What if rebuilding a word-business isn’t about building something new — but about opening the rooms of what you’ve already built, one door at a time, until every room is ready to receive a guest?

New here? You may want to start at the beginning . . .

Because it turns out I’m writing a book disguised as a literary business model, disguised as a memoir unfolding in real time.

Sink into this Friday moment—roughly a 14-minute read.

Welcome, you.

The Frenchman made it.

Friday, after I hit publish on Episode 7: The Gold, he called.

Bad news.

His Paris flight had been delayed and he’d miss his island connection in Saint Maarten.

I didn’t let it bother me.

I just word-worked because I knew when he did arrive, I’d be distracted and rightly so.

On Sunday, I kept working, not allowing myself to be sad about a missed night . . .

I’d see him Monday morning.

I’d clean up first, run to the store, buy milk for his tea . . . breathe easy and be totally focused on him.

The man I’ve missed for going on three months now.

And then he landed in SXM and was put on the 5pm flight.

I found out at 3:50pm.

Still working away, nothing picked up, not even showered—no milk for his morning tea in sight.

Oops.

Instead of rushing, getting annoyed, frustrated, upset by all the changes—I simply eased out of work mode . . .

And into being his loving, waiting early at the airport wife.

And there he was. First off the plane. Black ruck sack of a bag slung over his muscled shoulder—filled full with Paris treats for me.

Gorgeous. Fabulous. Mine.

And now, home.

No milk. Not ready. But present nonetheless.

Fully focused on him.

. . .

Now. The honest part.

Last week I told you about my word-business bible.

One Google Doc.
Tabs for every product.
A system that made my shoulders relax just thinking about it.

Yeah, no.

That got unwieldy and huge fast.

So I broke it down. Calmly. No harm. No foul.

Just honestly looking at what works and doesn’t—no longer forcing a square peg in a round word-hole.

So this week—with the Frenchman now very much present and very much distracting in the most delightful way—I adapted.

One doc per product.

One folder per product.
One archive of past messy docs per product folder.

Each product—its own contained world—fully documented from creation to completion.

Which led me straight to the new skill I’m learning alongside finish before you move on, Jill.

A today end.

The web doesn’t end. The web never ends. But my workday does.

And right now I’m in creation mode . . .
which means longer workdays than normal.

Of course, I am—busy creating, building—when The Frenchman arrives.

Honestly, he’d expect nothing less.

(Like me sitting here now on Friday morning, at the kitchen counter, back to the gorgeous sea so I don’t get distracted, writing this episode. Him just over there, reading and watching me with a soft smile.)

Gotta love that man. He who lets me be who I am meant to be.

A creator.

. . .

A creator who has always envisioned a word-web of a business. For years, a decade even, I’ve pictured what I wanted to create . . .

Yet, I have worked with mentors, hired a few of them too, who gave me their ideas, their thoughts, their path.

I have an epiphany about mentors and coaches now too.

I’m only working with someone who is doing the thing I am trying to do because I want an inside look at how they succeed.

Period.

I am no longer listening to any other voice before my own.

I have given away my vision, my sovereignty—a few too many times—my choice and my mistake . . . and wonder if you can relate?

Small, size seven foot stomp from me—no more.

The picture I have in my head is this.

One book or offer leads naturally to ten more.
All interwoven.
All fabulous alone, delicious together.

An EXPERIENCE, not just a word ecosystem.

Every mentor I’ve had encouraged me—some downright told me—one thing. High ticket. One program. One focus.

But that’s not how my brain works.

And I’m done apologizing for that.

I’m no longer trying to change that.

I love being creative.
I love creating.
I never want to stop creating.

And creating looks like a wide variety of activities in my world. Not just writing.

I absolutely love being visual—designing sales pages, book covers, experiences.

I also love the tech—when I do it from start to test to finished.

Here’s what focus looks like in my world.

My front door sounds simple—a $9 ebook.

One door. Come on in.

Except.

That $9 ebook has three other touch points or what marketers call order bumps. And, an after-purchase opportunity—or upsell.

Each of those with their own delivery emails, sales pages, tagging, email sequences—some of which loop back to those same five offers, which means each of those needs standalone sales pages, tagging, and email sequences too.

Is your head ready to explode?

Mine was until I slowed down and went offer by offer.
Which is why my front door is still not open.

That $9 ebook has four other offers attached to it!

Yes, I could remove them, open faster with just one other touch point, but I’m again about the experience I want someone to have . . .

as they come into my world for the first time.

If you’re not familiar with the lingo, an order bump is like a rack of tabloids or a display of candy bars in the checkout line right before you buy that thing you came here to get.

It’s that impulsive ‘add to cart’ offer you can’t resist. (I hope.)

And the upsell, well, you’ve seen it and even heard it if you’ve swung through a MacDonald’s drive-thru. “Would you like to super-size that?”

In my case, it’s a most delicious offer once you make your purchase, something you can “add to your already purchased order” with the click of a button.

