The Real Story Behind "My Process" - Spoiler Alert: It Involves Dish Soap and mild Panic

The Writing Process (Or, How I Accidentally Wrote a Book While Folding Laundry)

At some point, if you write anything—novels, blog posts, shopping lists in cursive—someone is going to ask about your process.

You’ll be at a book club, a festival, the dentist’s office with gauze in your mouth, and the question will come:
“So, what’s your process?”

Cue the polite smile. I say something reasonable like,
“Oh, I research, then plan the structure, outline the scenes, work in beats...”

Then I run away.

Because here’s the truth. The real story. The real real story.
I have no earthly idea how this works. None.

My brain has always played this soundtrack of stories. I don’t ask for it. I don’t control it. It’s just there. While I’m folding towels. While I’m unloading the dishwasher. While I’m out walking the dog, trying to look like a normal adult who wears matching socks.

There it is. A scene. A snippet of dialogue. A full-on argument between two characters who may or may not exist in any real universe.

It’s like I have a rogue screenwriter living in my skull. Someone who never clocks out. They’re just in there, churning out material while I’m trying to remember if I already shampooed my hair.

And once I glom onto a story idea? (Yes, glom. It’s a technical term.)
It doesn’t politely raise its hand and wait its turn. No, it takes over. It sets up a tent, brings snacks, invites friends, and turns my brain into a 24-hour writers’ room.

But do I understand how this happens? Absolutely not.
Do I worry it’ll vanish one day? Oh, you bet your bookmark I do.

That’s why I have approximately nine projects in various stages of being “almost something.” All plotted out. All scribbled into notebooks. It’s not that I’m especially organized or wildly productive—it’s because I’m desperately trying to catch the magic before it disappears.

It’s like trying to scoop up fog with a butterfly net.
Like wrestling a glitter cloud.
Like asking a hummingbird to sit still and explain itself.

You can't catch magic. You can't predict it.
You can only close your eyes, take a breath, and let it be.

So yes, next time someone asks about my process, I’ll probably still say something boring about “planning” and “structure.”

But between you and me? My process involves equal parts daydreaming, doing dishes, mild panic, and trusting the universe to keep whispering story ideas into my ear while I’m buying toilet paper.

And if the whispering ever stops?
Well... I’ll just have to go do more laundry.

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