May notes to self
Like Post-Its, so I don't forget
Dear readers,
In 2025, I’ve shared my Notes to Self, which I’ve been jotting down each year for some time now. Some years I continue updating my notes to self each month, and keep them to return to. Doing this can feel like finding Post-Its left by my past self in a book I love, pointing out things I don’t want to forget or miss. Which sometimes can end up looking something like this:
Just like all of my previous notes to self, my hope in sharing these points that I jot down at the beginning of each month is they might offer a spark of resonance. Take any that do and of course leave any that don’t.
May notes to self:
When you are up to your eyeballs in despair, worry, fear… know what is yours to affect, and actively love the shit out of your life by doing the best you can with what is in your control.
The act of writing fiction offers you an endless opportunity to notice and open yourself to wonder and awe, over and again. This is a generosity that does not run out. It exists for as long as you’re brave enough to accept it. Let this humble you, and embolden you to stoke your courage.
Your story and your creativity are entwined, in the same way that joy and grief, and fear and love are. When you stop yourself from creating, you are the antagonist in your own story.
You are not a robot. You have finite resources and limits. Everything Granny told you about balance and moderation is true: too much of anything can still be too much.
Daydreaming and thinking for pleasure are invisible, intangible, valid acts of creative expression. You might not have words on a page to show for a day’s worth of daydreaming work. But you don’t get words on the page without it. Embrace this invisibility cloak.
You do not have to suffer to create. No matter what nineteenth century white, male poets try to tell you from their graves.
Last month, you learned for the first time how to properly and effectively use the Do Not Disturb function on your devices. It brought freedom to your writing and thinking that you haven’t felt in years. Remember this.
You’re allowed to do what feels physically good while you write. Write in bed. Write on the couch. Write in whatever way makes you feel as fucking delightful as possible in your body while your brain and nervous system are working hard on the words.
You are a woman who can freely vote. Use it. Don’t get distracted by or entangled in the blatant cruelty, othering, fear mongering, and scarcity tactics. Stay focused.
You’ve created the framework and empowerment for your current life, which makes it possible to live the beautiful kinds of days that your younger self could only dream of. Celebrate and honour the shit out of this privilege every chance you have.
Supplementary note to self: remember that when your heart is heavy, whether you’re a writer, reader, or browser - there is always comfort to be found in the bookshop.
Last week I had a particularly anxious, heavy boots, pile-on kind of day. Put on my beloved Books Are Magic t-shirt (that’s the perfect soft cotton, and always reminds me of the snowy February day when I bought it on my first visit to Emma Straub’s beloved bookshop in Brooklyn.) Decided to get out and about with Sam… went to our local bookshop.
Visiting bookshops has changed since 2018 when I became an author. I’m still as hungry and comforted by and filled with awe as ever when I’m among a bookshop’s shelves. But the pining that I used to have before I was published, to see my own books on the shelves when I visited, has morphed into a strange, out of body kind of bewildered nostalgia / wonder / joy if I’m lucky enough to find my books there (it isn’t a given). The feeling brings with it a flood of the memories of writing my books - the back stories of the story, that can’t ever make it onto the page. Which scenes made me dance after I’d written them. Which made me cry with anguish. Others that made me feel like flying. In my experience, this feeling that we have no word for that I know of in the English language, can only be surpassed by one other thing in the bookshop: booksellers. Who know and love your books. And give you the gift of telling you so. Then there are the other booklovers you can meet there…
This is what happened when I went in to a QBD bookshop last week. I was after the latest Emily Henry and a vintage Stephen King, and was standing in front of the New Releases wall when I noticed an elderly gentleman picking up the Danielle Steel and reading the blurb then putting it down. Picked up the Emily Henry that I was there for, read the blurb then put it down. I took a step towards him. Are you looking for a gift? I asked, quickly following with, anyone can read anything, and you might be Danielle Steel’s biggest fan - it just looks like you might be trying to choose a gift, maybe? He belly laughed with, I think, shock to be approached by a stranger, and joy to have help. He was buying a gift, for a woman in his life, who loves crime fiction. After we ascertained that he *might* have been in the wrong genre, I suggested we check out female Australian crime authors and showed him to where they were on the shelves. It felt so good to see his smile and help him choose books that he was clearly so excited to give. When he told me that I’d made his day, it nearly undid me in my heavy hearted state.
It was after we’d parted and I was venturing further down the bookshelves that I heard my name.
Holly? I turned. The store manager was beaming at me. I knew it was you, she said so warmly. My legs went wobbly. The teenager in me pining to write just about fainted. This feeling never wears off.
What followed was an hour of glorious, book-rich conversations, an impromptu signing for readers, laughter, tears (truly!), photos, joy, connection, and wonder. It was a small but mighty reminder of how much stories matter, and connect us. No matter how divisive the world is or can feel.
Wherever you are when you read this, whatever you’re facing this May, may we have the courage we need to do the next good thing for ourselves and each other.
Thanks for reading.
With a light left on,
Coming soon to The Joy Rise:
Loving people who aren’t ‘real’: the awe and wonder of reading letters written to fictional characters;
Donkey steps: how I manage writing when I’m stressed / anxious;
Music I love to listen to while I’m brainstorming / daydreaming / writing;
The stack of books that I keep close to my desk while I’m writing;
How I use the internet to help, not hinder, my daydreaming and idea developments.
Thanks For a wonderful newsletter! I absolutely adored the story of the older man bookshopping and then the booksellers calling out to you 😍
I absolutely loved reading your book-shop story Holly - how awesome to be there looking for the books you wanted, enjoying the shared love of books and reading, being sidetracked by the ‘call’ of other books in the space, and then being recognised. I could feel your joy in the impromptu book signing and talking with others in the store, I feel lifted by your story and your shared joy will stay with me all day - thank you, and have a joyous day :) !!