Or say no, thank you and move to the thank you or order summary page.

Or in heavy bro marketing cases, go to another offer and another and another.

But that’s not my way.

My way is to create experiences you simply can’t resist—don’t want to resist.

See, last episode when I mentioned helping 33,000 creatives, it triggered a deep-seated memory within me.

I can sell high ticket $4K, $6,500, $10K, even $50K offers off of an ugly Google doc sales page—which is a damn impressive skill, or so I’ve been told.

But I don’t want to.

I want to reach more people. Those who have a dream but can’t or won’t drop multiple or double digit thousands for the privilege.

Creativity is not only for those who can afford it.

Creativity, writing mastery should be available to anyone who desires it.

I want to make magnetic writing, creativity, living a delicious life filled with JOY thousands, hundreds of thousands of individuals.

Like the books I write.

They aren’t read by 100 people and forgotten.

They are read by hundreds of thousands of people—in many languages.

My books, my words live on—tend to be talked about, shared, referenced—and that’s what I want to create here.

A referral based word-business.

Where my $9 ebook, The Magnetic Storytelling Method—the Front Door into my word-web I’ve been talking about—is so damn good, it’s shared, quoted, and found daily.

I’ve had mentors who’ve said you can’t get rich selling a low ticket product.

I call bullshit.

First, I’m not interested in being rich, driving a Tesla, or flying on private planes—although the last is fun and rather nice.

I am interested in building wealth—the wealth that naturally comes when you help others.

The wealth I have experienced writing books that sell for (cough) low ticket prices.

So that $9 ebook, the one that over 2,700 creatives have already found—although I made it rather difficult—has already brought in over $24K.

And now, with a few updates, fixed links on the final pages and a newly designed cover, will continue to bring in money, once this Front Door of mine opens.

A title that will sell and help creatives, writers new and seasoned, for years—possibly decades—to come.

Created once and now automated to hum in the background with structured ease while I feed the rescue goats, play with a kitten, or create a new offer.

Because I told you already about four other offers this 114 page book gives someone access too.

But here’s the thing, it doesn’t end there.

Inside the book there are a few additional opportunities to work with me or enter my word-web.

Plus, in emails that deliver those first five offers, follow up on how they’re doing and provide the needed momentum in the moment—there are paths to more, different, complementary experiences.

Products like 11.11.Go Magnetic Writing Prompts to keep someone writing daily.

Not the typical “describe your morning” kind. These are feeling prompts. The kind that unlocks something deep inside—a memory that’s been waiting to be written.

So what does that mean?

11.11.Go needs its own sales page.
Its own tagging.
Its own welcome into the world.
A series of emails . . .

And so does that upsell on my Front Door I mentioned.

Magnetic Stories From Your Ordinary Life—already created, it’s something I’m super proud of and already receiving “mad love” from my 17 beta students.

Inside it includes a 79-page playbook, two stories I wrote (each shared in written form and as audio recordings with commentary), plus a behind-the-scenes video of me editing a real story.

An actual look at how stories come together—not just the polished, publishable version most see.

And that $9 book that started it all—The Magnetic Storytelling Method— is now also a private podcast.

Not an audiobook. A podcast . . .

Imagine being able to search by chapter, by magnetic task.

To return to and listen again and again—In My Magnetic Voice—while on the go, on the commute, or just before you sit to write.

I’m recording it now, chapter by chapter.

Between French kisses.

😉

See what I mean about the web?

One door. Five offers. And those lead to a few more. Forty-seven-ish moving parts.

Every male mentor told me one thing, one focus, high ticket.

But that’s not a door—that’s a hallway.
Or a big city loft.
One wide open space.

If you remember from Episode 6: The Gate, the first book I wrote about the gate that connected two houses. His and hers.

Hers filled with nooks and crannies, wide wrap-around porches, wild gardens and inside oodles of rooms and cozy spaces, places to curl up with a good book or two.

And what I’ve learned from writing professionally for nearly thirty years . . . there are so many people who want that too.

A wild word-world to walk into.

Like the one I imagine.

Like the one I wrote about with that very first novel.

Like the one I currently live on a tropical island, rescuing animals, with a Fabulous Frenchman who comes—and goes.

Who has his own open loft space—one large, clean, neat space.

Like those male mentors shouting high ticket, one product, one focus, one room.

No, thank you.

Here’s what I know.

I am a creative bad ass.

I am wildly prolific.

I am a Jill-of-all-Trades and damn good at many of them . . .
when I finish.

So I am finishing.

It’s a slightly harder skill for me to implement, but not impossible, because I have proof that I finish things.

More than 100 books now—to name but one type of finishing I’ve mastered.

I also know this.

I love building this word-web.

The conditional logic—the if-this-then-that of interconnected offers. It makes my brain fire just as hot as writing a smoking love scene does.

Equally creative.
Just in a different language.
The tech side and the creative side, both lit up, both mine.

I’m doing it all—graphics, design, tech, writing—and finishing.

