I saw Judy Blume in an airport and it changed my life.

Okay, that's a little misleading. I saw a billboard of Judy Blume in an airport. But it did, kind of, change my life!

Let me back up a bit. You know: context.

Like I said above, I finished edits for my second book this month. And honestly, I feel a little weird saying that, because I've said that...approximately five times now. This book had a lot of false endings. (And false beginnings, and false middles).

But it's officially done now. It's been copyedited, and I'm no longer allowed to change it.

I've mentioned this second book in previous newsletters, but I've held off on talking about it in the past few months, because it's been a really, really hard few months.

I just could not get this book right. I rewrote it from scratch six times. And after that, I rewrote and rewrote huge chunks of it, because it still wasn't working. This book took nineteen drafts—which is about the same as SOBT—but this book was painful.

With SOBT, I was always excited to get to work. It was a joy to see the story come together.

With the second book, there was very little joy. And I've debated for a long time about whether I wanted to admit that. For one thing, I feel guilty saying it. I know that my job is a dream job, and I should be nothing but grateful for it. And I am grateful. Truly.

But at certain points in the past couple months, I felt like this dream job would destroy me.

I could not focus on the joy of writing. I could only focus on the terror of not getting something right. I worried that I would disappoint my publisher and my readers. I worried that I had to write a better book than SOBT—I had to level up—and what if I couldn't?

Every revision of Book 2 made me feel worse because it was still wasn't perfect, and I was terrified of publishing something that wasn't perfect.

Of course, perfection is impossible. Of course, I was dooming myself.

I was spiraling, despairing on repeat, until finally, Josh said something revolutionary. You know, he said, a little cautiously. You don't have to be a writer. You don't have to do this. 

And he was right. I was nearing the end of my contract. I could do something else.

Somehow, I think I'd forgotten that. And when he said it, it seemed like a brilliant escape hatch. Because in my mind, writing had become something terrible. A thing that reminded me of all my failings and fears.

I thought about it over the next few days, feeling increasingly convinced of my decision.

Yep, I've decided to quit, I finally told Josh, as we waited in the terminal for our San Francisco flight. I'm going to do something easier. Something without so much pressure. 

Josh was responding, likely with some interesting, supportive stuff—but I wasn't listening. I was looking up, because I had just noticed a giant billboard of Judy Blume. 

Now, first of all, I've never seen a billboard of a non-J.K. Rowling author before. Especially not in an airport?? I mean, I'm still a little confused about why it was there. 

And second of all, it's not very often that the universe gives you such an obvious sign. If I read this in a book, I'd be like, sure, that's nice, but it might be a little...on the nose?

Because Judy Blume is one of my writing idols. Freckle Juice was one of my favorite books as a kid. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret was my introduction to middle grade. 

Blume* also published a book of letters from her readers—letters from kids, thanking her for her honesty—and that book sits on my writing desk. It's a reminder of why I write: not to impress anybody with my grand perfection, but just to tell the truth about what it means, to me, to be  human.

I don't have to be a writer, but at this point in my life, I want to be. Writing is the easiest way for me to be honest with myself, and with the world.

And honesty, I think, is inherently imperfect.

Look, there's a danger here, at this point in the story. It's tempting for me to wrap everything up with a bow, to act like this billboard-in-an-airport revelation was all I needed, to pretend my perfectionist angst is cured.

But that's not true. For the sake of honesty: I'm still scared. 

I think it will always be scary to hold my heart out to the world. 

But I'm also starting to feel okay about sharing my second book. Actually, I'm starting to feel excited about it. In just a couple months, I can share the title, and the cover, and then early review copies.

Apologies in advance, because it's not a perfect book. But it's honest, and personal.

This book is filled with all my love for my grandmother, all my pride in being Korean, all my complicated feelings about storytelling, all my hopes and fears for the future.

I can't be perfect, but I can tell the truth.

I think that's just as good. It might even be better.