon club, they split us up by asking, "what's your 10k time?" My answer was, "I have no idea, I've never run that far."

 ~ At a 6am group bike ride up Hawk Hill, the group leader asked, "what's your training regimen for your upcoming race?" My answer: "sometimes I bike, sometimes I run, sometimes I swim." 

Only by showing up was I able to learn. Don't self-opt out from that discomfort! Give yourself permission to make mistakes.
 

***

3) Get Good at Being Bad

This might sound odd, but this past year, I've gotten really good at being bad .. well, I was already bad at things, so more like I got much better at being okay with being bad.  

My favorite example of this was my first Olympic triathlon in September. I swam the first leg really fast, gaining a good lead, sucked on the bike portion, where all of those same people zipped back past me, and was slogging it out in the 10k. In true Caroline fashion, I had only run a 10k twice before this race, so my legs were like, what the hell is going on here. 

This older woman in a Golden Gate Triathlon tri suit (my tri club) was running close to me. Our paces were similar and we kept passing each other. ( I run a 10 minute mile and a 10k is 6 miles, so we were passing each other a lot.) With two miles left, she caught back up to me and huffed out, "let's finish this together." We raced in the rest of the way together.

At the finish line, we high-fived. I was ecstatic I had finished, but slightly bummed that I didn't beat this older woman.  She checked her watch and exclaimed, "wow,  3 hours, 16 minutes, amazing!" 

I replied, looking down at my own watch, "3 hours, 16 minutes? Don't you mean 3 hours, 26 minutes?"

She laughed and replied, "oh honey, I don't think you realize how old I am. I was in the 40+ wave, the wave ten minutes after you!"

....Ego be damned, that 40+ lady got me over the finish line faster than I would've done it alone!

~~~

At my swim club, there's a handball court. I used to play racquetball and tennis with my dad so I felt I could pick it up easily. I loitered by the court until an older guy, maybe 55?, offered to teach me.

After a long session, I was dripping sweat, hands swollen. I felt great - handball championships here I come.

The guy turned to me and said, "we should play more often. I pulled my groin so my doctor told me I'm not allowed to work out, but this.... this works."

~~~

All I'm saying is, compete with yourself, not with others. Don't let your ego get in the way of a good time!

The Year of Creativity

So what's next? And, you might ask with a suspicious lift of your eyebrow, if your Year of Creativity started in November, why are you only updating us now?

Well, my friends, I've been writing away for the month of November! I successfully wrote a 200+ page novel for National Novel Writing Month. Every time my fingers twitched in desire to finish this newsletter, I forced myself back to the writing grindstone. So here we are now, delayed but satisfied with the results. A book has been born!

I'm giving it some space to sit and age (fester?) until I revisit it again in January for some revisions. And then we shall see where this book may go!

What's the book about? A young adult dystopian novel set in a post-global warming flooded world. I know, shocker. I wrote about the ocean...

1,667 words every day! My record: 5,000 words in a single day

But wait, there's more! In November, I sang with my acapella group in front of 200+ people at Techapella, which is exactly what it sounds like - a bunch of tech nerds singing acapella.

I can't tell you yet where the Year of Creativity will lead, but if its anything like this past year, I'm sure I'll find some exciting trails to follow, and some great opportunities to royally mess up.

Guess What, I Have a Job!

I don't talk about work much, but for those of you who have been asking, "did you quit your job and work at the aquarium? Are you now a marine biologist?" (Girl can dream.) The answer is no. I still work at LinkedIn! In fact, I:

• was promoted this past January

• have been managing a team of two since May

• won the Cross-Functional MVP Award at our annual Sales Kickoff in July in front of 600+ of my LinkedIn Learning peers

P.S. This gold jacket is given as award within Linkedin Learning. The gold jacket in the above acapella photos is from Amazon. So, yes, I have two shiny gold jackets.

The project I've been working on for the past 2.5 years winds down in January, so stay tuned for an upcoming announcement on my next new project!

Things I'm Loving

TouchNote

Such an easy way to stay in touch! (And you know I love that!) Snag a few photos from your well-organized Google Photos, add a short note, and voila - a thoughtful postcard on its way. No stamps or envelopes needed.

***

One-Touch to Inbox Zero [article]

Yes, we've all heard of the mythical Inbox Zero and nod in enthusiastic agreement at the concept, but this article has practical, implementable workflows for processing the noise and clutter in your life.

***

How to Configure Your iPhone to Work for You, Not Against You [article] 

So many great tips for reducing interruptions from your smartphone. My biggest discovery? The swipe keyboard, where I can type rapidly with just one finger!

***

The Pomodoro Method

A recommended writing approach I used during National Novel Writing Month was 3x30x10: 3 sets of 30 minutes of writing (no interruptions!) followed by a 10 minute break.