Could I hire a “doer”?

Yes, but then I’d be doing the thing I dislike.
Explaining, managing, overseeing, fixing.

And even worse, having systems created how someone else thinks . . .
and being left to try to figure it out.

Been there, done that.
Just no.

Instead, if and when the time comes to bring someone in to help with the 100 a month or day orders of my $9 book front door . . .

and the 40% take on order bump one,
30% take on bump two,
20% take on bump three,
and 5% take on the upsell . . .

100 a month to start.
Imagine if 100 a day is where this goes.

All will be documented.

All will be structured for how MY brain fires—and a fab “doer” can simply come aboard my word-train and help support all those orders, all those students who said yes to writing . . .

Mental math moment.

Did you follow those numbers? Because if you did, you’d be calling bullshit on those who say “low ticket doesn’t make you rich” too.

Book sales 100 a month, monthly that’s $3,745, yearly $44,940.

But now 100 book sales a day—this is where it gets a bit hands off delicious. $3,745 per day. $112,350 per month. $1,366,925 per year.

Imagine how many writers I’d be impacting with those numbers . . . and how many more creatures I could rescue!

That’s why I am finally doing this my way—not someone’s version of the right way . . . my way.

That’s true wealth.

Alignment.

That’s the power of a well-created, well-structured, humming in the background word-web.

One $9 door, built right, with the right rooms behind it, becomes magnetic—magical.

And this is exactly what The Balance Sheet is for.

These numbers—all the numbers—in a back room where you can see how it all actually works.

. . .

I thought I wanted to open The Balance Sheet this week—the pay-to-enter back room I mentioned in Episode 7.

Real numbers. Real transparency.

The honest accounting of what this word-business costs with earns and loses and gains.

Plus, deep dives into what works and what doesn’t.

But here’s the truth: I didn’t even think about it.

And that’s a good thing. Here’s why.

A new idea landed this week, actually several—as they do, as they always will.

A year-long newsletter.
Daily emails.
Write a book a year.
Genre specific—non-fiction, then romance, then memoir.

Daily guidance, motivation, inspiration. Fabulous.

And then I did something kind of new and oddly wonderful.

The idea went on the list.

Not the calendar. Not yet.

I didn’t take 30 minutes to sketch it out.
I took five to jot it down.

Because an idea list is not a to-do list.

And knowing the difference is giving my creativity a special place, saving my sanity, and protecting my focus, so my word-business can finally take off.

Not distraction free . . . but better.

See, I haven’t even set up a welcome email for new Substack subscribers yet. I haven’t learned much about Substack yet—period.

Only how to post these articles.
And share a few Notes.

That got put to the side—for now.

Not my weekly episodes but the focus needed to create systems and momentums so people can find me.

Right now, I’m writing into the void, not sharing—not because I don’t want to—but because, at this moment, my priority is that Front Door.

While I honor this weekly commitment.

Two word-muscles being worked here—delicious.

That’s why at the time of publishing this article, all traffic has been organic.

I’ve yet to share Between My Sheets via email, social channels or (gasp) word of mouth.

And it’s okay. This too has a spot on my next up idea list.

Sharing this publication, this series AND soon starting The Balance Sheet.

So no. Not this week.

And I’m okay with that.

The Balance Sheet will have its own dedicated moment of creation.

From start to bloody finish.

When it’s time.

And because of that new way of being, it will be created with JOY, with ease, with flow and with solid focus and attention each offer—like each book I write—deserves.

One and FULLY done.

And when The Balance Sheet opens, it’ll be built right—complete, tested, and ready to receive you properly.

Like a well-made bed with hospital corners and a mint on the pillow.

Do they still do that? The mint?

And each month or quarter—however I decide when it’s time to fully flesh this idea out—what will be laid bare on this well-made sheet are the exact numbers.

This not yet complete, not yet shared word-web of mine managed to make $5,243 this week from those

• 17 individuals I mentioned going through The 11 Day Magnetic Writing Experience

• 41 creatives happily beta-enJOYIng two other offers

• 25 working through those 11 Magnetic Writing Prompts with me as their Writing Witness.

While everyone shouts “Launched fast!”—I’m slowing way the hell down.

I’m being intentional.
Structured.
Aligned.

And damn, don’t it feel good.

And those creatives going through these offers in beta this week?

“Love. Love. Love.”

Those are the actual words coming back to me. Day after day.

People feeling empowered to write.
To access their stories.

To get unstuck from the version of themselves that always meant to start but never quite did.

That’s what I’m here for!

That’s why I’m finally creating this word-web of a delicious business my way.

That’s the 33,000.
Not someday.
Starting now.

. . .

Speaking of now . . .

Because you might be wondering about that bubble bath I was so looking forward to last Saturday night . . .

I can share that those best laid plans were waylaid.

My plumber came down with a headcold, poor thing, and hooked all the things up on Tuesday.

A working bathtub—on my front porch.

Weird. Cool. Quirky. He thought it was awesome.

