Overview
In this solo episode of Clover, the host reflects on the long, winding journey of writing and eventually publishing her middle-grade novel, The Snow Globe. Set in the quiet end-of-year lull, she uses the story as a lens for a larger theme: the difference between finishing something quickly for closure versus finishing it well with integrity.
Key Takeaways
A central insight is that timing and life context shape creative work more than we often expect. The host wrote The Snow Globe over a decade ago—before parenting, leadership responsibilities, and major career shifts—and later realized the story’s themes (courage, belonging, identity) deepened as she matured. The uncanny detail that the book centers on two brothers—mirroring her later reality of raising two sons with the same age gap—underscores how art can sometimes “know” what the creator doesn’t yet consciously understand.
The most pivotal moment comes from an unexpected, disarming question from a publishing-savvy contact: “Is it your best work?” The host recognizes that her drive to publish wasn’t rooted in excellence, but in a desire for resolution after carrying the manuscript for years. That reframes publishing as a threshold: once work is public, the relationship changes permanently. It’s no longer a private object you can revise quietly; it becomes something that lives in spaces you can’t control.
Another key learning is that craft development isn’t merely about rules—it’s about clarity. A recommended resource (Save the Cat Writes a Novel) doesn’t “box in” creativity; it helps diagnose where the story is thin, where character arcs need space, and where emotional beats require more care. Instead of moving forward out of urgency, she steps back, rewrites, and lets the book “grow up” alongside her.
Finally, the episode broadens into leadership and personal standards: integrity can look like delaying a launch even when nobody is demanding it. The host describes a shift where waiting stops feeling like avoidance and starts feeling like responsibility—choosing a higher bar when it would be easier to ship something merely “done.”
Practical Steps
- Ask yourself a sharper pre-launch question: “Is this my best work—or am I seeking closure?” Write an honest one-paragraph answer before you publish, ship, or announce anything.
- Treat “going public” as a one-way door: make a list of what will change once your work is visible (feedback, permanence, reputation, discoverability), and decide if you’re ready for that trade.
- Do a “thin spots” audit: identify 2–3 places where the project lacks depth (character motivation, emotional payoff, structure, clarity). Revise those before polishing anything else.
- Pick one craft resource and apply it surgically: don’t overhaul everything—use the framework to locate specific weaknesses, then rewrite targeted scenes or sections.
- Use the end-of-year quiet strategically: choose one unfinished idea you’ve been carrying and schedule a single “revisit” session to evaluate what it needs now (more time, a new approach, or a conscious decision to let it go).
Notable Quotes
- “Is it your best work?” (Colleague/mentor, as relayed by host)
- “I wanted closure more than I wanted excellence.” (Host)
- “Waiting no longer felt like avoidance. It felt more like integrity.” (Host)
Full Transcript
Hello and welcome back to Clover. If you're listening during the week this episode comes out, we are in that quiet stretch at the end of the year. The holidays are here, but the urgency has eased a little. Meetings are fewer, inboxes slow down, there's a little bit more room to think. I've always felt like this week invites a different kind of honesty. Not the loud, goal-setting kind, but the quieter kind. The kind where you notice what stayed unfinished, what kept tugging at you, and what you carried with you longer than you expected. It's kind of like where this episode lives. It's a solo episode and I want to share the long story behind my novel, The Snow Globe. It's a story I wrote, gosh, more than a decade ago, before I had kids, before this version of my life existed. It's the one I almost published before it was really ready. I wrote The Snow Globe over 10 years ago. At the time, I was in a completely different season of life. I wasn't a parent yet, I wasn't running the businesses I run now, I hadn't lived through many of the leadership moments that later reshaped how I see courage and responsibility. What I did have was a story that wouldn't leave me alone. The Snow Globe, it's a middle-grade novel. It's written for ages 9 to 12, so it's kind of like if you grew up loving Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and the Land of Stories, you know the kind of book I mean. Stories where kids face big questions and unfamiliar worlds and discover strength they didn't know they had. A lot of adults love those too, like I'm a huge Harry Potter fan, but at its heart, it's a story about courage, belonging, and identity. Without really understanding why at the time, I wrote it about two brothers. That detail felt like, I don't know, incidental back then. It was just part of the story, but then years later, I became mom to two boys with the same age difference as the brothers I'd written about, so that coincidence just feels a little uncanny. When I look back now, it feels like the story knew something that I didn't even know yet. So for a long time, the Snow Globe just existed quietly in my life. The manuscript followed me through career changes, big decisions, new responsibilities. Sometimes I'd revisit it, sometimes I'd avoid it, but it never really fully left me. So about two years ago, I decided it was time to stop carrying it around. I had the book edited. My friend and truly incredible artist, Sid Debb, created a beautiful cover inspired by my boys. Seeing that cover for the first time, I was emotional in a way I didn't expect. The story suddenly had a face, it had a presence. It felt close, it felt real, it felt ready. So then a colleague introduced me to someone who had experienced success in both traditional publishing and self-publishing. I assumed she talked to me about timelines or platforms or marketing, getting it out there. But instead, she asked me a single question, is it your best work? I remember the pause that followed because the answer came quickly in my mind, even if I didn't want it to, and that was no. I didn't think the book was bad. I knew I wanted it published because it had been sitting quietly for years. I wanted a resolution. I felt like I wanted closure more than I wanted excellence. So I was like, I'm just going to get it out there. So she gently reminded me that publishing changes the relationship you have with your work. Once it's out there, it's no longer private. It's not just for family and friends. It lives in public spaces that you don't control. So then she recommended a book, Save the Cat Writes a Novel. Reading that book changed everything, not because it gave me rules, but because it gave me clarity. It showed me where the story was thin, where characters needed more room, and where emotional beats deserved more care. So instead of rushing forward, I actually stepped back. I reworked scenes, I deepened some of the arcs, I let the story grow up alongside me, I guess, right? I learned to sit with the discomfort of knowing something wasn't finished yet and trusting that it would be. That process took longer than I anticipated. Obviously, life didn't pause while I rewrote the book. Kids grew, work expanded, time kept moving. But something in me shifted during those years, right? I don't know. It's hard to explain. Waiting no longer felt like avoidance. It felt more like integrity, if that makes sense. So coming back to the snow globe as a different version of myself changed how I understood the story. Courage felt less theoretical. Feeling felt more fragile and more earned. Strength looked quieter than I had imagined when I first wrote it. So finishing the book reminded me that leadership doesn't always show up in big, visible moments. Sometimes it looks like holding yourself to a standard when no one was asking you to. So that question, is it your best work? It actually followed me into other areas of my life, not as pressure, but as a check-in. A way to slow down long enough to notice whether I was moving from urgency or intention. So as this year comes to a close, I know many of us are looking back at things we started long ago. Ideas we paused, projects that stayed unfinished longer than we planned. There's often a lot of pressure this time of year to tie everything up neatly, to finish fast, to clear the slate. But sometimes finishing well takes longer than we expect. Sometimes the work needs more time, and so do we. So for me, honoring that truth meant waiting until the snow globe felt whole. Not rushed or dusty, but fully realized. So if there's something you've been carrying, a story, a project, a version of yourself, maybe this quieter week offers a chance to revisit it with honesty and care. So thanks for being here with me in this reflective space. I'll see you next time on Clover, and I will very proudly add a link to the snow globe that has been self-published in the show notes.