Lily Writes

Several years ago, I read Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, and there’s a passage that has stayed with me ever since. McDougall was spending time with the Rarámuri people in Mexico’s Copper Canyon. An ultrarunner fascinated by endurance, he found himself equally fascinated by something else: their worldview.

The way I remember the story, he asked a villager a question that philosophers, theologians, and self-help gurus have wrestled with for centuries:

“What is the meaning of life?”

The answer wasn’t complicated.

The villager pointed toward the chickens.

The baby chicks scratching in the dirt.

Life.

Life is the meaning of life.

Not next year.

Not when you get the promotion.

Not when the kids grow up.

Not when the house is paid off.

Not when the next book launches.

Life.

Right now.

I’ve thought about that conversation often over the years.

Especially during periods when life felt uncertain.

Years ago, during a particularly stressful chapter, I found myself studying meditation. I attended classes at a local meditation center, read the work of Jon Kabat-Zinn, Tara Brach, and Thich Nhat Hanh. Learned many different meditation techniques and practiced them daily.

Different teachers.

Different traditions.

Yet they kept leading me back to the same idea:

Be here now.

Pay attention.

Notice your life while you’re living it.

Which, oddly enough, brings me to this week’s writing update.

Love Oops–The Characters Know Better Than I Do

I just finished the first draft of Love Oops, an MM hurt/comfort romance. This trope stretched me in ways I wasn’t expecting. Building a believable relationship between two characters who view the world very differently became the heart of the story. Particularly Ty’s journey.

What’s funny is that about a third of what I originally planned for the book never made it onto the page. Not because it was bad. Because the characters found something better.

That happens to me constantly. I start with a map. The characters steal the steering wheel. And somehow we end up somewhere more interesting than I intended.

I’ve learned not to fight it.

Love Marks—The Book I Wrote Three Times

Love Marks is currently with the proofreaders. Technically, I finished the first draft last month. Technically.

In reality, I think I wrote this book three separate times. The original version leaned heavily into dark romance. Then Rodney and Tink started doing what they always do: refusing to cooperate.

The story shifted. The mystery deepened. The danger remained. The morally gray hero stayed exactly as morally gray as I wanted him to be.

But the book became something else.

Something closer to a Notorious romance than a traditional dark romance.

Tink (Alicia) became an unreliable narrator for much of the story, which created a fascinating challenge.

Can readers trust her interpretation of events?

Can she?

Turns out, I trust my characters. ore than I trust my outlines.

Love Wins and the Golden Retriever HeroAt the same time, Love Wins is also out with the proofreaders. This one couldn’t be more different.

Dory and Bodi’s story is lighter. Sweeter. Full of humor. Bodi might be one of the easiest heroes I’ve ever written. Imagine a six-foot-four former NFL linebacker who now works security at a BDSM club.

Now imagine he’s basically a giant golden retriever.

That’s Bodi.

He’s been in love with Dory for two years. Two years.

She is so busy managing Pink Match, the B&B, and everyone else’s problems that she can barely remember his name.

Poor guy.

Then fate hands him an opportunity. Ten days on a cruise ship pretending to be Dory’s boyfriend. Ten days trapped with her family. Ten days to make her notice him. Ten days to convince her that maybe the soulmate she’s waiting for isn’t somewhere in the future.

Maybe he’s already standing right in front of her.

Writing Bodi is pure joy.

My Author Era

Writing these stories simultaneously might sound chaotic. Maybe it is.

When one book gets emotionally intense, I switch to another. When the mystery gets too dark, I spend time with a giant golden retriever pretending to date the woman of his dreams.

It’s an escape valve.

A creative pressure release.

And honestly?

I’ve been waiting decades for this chapter of my life.

For most of my adulthood, work came first. Family came first. Responsibilities came first. As they should. But now, for the first time, I get to decide where most of my creative energy goes.

And it goes here. To stories. To art. To imagination.

Writing is my passion.

Art is my meditation.

Both bring me back to the present moment.

Back to life.

The news, meanwhile, seems determined to convince me we’re living through a particularly chaotic chapter of history.

I find it stressful. More stressful than I’d like. I’m back to meditating regularly.

Some days it feels as though we’re watching decades of consequences being written in real time. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by that. Easy to feel powerless.

Which is probably why I keep returning to that image from Born to Run.

The chickens.

The baby chicks.

The simple answer.

Life is the meaning of life.

Not tomorrow.

Not someday.

Today.

This moment.

This conversation.

This book.

This patch of sunlight on the floor.

This story taking shape beneath my fingertips.

So I write.

Not because I’m racing the clock.

Not because I’m running out of time.

But because this is my life.

And I want to be fully present for it.