The Pomodoro Method is very similar: 25 minutes of uninterrupted work followed by a five minute break, then repeat. I'd heard of Pomodoro before and was like yea, yea, you just focus for a while then take a break, no big deal. But by golly, it works. My writing slots always became anything-but-writing slots.. suddenly every household chore was tackled, every family member received a friendly phone call, I found every small task to hop on instead of writing.

With these dedicated time slots, I would twitch to check my phone or open my email, but I wouldn't let myself... it's only 30 minutes, stay focused, Caroline.  By the end of the slot, I gave myself my break, and then went  straight back into it. 

Okay, I'm all out of updates finally! Happy 2019.

Love to you all,
Caroline

P.S. I send this newsletter out monthly at most (current trend is quarterly). If you do not want to receive it, unsubscribe below and I will not re-add you.

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My 2018 Life Update

2018 was a year of rediscovery. My first full year living in San Francisco and working at LinkedIn (I moved here in August 2017), and the first full year without my dad or granddad in my life (Sunday marked exactly two years since my father's death).

After three years in Hong Kong, I forgot how long it takes to adjust to a new city - to settle in, to make new friendships. With my break-up from a four-year relationship in January, and my dog Stella's unexpected death over the summer (she fell off my couch and knocked her head), my established day-to-day habits were turned on their head. 

Mid-2018, in a bout of neurotic organization, I stuck color-coordinated sticky notes all over my bedroom wall. Why?

I love writing lists. I love marking off completed tasks. But when I found old journals and notebooks strewn about with the same lists written over and over again in them, I realized I never check my wish lists once I write them down!

So this time, I "borrowed" some office supplies and stuck my goals right onto my wall, to be seen every day. And, now, by seeing them there, I’ve actually completed quite a few! 

In case you are curious, this was the logic I used (because of course I created rules and procedures):

Format:

In Kan-Ban style - three columns:

Not Started, In Progress, Finished

Colors:

Pink - long-term project to chip away at

Orange - needs preparation or training to accomplish

Yellow - easy to do, but I’m nervous to go do it

Rules:

1. Stick it up as soon as I think of it

2. Only take it down (as in not complete it) after serious consideration 

3. It’s okay to only work on a few at a time

4. Always be working towards one, even if it’s baby steps

Now, just a few months later, I've rediscovered my love for scuba diving (did my advanced open water certification, nitrox certification, and lived on a boat for a week in Belize diving 5 times per day), joined a weekly open water swimming group that swims in the San Francisco Bay (sometimes in wet suits), and competed in two sprint triathlons and one 30-mile bike race. Never thought I could swim a mile, but turns out I can!

I also challenged myself to go to activities that I've been scared to go to - ranging from presenting a speech in Mandarin at a Chinese-English bilingual Toastmasters public speaking group to attending salsa and swing dancing lessons.  Heck, I even sang with an acapella group.. IN FRONT OF 300+ PEOPLE. Why not! I joined the board of the Harvard Young Alumni Club of SF...mostly so that I could host social events I would be arranging anyways - under the guise of a more formal entity. I even partook in a weekly trivia group. I was pretty bad at that one because I know zero pop culture, don’t follow sports, and don’t listen to music. But I had one shining moment when they asked, "how many squares are on a Scrabble board?"

At work, I've pushed myself to lean in more and seek out more opportunities - I'll be running a SQL training for all our analytical teams (BizOps, SalesOps, Pricing Ops, etc),  am taking on the Learning & Development program management for LinkedIn's Strategy & Analytics entry-level rotational program, and will be global road tripping to multiple LinkedIn offices for the project I support (that last one is my actual job). Possible spots - Chicago, NYC, and Hong Kong.

What is the project I work on, you ask? As the Global Go-to-Market for Sales Operations, I'm part of the cross-functional team that runs "Project Upgrade", a two-year project to migrate our 12,000 customers from Lynda, which we acquired in 2015, over to our Linkedin Learning platform. It's been very hands-on and learn-as-you-go, which I absolutely love.

Looking forward into 2019, one of my goals is to write more - not just blog posts, but rhymes. (I've always loved rhymes). Here are some of my recent brain creations:

Other than that, what's going on? Well, last Christmas, my sisters gifted me with an illustrated copy of Fried Snake Soup, a rhyming children's book I had written for my niece Lorraine's birthday. My fan club has grown to two nieces (I know, I know, very popular).

As always, I use this newsletter as a way to stay in touch with the special people in my life. Some of you I see frequently, some of you I haven't seen in years. I hope you've enjoyed getting a semi-short update on my life; I would love to hear some more detail about what's been going on in yours!

Love to you all,
Caroline