December has a habit of sneaking up on me. One minute I’m finding my footing as a newly published author, and the next I’m blinking at fairy lights, wrapping paper, and the quiet astonishment of another year nearly done.
If you’ve been here a while, you’ll know this about me: I rarely plan anything. I tend to fall sideways into things and then pretend it was all very intentional. That’s more or less how I’ve ended up here again — learning, adapting, and occasionally surprising myself.
Since my last update, I somehow became… a person who sells merch. It started innocently enough. I opened a TikTok Shop thinking it might be a gentle way to talk about Deep House — another place to let the story breathe. TikTok, however, is nothing if not particular. It turns out you need products before it will pay you any attention at all. So, naturally, I designed mugs. And tote bags. And suddenly there it was: a tiny little shop where none had existed before.
There’s been another unexpected turn too. I began offering signed and gift-wrapped copies of Deep House. People bought them. Real people. On purpose. The first time my phone pinged with an order, I felt that familiar warmth bloom in my chest — the kind that says keep going. Confidence has never arrived quickly for me, but each sale feels like a gentle hand on my back, nudging me forward.
One of the moments that’s stayed with me most this month came wrapped in numbers. On paper, it looks small: Deep House has been selling around two copies a day. But behind that statistic is something far bigger to me. Every day, someone is choosing to spend their time inside a story I wrote years ago, in the quiet space between doubt and hope. And somewhere in Canada, a stranger picked up a copy. That thought still makes me smile — whoever you are, I’m happier than a moose in a maple grove.
As this strange, heart-stretching year draws to a close, I find myself thinking often of the people reading these words. Thank you for being here. For walking with me as I figure this out one step at a time — including the accidental business ventures.
December feels less like an ending and more like a pause. A breath. A moment to look back with gratitude and ahead with curiosity. If there’s one thing this year has taught me, it’s that stories don’t just live on the page. They grow in unexpected places — sometimes in mugs, sometimes in parcels wrapped with care, and sometimes in the quiet connection between writer and reader.