I hope he’s not a peeping Tom.

Which leads me to a little dilemma . . .

My above-neighbors arrived the same day.

Sigh. Seriously.

While my house is ultra private and somewhat hidden from the road, I am on a hillside with a house above me—barely visible through my trees.

And one below me, not visible through the tropical lushness currently at all.

These above-me-neighbors—who I have never met, who have been to their place once in the past year—chose my bathtub hookup day to arrive.

And since my bathtub faces their house . . . which I can barely see . . . it still derailed me from sinking into those silky, bubble filled waters for now.

Especially given the full, bright pink moon we enJOYed that same night.

So no bath below a star filled sky just yet.

But soon.

But it’s there. Hooked up. Waiting.

The silky, almost-hot water is going nowhere.

And the carpenter is coming back for the privacy screens—at some point.

This crazy goat lady—with half a dozen cats, a bathtub on her front porch, and a gorgeous Frenchman inside—can wait one more week.

I can almost feel it . . .

. . .

And him.

Fab. Wonderful. Utterly distracting in only the best ways.

And being wrapped up in his arms again makes the bathtub a second place reward.

All in all it’s been a productive week, a full week, an intimate week of being with my man and coming home to myself.

The word-gate is open. The web is being built.

The front door will be live—before mid-week—because I’m now in flow, solid, sovereign, working with structured ease.

And damn does it feel good.

Here’s to 33,000 creative souls soon finding and entering my word-front door.

Will you be one of them?

Just Jill “Jill-of-all-trades, between French kisses” Stevens

💜

P.S. The front door isn’t live quite yet—but it’s close. I’ll add the link here the moment it opens.

P.P.S. By the way, while the Frenchman settled in, I ran into town to my favorite restaurant—owned by a friend of mine—and managed to snag a carton of milk for his morning (pre-store opening) tea.

I love small town-island-living . . . where everyone kinda knows your name.

P.P.P.S. Episode 9: Yet to be titled—The bath. The numbers. The Frenchman, still here.

If you want to follow this unfolding story each Friday,
you can subscribe below.

Subscribe now

Just so you know: This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns. Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

What if (re)building a writing life isn’t the neat, curated thing you map out on a whiteboard . . . but the moment you stop stepping over the broken thing and simply—fix it?

New here? You may want to start at the beginning . . .

Because it turns out I’m writing a book disguised as a literary business model, disguised as a memoir unfolding in real time.

Sink into this Friday moment—roughly a 9-minute read.

Welcome, you.

I am a prolific creator. Not just writer. Creator. And a quiet one at that.

This week it hit me hard that I am a prolific, quiet creator. Not just a writer.

Yes a prolific writer—one who writes 2,500 words before the sun graces the sky, words that are mostly for me . . .

But I also create offers that never see the light of day.

Some half done.
Some ready to ship.

All sharing a common trait—digital dust.

Because I am a prolific creator who starts more than she finishes.

And lack the skill of follow through (at times).

And what I know, have always known, is that the fortune is in the follow through.

I get excited by an idea but instead of seeing it all the way to done, automated, working completely, I’ve had 7 other ideas.

And decided 3 are definitely yes-now things that need my focus too.

What’s interesting is I started the week thinking this was wrong, horrible, a problem and now, ending the week, I see it as a flipping superpower—under the right conditions.

Just like I always have multiple drafts going—usually three books at once and I work on the one that calls out to me—a book is contained.

It’s words on a page until it’s done.

A product, an offer, a—well, if you read Episode 6: —you saw that overwhelming list. A product is so not contained.

- - -

So this week I’ve done an audit of my Front Door offer which led me down a lovely rabbit hole of realizing—

Holy shit, I have a gold mine that no one has access to.

So many wonderful words not shared, ebooks, PDFs, classes, thoughts . . .

Some half done, many completely done on the “creation” side but never shared.

Sigh.

But even as I sigh, I end this week feeling the shift in me. Because it’s not that I don’t want to share any more, it’s just I was missing the structured ease, the systematic approach to getting all these amazing creations in front of people.

A book has a natural, repeatable distribution path to place it in a reader’s hopefully word-hungry hands.

And for me, Becks handles that side of things with ease—and gets a nice chunk of any and all paydays for taking it off my plate.

But this word-business, even selling a PDF “book” online, it requires so much more than just creation, editing, cover, compiling—done.

That’s what’s been missing—a rinse and repeat path to getting all this gold inside my digital value out into happy, interested hands.

It hit me too, that part of my lack was listening to those (mostly bro) voices still in my head, saying things like “launch fast.”

Yeah, no. That doesn’t work for me.

Launch fast has meant sharing my word-creations, offers, products without a complete system in place.

It creates issues, chaos and the need to fix things because I “launch too fast” with half tech-done things.

And when something breaks or an email doesn’t go out and someone is waiting for it, the retracing of tech steps to figure it out is what makes me question everything.

Why don’t you just write books, Jill? It’s so much easier.

