Everything I did after submitting my manuscript to my editor
Featuring: *the ballet*
Two weeks ago, after two-three months of work and a research trip to another continent, I sent the revision of my next novel to my editor and to my agent. Hurray! Well, sort-of hurray. Writing novels is my very favorite thing to do, and my brain tends to go haywire when I’m not doing that. Also, I love this novel, and while I needed time away from it (I peeked at the draft for the first time since filing a couple of days ago and spotted things I CANNOT believe I didn’t see before) I miss it direly and cannot wait to get back to it.
Finishing a draft also typically means I get to must turn my attention to the super-fun life admin I’ve neglected for weeks in the name of said book. Ergo, since filing my latest draft, I:
Felt disoriented.
I’m a marathon runner, and I’ve heard of people in our unhinged community getting the marathon blues once the race they spent months training for is over. I get it. Training for a marathon takes a lot of time and a lot of miles. After a while, your training plan really tells you how you should spend your time. (What are you doing this Sunday? Why, running for four hours, of course!)
Reader, I’ve run six marathons, and I’ve never been sad the race was over. To be honest, I’ve always been quite relieved that it was done and I could move on to something else and stop running so damn much.
I do, however, get the novel blues. A lot. Every time. Especially since I quit my day job two years ago and have really let the novels take over my life since. What am I supposed to do with myself if I’m not working on this book? Does anyone know?
Did my taxes.
As long as my brain was on fire and my anxiety was at its peak, I figured I might as well play to my strengths. The version of myself I want doing my taxes is, in fact, the one that’s convinced the IRS will show up to kill me if I’m off by a dollar.
Asked myself some really fun questions.
Namely: Why haven’t I made more headway on the dozen of side projects I keep meaning to get into shape? I swear, the second I file a draft, it’s like a kind of amnesia sets in. Why haven’t I started a podcast? Why haven’t I written a screenplay? Why haven’t I finished a sort story? Why haven’t I posted more on Instagram?
BECAUSE I WAS BUSY WRITING THE BEST BOOK I COULD (IN MY SECOND LANGUAGE) AND THAT TAKES TIME AND MENTAL RESOURCES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE CALM DOWN.
Went to the best workout class I’ve ever taken.
I’m not going to gate-keep this. If you live in or near New York City, then you should know that American Ballet Theater (only one of the best and most illustrious ballet companies in the world) offers strength and conditioning classes every Monday at 9am. They last 45 minutes and cost $20 per class, which is a bargain in New York City.
The strength and conditioning class is open to everyone. I do mean everone. One more time in bold and italics: everyone. I am not a dancer. I’ve never taken a ballet class in my life. I’m a huge ballet fan and I love reading about the culture of ballet and its history, but I know almost nothing about the technique of ballet. I could not tell you which one is the third position if my life depended on it. This was not a problem at all. I repeat: this is not a dance class. You can sign up here.
Thomas Forster, who is a principal dancer at ABT as well as a certified personal trainer, teaches this class. He’s a wonderful instructor who wisely urges you not to do anything that feels wrong for your body. And while I heeded that advice, I definitely pushed myself, because—well, I’m willing to look like a fool in front of a wide variety of people, but not in front of an ABT principal dancer. So I did my very best.
The class takes place at the ABT studios at 890 Broadway. If you’re an ABT nerd like me, it’s incredible to be able to just step inside. But even if you’re not, honestly, you should go if you’re looking for a good workout class that combines strength and cardio.
Took my dog to the vet.
Half a box of ziti later, I’m genuinely happy to report Claudine is apparently healthy, and her symptoms were just Her Being A Weirdo.
Went on walks.
After weeks and weeks of heavy snow, and weeks of said snow only partially melting before freezing all over the place, my part of the Northeast is finally thawing out. I can walk in the woods again! I love walking in the woods.
Read.
Of course. Always. More on that soon. (If you want to chat books, here’s what I read in 2025.)
Found a fun, healthy new hobby.
Aka bidding on quirky art on the Goodwill website. Art on the Goodwill website is sold at auction, and I was not prepared for how much of a thrill I’d get from buying things at auction. We’re talking about small auctions, by the way. My biggest bid so far came to $20. But the process has brought me much joy, and I am delighted to have finally broken ground on the gallery wall I’ve been dreaming of since I got my own home office almost a year ago.
My first purchase was this. I currently have a bid going on another item which I won’t link to because I don’t want you, dear reader, to outbid me. Just know it’s a good one.
Got some water damage repaired in my ceiling.
Not a euphemism, alas. And it was exactly as fun as it sounds.
Went to see much ballet.
Someone in the French-American community should. Hehehe.
My god, I love the ballet. ABT has had a wonderful spring season. First, I saw Othello starring Calvin Royal III, James Whiteside, and Jake Roxander. Then, I attended a dress rehearsal—my first ever, and also my first time sitting front row on the second ring at the Koch. And finally, I went back for an evening that featured three pieces: Mozartiana, Neo, and Firebird. The first was choreographed by Balanchine, and the latter two were choreographed by a Ukrainian choreographer called Alexei Ratmansky. And they rocked. Neo, especially, was on my bucket list and oh my god. My jaw dropped at the start of the performance and I don’t think I closed my mouth until the curtain came down.
Failed to find a new dentist.
I once had a dentist I loved. Loved. It wasn’t about one individual dentist; it was about the practice as a whole. They were perfect. They were nice on the phone and good with insurance. I never had to worry about getting a surprise bill. Their location was lovely and bright and had free drinks in the waiting room.
I recently found out (after one of my teeth chipped randomly?) (it’s at the back, so don’t waste your time playing spot-the-chip if we hang out irl) that my beloved dentist is not on my current insurance, and I’m still grieving.
The only thing wrong with my beloved dentist is that it’s located like two blocks from the Penguin Random House building, aka two blocks from my publisher’s headquarters, and I don’t want to run into people I hold in high professional esteem right after a dentist appointment, when I’m feeling all gross and half my face is numb.
But my god, other than that (and that location thing really isn’t their fault), it really was excellent, that dentist. (It’s Smile By Choice, by the way—just because I can’t go there anymore doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.) They even had TVs on the ceiling so I could watch Netflix during my appointments!
(Which actually prompted me to ponder one of life’s great questions: What’s the perfect show to watch at the dentist’s office? The episodes need to be short. No nudity or sex scenes, please—I have nothing against either of those things but have no desire to enjoy them at the dentist’s while getting a cavity filled. Nothing too gripping—I’m already tense enough. Anyway, after much market research, I’m happy to reveal that the perfect show to watch at the dentist’s is Schitt’s Creek, which had me laughing out loud during a cleaning. You are welcome!)