One problem I need to solve for my book is the hook. A hook is the thing a reader is actually reaching for — the solution they don’t yet have words for. If they’re lost, they’re looking for finding. If they’re stuck, they want movement. You get the point.
I asked AI what it thought my hook was, and it came back with this:
A memoir about leaving systems — religious, relational, cultural, internal — and learning to trust the body as the only authority that doesn’t lie.
It didn’t give me shivers, exactly. But it did feel… right.
Right before counseling sessions, while I’m waiting for someone to log on, I repeat their name in my head. If their name is Roy, it becomes a mental earworm:
Roy, Roy, Bo Boy, Banana Fana Fo Foy…
I do this with most people.
Is that weird?
Or is that just being human — filling the quiet, orienting myself toward another person, getting ready to listen?
I love getting ready to listen. It feels like candle wax melting in my chest — a gentle settling into the chair, my cup just filled with hot tea. I feel safe and secure, my body clicking into a receiving frequency, and I know I don’t have to do anything except be here.
I wish I could stay, but Animal Crossing on the Switch is calling. I’m a worker bee — I want to check things off a list. When I play with Evelyn, she leads, and I follow, which usually means wandering the museum, buying a cute pink hat and sweater, or organizing the aquariums in her house. Anything but advancing the storyline by building furniture for the new residents we need to invite to our island.
Now that she’s in bed, I can get to work.
I need to chop trees for all types of wood, build beds and tables and such, and quietly, satisfyingly move the island forward.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 