But the answer, I feel called to help people access their voice, their words.

I remember sharing with a mentor—who also happened to be male—that I felt called to help 33,000 people.

He laughed at me.

Told me not to share that in my sales copy or anywhere.

A bit crushed, I remember also feeling grateful his laughter interrupted me before I completed the full sentence . . .

I feel called to help 33,000 people, then 333,000 and—maybe, somehow, some way—my words, my work will touch 33 million people.

That moment was more than a decade ago, nearly two, and yet I remember it like it was yesterday.

And I know the power of a story, of words.

Heck, my words are in millions of copies of books across genres—impacting the lives of people I will never know I touched.

So now, to reach people, to impact and move them, as me, in the sunlight, that’s worth the discomfort of sharing.

That’s worth getting out of my own chaotic way.
That’s worth finally finding my structured ease system.

Not high ticket sales.
Not sales calls.
Not hustle.
Not bro marketing.
Not daily emails.

Instead a web of opportunities at a variety of price points that allow me to impact those first 33,000 people.

So this is me reclaiming my once energizing statement and no longer willing to allow the influence of another to derail me.

This is me working how I work best.

Sometimes live.
Sometimes evergreen.

Always creating from a place of JOY and ease.

- - -

Now, when I originally ran The JOYful Journey live as a 33 day writing challenge—meaning each morning I woke up and wrote that days email and lesson and sometimes story-share example—it worked.

It wasn’t meant to be done and automated—that came after.

And of course with snags because of my lack of follow through . . .

So this week, I slowed down.

I removed those voices from my head and I focused on finishing one thing to completion and documenting it all.

Not easy for me, but a skill I’m happily learning.

Slowing the creation down to document the steps, so every little thing gets done, was not easy because all these ideas fired—just like they always do.

So I wrote them down on an idea list that I kept open and stayed focused.

Because little things that break have—in the past—derailed half a day or more and sucked the JOY right out of this word-business.

- - -

To give you a taste, this week was about

Editing a book The Magnetic Storytelling Method, not to add more content but to make sure links inside weren’t broken. A few were.

Also, to clarify references—some had to go as they no longer made sense.

To add the actual next path steps someone can take after reading the book.

I can go on and on, but that led to the redesign of the cover—needed no but yes as it matches who I am now.

With that done, there is the need to review emails that go with the book, test delivery links and figure out the path someone takes from that book.

I could be making this more complex than it is—but slowing down showed me all the gaps—and led to some great ideas.

The addition of an audio recording of the book which I’m currently doing chapter by chapter, task by task, as a private podcast.

So instead of a three hour audio, this is a searchable, return-to reference—a podcast the listener can access on the go, at any time.

And it’s so fun—even though it’s learning new tech and adding a system to my business.

But it’s a system I believe I will use again and again with all my books.

From there, the idea for a mini email experience offer surfaced that mirrored the tasks in the book.

So often reading is all we do, but the real work is in the doing—in this case, the writing.

And even though this wasn’t about creating, but clearing up and organizing—this idea was too perfect to pass up.

So I chose to go for it—from start to finish.

Eleven emails written, and no, AI did not write them, plus a welcome email—all in one afternoon.

Not only that, the next morning in 45 minutes I wrote a sales page and an email offering this experience to a segment of people who have purchased the book—The Magnetic Storytelling Method—in the past.

By the end of the day 21 people clicked the link, signed up for The 11 Day Magnetic Momentum Experience—were immediately gifted the updated book and received the first day’s writing task email the next day.

Wow, writing this makes me realize I created a ton this week AND actually “launched fast” but with guardrails of documented-till-done systems and absolutely no bro energy.

Just a simple offer-ask—quietly done and not to everyone.

Those 21 people currently going through at a steal-of-a-deal pricing makes the extra, unplanned work so worth it. Because now, the feedback is coming in on day four of this eleven day experience.

Some have shared how empowered they feel, how motivated to write, and I get to witness them in action.

Which led to another idea to actually Witness their writing of this 11 day experience.

Yes, another idea.

I warned you at the start of this episode that I am a prolific creator and well, I wasn’t kidding, now was I?

- - -

Imagine for less than the cost of a dinner (on this island, for one) but perhaps in other locations for two—you could share your daily words and know I’m there receiving them, reading them, witnessing your writing.

And sometimes even responding.

I gave myself 90 minutes to write an email offering this idea to those in The 11 Day Experience and set up the backend details.

Twelve people of the 21 said yes to having me as their writing witnessed.

That’s 57% saying yes to that idea—Your Writing Witness—one that only ended up taking me 28 minutes to put together, document and release from start to finish.

I could go on and share about the creation of two other products this week— as I was cleaning up my offers, completing things systematically, and having fun in the process—but I’ll just allow you to see for yourself when my “front door” opens.

It’s actually exciting and calming to now have the ability to wildly create but in a structured manner simply because I’m documenting it as I go.

