A Garden of Words: My Book Writing Adventure

A garden is curated. You don’t always see the work that goes into it—the hours spent weeding, watering, and tending before the beauty fully emerges. Writing my book was much the same. I pulled a lot of weeds to get to this point, and now, I can finally see the bloom.

Keira Brinton, founder of JOA Publishing, offers something called an "Author Adventure"—a weeklong retreat designed to take you deep into writing your book. Yes, one week. At first, the idea seemed daunting, but the experience became one of the most transformative of my life.

On the first morning, we didn’t even write. Instead, we prepared. We did breathwork—an exfoliation of my insides. We blessed our bodies, pulled cards from "The Divine Feminine Oracle" deck, meditated, and prayed. It was a deeply spiritual experience, aligning ourselves with the messages we were meant to write. My publisher always says, "The precision of the ask is the magnet to the result." The clearer the question, the clearer the answer—and the words that would flow from it.

I’ll admit, I grew antsy toward the end of the preparation phase. Wasn’t this a writing retreat? I was eager to start. But in hindsight, that deep cleansing was essential. It opened my mind and healed my nervous system, allowing me to write without resistance. That night, after our first writing session, we walked a loop around our Airbnb. Keira filmed us declaring that we were now authors. I timidly spoke my truth into the camera, but the group cheered for me nonetheless. That level of support was incredible.

The next morning, we wrote in the Muir Woods. A park ranger passed by as I typed on my laptop and said, “So, this is your office today too, eh?” I smiled. It truly was. The Muir Woods, with its towering trees and delicate clovers, became more than a backdrop; it was a lesson. The trees grow in clusters, sharing a base. One had fallen, yet branches still reached toward the sky, defying gravity. Their strength wasn’t just in their roots but in their resilience and community. Just like motherhood. Just like life.

Before leaving the woods, Keira had us touch a tree and listen to its wisdom. Each of us received a message:

• "Stop worrying about what hasn’t happened. If it does, you will deal with it. Trust."

• "Your scars are your beauty; they signify life, pain, and triumph."

• "Roots aren't the only source of strength."

• "You don’t just see; you experience. Growth happens within compression."

• "Root into who you are. Use your gifts to help others do the same."

The trees spoke to us, and we carried their wisdom back into our writing.

Later, we went to a restaurant and ordered a soup highly recommended by our waitress. She described it with such enthusiasm, detailing the rich flavors and hearty ingredients. When it arrived, it was a simple beet soup—flat, one-note, earthy. We laughed at how much our expectations had shaped our experience. It was a perfect metaphor for life. I, too, have spent years in expectation pain, imagining what things should be rather than accepting what they are. My marriage, my identity, my journey—they all required a reconciliation of expectations versus reality. Just as identity supersedes circumstances, gratitude supersedes circumstances.

By Wednesday, I doubled my word count, diving deep into my story. By Thursday, we met with the in-house branding agency to design my book cover. I envisioned a casual yet sophisticated look, with the words “Let Yourself Bloom” woven into floral stems. The first rendition they created featured poppies—bold, elegant, untamed. I didn’t change a thing. It was perfect. Later, I stumbled upon a post about Tall Poppy Syndrome, the phenomenon of cutting down successful women. It struck me—this book, this journey, was about allowing ourselves to thrive without apology. Let yourself bloom.

Friday night, we shared our books aloud. For the first time, we stepped into each other’s stories. Vulnerability mixed with celebration. We weren’t just writers; we were authors.

This book wasn’t just written—it was cultivated, nurtured, and deeply felt. A garden of words, now ready to bloom.