Letting Go, Lighting Up, and Why Working Hard Only Works When You Love the Work

I’ve spent a large portion of my life trying to make things work.

And by “make things work,” I don’t mean gently nudging them along while sipping tea and humming happily. I mean fixing problems that weren’t technically mine, pushing projects uphill like a strange mythological creature, explaining myself repeatedly to people who had already decided not to listen, and over-delivering as if there were Olympic medals for emotional exhaustion.

This skill set served me very well in my various jobs. I was reliable. Resourceful. The person you could hand a mess to and say, “Can you sort this out?” I could. I did. Repeatedly. With flair. And snacks.

But somewhere along the way, I noticed something curious. I was very good at making things work… and very bad at resting afterward.

By the end of many years, I wasn’t just tired. I was tired of being tired. Tired of proving. Tired of pushing. Tired of explaining why I deserved to be in the room when I was usually the one rearranging the furniture.

So this year, I started letting go.

I let go of the pressure to change anyone’s mind. If someone wants to misunderstand me now, I politely step aside and let them enjoy that hobby in peace.

I let go of the habit of overworking to prove my worth. My worth, it turns out, does not increase with sleep deprivation or inbox heroics.

And perhaps the hardest one of all, I let go of the belief that I have to do everything myself. Shocking, I know. Somewhere, Past Me gasped and clutched her clipboard.

Here’s the strange thing though. When I stopped gripping so tightly, nothing fell apart. In fact, things got lighter. Quieter. Kinder.

If you’re feeling tired or stuck at the end of this year, here’s a thought I wish I’d had sooner. Maybe you’re not doing something wrong. Maybe you’re just carrying something you don’t need anymore. Maybe you’re not doing too much. Maybe you’re doing too little of what actually lights you up.

When I decided to become a full-time writer, I worked harder than I ever had before. Which sounds wildly irresponsible given everything I just said, but stay with me.

I write every day. I think constantly. I revise. I doubt. I try again. I juggle creativity with deadlines, art with business, inspiration with reality. It is work. Real work.

And yet… every single day is a joy.

People love to tell me that if I’d worked this hard in any of my previous jobs, I would have owned the world by now. Maybe I would have. Maybe there would have been a corner office and a very aggressive stapler with my name on it.

But I would have hated it.

Working hard isn’t the problem. Working hard at something that drains the life out of you is.

Writing doesn’t exhaust me the way those jobs did. It stretches me. It challenges me. It excites me. Even on the difficult days, there’s a quiet sense of yes underneath it all. This is mine. This is what I choose.

So as the year winds down, I’m not making resolutions to do more. I’m making space to do truer. Fewer things that prove something. More things that mean something.

If you’re standing at the edge of a new year feeling worn thin, I hope you ask yourself one gentle question. What could you put down… so you can finally pick up what you love?

Trust me. The world will keep spinning. And you might just start enjoying the ride.

— Sabine Frisch
Cozy mystery author, professional over-thinker, and enthusiastic believer that joy is not a luxury but a requirement ✨🐾

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

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Stories Are Everywhere: The Writer’s Endless Inspiration

As a writer, one of the most common questions I’m asked is, “How do you come up with your stories?” It’s a question that often makes me smile because the answer is as simple as it is profound: stories are everywhere. Inspiration doesn’t always strike in grand, dramatic moments. More often than not, it emerges quietly, weaving its way into the fabric of everyday life. Conversations with friends, the sights and sounds of a bustling city, or even the stillness of a room can spark the seed of an idea. Writers aren’t just storytellers; we’re observers, collecting fragments of life and spinning them into tales. Let me share a recent example of how a simple evening turned into the genesis of a new story idea. Over two perfectly crafted negronis, I was discussing the schedule for an upcoming event with a friend. Their house, a treasure trove of artwork, surrounded us. Every piece of art seemed to hum with a story of its own. Midway through the second drink, I remarked, “One day, someb...

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