And the numbers, they don’t lie. To get a 57% yes to one email is next crazy good when most bro numbers say 10%, 20% and if you’re lucky and super good 30% take rate on an offer or upsell.

No more learning what others are doing and how they do it.

I have proof—time and time again—that I rock this when I do it my way.

When I lean into structured ease.

When I rein in the dramatic chaos.

When I complete things.

Which is making me imagine how much impact all my digital gold will have once, dusted off and released with JOY into the world.

- - -

And makes me wonder, would people be interested in a deeper dive of Between My Sheets—like The Balance Sheet.

A place for real numbers behind what this week—or this month—built.

A different room.
A deeper experience.

Utter transparency—the numbers, the expenses, the profits, the losses—when it comes to running a word-business.

One I’m opening here as a paid extension of Between My Sheets.

Yes, another idea, another product, another offer.

How exciting.

I need to let it marinate, allow it to form, and if it’s a sacral yes for me—give it a 90 minute window to create and document.

But first, I’m off to finish that front door entrance into my word-world and, fingers crossed, have it live and kicking for people to find come Sunday.

For now, I have two treats to look forward to as rewards for a week well spent.

A working bathtub Saturday night and the arrival of the Frenchman Sunday, last flight.

Before the Frenchman arrives, it looks like I will be able to sink into a long awaited bubble bath as my Saturday treat and reward for the week.

I can already feel the caress of that silky, almost hot, water.

And in preparation, yesterday when a carpenter came to talk about the needed gates, we first chatted about how to create a privacy nook for the bathtub area which is outdoors in a rather unique location on my front porch.

I know, weird.

But it’s where the hot and cold water are and when they redid my bathroom, somehow the tub was forgotten about and a bench went in instead.

Sigh.

But gosh-damn it, I want to take a bath so I’m okay being the crazy goat lady, who also has half dozen cats, a traveling Frenchman AND a bathtub on her front porch hidden by planters and vines—

and hmmm, sounds kind of divine!

And The Frenchman . . .

While I’m excited about his return, I’m staying focused for now.

Episode 8 will tell you how that all went.

Just Jill “oh la la, The Frenchman’s on his way” Stevens

If you want to be notified when new episodes go live each Friday,
you can subscribe right here.

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Just so you know: This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns. Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

What if rebuilding a writing life isn’t this neat, curated thing you map out on a whiteboard . . . but the moment you finally admit what’s been quietly running the show underneath?

New here? You may wish to start at the beginning.

Because it turns out I’m writing a book disguised as a literary business model, disguised as a memoir unfolding in real time.

This episode is a 11 minute read.

Welcome, you.

Two things happened this week that shocked the hell out of me.

As I write this, I’m thinking it’s about time for that third shock to land. I’m not superstitious, simply bound to the number three.

Like the three baby frogs I saved this morning while writing before first light.

Back to those shocks to my system.

First, in cleaning up my digital messes and creating simple systems—I noticed something.

My one-and-done offers are crazy lucrative.

Deleting duplicate sales pages and grabbing checkout links, I noticed something interesting.

The numbers.

In a few clicks I found the “All time” sales data on a product and nearly spit out my coffee.

One audio—a 16 minute meditation I created on my laptop, in this house, in one day, just a few years ago—has made more than $27,000.

That number shocked me—and here’s why.

While it’s not much to live on over the course of two or three years—heck, not even sure that covers hay for the goats for that long!

Yeah, they can eat and hay here is crazy expensive . . . but I love my goats.

But it’s also not my only one-and-done offer.

Like a book, it’s written once—and then it’s done.

Meaning, it’s my one focus, my one delight, my one world until it’s done. And when it’s done-done—that’s it. It sells and sells.

But it only sells with the right forever-running structure in the background.

Thank you, Becks.

Although she rarely hums—as she’s more the F-bomb dropping type—but giving credit where credit is due, she’s the very structure that sells my books.

So my book writing works. I write till done. She takes over and sells my words.

While that’s happening, I one-and-done another book.

But flip to a word-based business, there are a lot of moving parts that most “teachers” or “gurus”—Gosh, please don’t even call me the last—never fully reveal.

The how.

The how of building a container that will sell and sell and sell.

Because, let’s face it, unless you are selling and money is rolling in, you’re not running a business but playing in what can become an expensive hobby.

So while I have always believed the how is none of my business—that things will flow, work out, and come together . . . in this case, just no.

The how is my current work.

How did I make $27K+ from a 16-minute audio meditation that people love after pressing play?

• I spend maybe four hours creating the audio.

• Wrote the script.

• Recorded my voice.

• Bought music.

• Edited the music with my voice file.

• Played with the volume and fade and reverb for too long.

• Wrote a sales page

• Put the sales page up on Samcart

• Wrote a welcome email

• Scheduled the welcome email and link to audio file inside email autoresponder—(a must for a word-centered business)

• Created tags to connect the sales page, checkout, autoresponder so upon purchase that email triggers and automatically sends

• Wrote a follow up email

• Wrote a feedback ask email

• Scheduled those in Kit

• Created a mini sales page as an “order bump” to add to another product checkout page—The Magnetic Storytelling Method: Not a Writing Manual—a Way Back to Your Voice

• Tested both sales/checkout pages in Samcart

• Put a few links to the audio inside the ebook so readers could say yes later if they missed the “order bump”

• Wrote a few emails and send them over time to my subscribers

And I’m sure there are ten other things I did—that at this moment evade me—but this gives you the gist . . . and me the realization of why half the time I don’t finish my one-and-done creations unless it’s a book.

I mean look at this linear list—the mix of hats to wear—from creative to technical and back again.

And I can do both jobs—but rarely well, it seems, for the simple reason that I miss something.

Or I have a new brilliant idea.

Just this week I have created a new front door—a way for people to come into my word-world and hopefully feel welcomed, seen, and heard.

The new gateway involved taking that same book, cleaning up broken links, refreshing the offers, changing the subtitle, new cover.

Sigh.

But of course that’s not all.

I decided to make it an experience—so that meant recording the audio and building an eleven-day email journey to mirror the tasks inside it.

And all the tech that goes along with this shift.

It’s not hard, nor all that complicated.
It’s simply a lot of moving pieces to complete—and not walk away from mid-build.

A book, though? That’s me writing until the last page.

Then it’s mine again for edits—after Becks has taken it, read it, had a pass with an editor I trust, and hands it back to me.

With a dreaded deadline.

And because I don’t love deadlines, I get it done so it stops looming over me like a metaphoric ax.

Becks handles edits, cover, contracts, timeline—until my author copy lands in my mailbox.

And once that book is on the shelf, I’m pretty much out.

I’m already writing something new. Probably have been for a while.

Because until this point, I have chosen to be behind the scenes.

No interviews, podcasts, media at all. No bookstore readings, signings or fan meet and greets.

Which are all lovely . . .

However, they also detract from the most important job a writer has.

To write.

Because the more you build a library of words, the more likely you are to be successful as a writer.

One book is great, but three is better.

Meaning, someone likes a book—what do they do?

They immediately search for other books by the same author. And if they really liked that first read, they buy all the others.

One by one or in an impulsive “add all to cart” moment.

So books actually start to become their own marketing machine.

Which is what I created haphazardly a few years back with that very profitable $27K+ audio.

A create-it-once—deliciously good thing—and allow people to find it again and again and again by dropping it inside of books, front door offers, and even linking it here at the bottom of this episode.

Take my desire for structured ease . . .

My inability to find that story I know I wrote about the time I made my 6th grade teacher wait while I finished the very last line of the very last page and then calmly, proudly handed her all 100 pages of the story she’d asked us to write.

Or my lack of linear thinking needed to complete all the bloody steps so a one-and-done offer can be released without a tech break.

Or my need for a system to have all my details, links, thoughts—but please God, not another spreadsheet.

Sigh.

So that’s a huge win this week—I stopped looking for the right system and created my own.

A book.

A Google Doc with tabs as the product.

Meaning every single tab is its one chapter, entity, product. And together they make up my word-web of a business.

I finally created something from a place I get, feel comfortable in, understand.

Took me a while to turn off all the bro marketing noise in my head, but now it’s done.

And my shoulders are finally relaxing.

It’s such a delight to pull up this ONE document I’ve dubbed—Jill’s Word-Business Web 2026—and see all my products coming into organized existence.

Plus, I can now actually find what I need when I need it.

That’s as delicious a feeling as sinking into a bubble bath under the stars—which will happen this weekend in my newly installed bathtub if the plumber finishes the job.

Fingers crossed.

I could really use a “Calgon take me away” moment.

But that coming-together tabbed doc of mine is tiding me over until I can sink into those silky waters.

Now let’s get back to that second shock of mine before the third one lands and I forget about it.

. . .

A new friend who recently moved to this remote island with his partner found me online.

Well, since I sent him a link to my website so he could check out my yet-to-be-publicized idea of—“sponsor a goat”—it wasn’t hard.

I mean, the URL makes it pretty easy—and me saying yes to his follow-up ask of—“Are you the joyful writer?”—made him my instant stalker.

Let’s call him Lippy because he has a mouth on him and is funny as can be.

But what was really interesting was my reaction to him saying—”I’m going to subscribe!”

Instantly, without thought, my response—”I’ll just delete you.”

Gasp.

What?!
Why?!

His response was priceless. “You’d do that?”

Without hesitation, “Yep.”

Oh.My.Word.

What is my issue with sharing, being out there, not letting people who know me read my words.

This really got me thinking as I fixed a gate on the farmette. A gate that Buddha Kiss Me Sigh loves to headbutt for hours.

One that was going to give way at any moment.

A gate I’ve been barricading shut with a crossbar 2x4 for weeks now which requires me to walk around in my jean overalls carrying a drill whenever I want to visit—or feed—the flock.

So with Gracey Girl, a very curious goat, by my side, I managed to fix the nearly pulled-away hinge, rework the locks—yes, multiples—and do some nearly meditative thinking.

When I wasn’t removing blue screws from Gracey Girl’s mouth.

I started to reflect on the contradiction that is me.

I remembered working with Autumn, my self-publishing editor, on the first title I published in my name—and telling her no personal stories.

Only to turn around and write deeply personal essays—share vulnerable moments that moved her and others to tears.

And tell her the book needs more stories.

My writing tends to be deeply personal and yet I’m terribly private. So much so that I once wondered if I was possibly experiencing Vanishing Twin Syndrome.

The phenomenon that happens in the womb where one twin dies and the other absorbs cells, DNA, and even presence.

That would explain my two-headed, walking/talking/hiding yet sharing deeply personas.

But while that might make a fascinating book, chances are there’s not a medical reason for why I said what I said.

And meant it.

That instinctive reaction to banish someone wanting to subscribe to me—my words.

. . .

But seriously, what does it reveal about how I’ve operated for thirty years—behind curtains, under pseudonyms, keeping your word-world private even from my husband?

It says I’ve known myself so well that I designed my life to fit how I best operate.

Instead of making it wrong or bad . . . it was how I chose to be in the world.

And yet now, why am I choosing visibility?

It’s obvious I’m not comfortable with it.

Yet.

But I’m doing it. I’m here, writing this, every Friday, and not deleting when you—when anyone—subscribes.

Maybe because I know so many people—especially now—might need a quiet creator in their corner.

Someone who knows her why—

I write because I must.
I write because I am a writer, a storyteller.

It’s simply part of my DNA.

Someone who knows she doesn’t have to step into the spotlight to be successful—

And yet I’m choosing to be more visible in the hopes that I can help those creatives who need to be witnessed, supported, encouraged.

The $27K meditation worked because I built a solid gate into my world.

One that didn’t break. And when I shared that entry point, people said YES to my audio and more.

With delight, with ease, automatically—like sales for my books simply come in because of the structure and systems Becks has in place.

I actually succeeded in creating that for myself—and didn’t even realize it until I saw that number—$27K.

And there it is. My third shock.

I have done this well.
I can do this.

I created something, followed my linear checklist—connected every T and I—and the notifications came in.

“You’ve made a sale!” Day and night.

I had a small humming system working.

And that’s worth celebrating, acknowledging, and sharing.

That audio has now helped more than 1,000 people!

Holy cow.

That makes me stop and put my hand to my heart, deep breath in, deep breath out, and realize just how worth it—sharing, being visible—actually is.

And to realize, after a 60-second dance party around my kitchen counter, that the reason it didn’t do better, didn’t help 3,000 or 9,000 or even 11,000 people over the last three years is because I didn’t share enough.

One-and-done only works if you leave the gate open.

The gate wasn’t broken. I just stopped tending it.

I’m actually not building something new.

That’s what that $27K+ shocker showed me.

I’m returning to something I’ve known how to do, can do, and have done well.

I did it once. It worked.

I just need the system that keeps me from forgetting it exists.

And this series, Between My Sheets, is unexpectedly part of that system.

With an episode written in real time on Thursday and Friday mornings—for a Friday noon EST deadline—it’s forcing me to reflect weekly on
what I need to do,
want to do,
have done,
and whether or not anything I chose worked.

That reflection is real-time, powerful, and surprise-surprise, keeping me on track.

These episodes are becoming the word-glue holding this chapter together.

And when the Frenchman comes next weekend, after months apart, it will be up to me to not get distracted by his sweet presence—not to miss this most powerful accountability setup I’ve accidentally, unknowingly created.

Because the only thing that ever stopped the gate from working was me.

Me getting sidetracked.
Me forgetting what I built.

But not this time.

Just Jill “finally leaving the word-gate open” Stevens

In this episode, I mention my first title written in my name, with its many personal shares, and the audio behind that shocking-to-me profit.

The Book: Create Your Most Delicious Life

The Audio: Constant Creative Flow

If you’d like to follow this unfolding story, you can subscribe below.

Subscribe now

Just so you know: This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns. Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

What if rebuilding a writing life isn’t this neat, curated thing you map out on a whiteboard . . . but the moment you finally admit what’s been quietly running the show underneath?

Welcome, you.

Here’s what surprised me most this week.

Last Friday I wrote that I needed a frame for my web of words, ideas, offers, products—prolific madness.

I desired a cozy, comfy word-home.

A space where I could create things once, document them, and be done.

Ah, what a lovely thought.

Only . . . no.

That desired machine humming in the background so my WORDS can be seen, read, found—even—

the one I started creating with passion, purpose, precision . . . perfectly imperfect.

My idea of—
Step one. One home. One container.

A desire to stop reactionary FIXING of something I half-created and never fully tech-finished.

I wrote this last Friday—

“It’s one place, one login, and no longer a patchwork quilt of never-ending systems “zapped” together with digital duct tape and a prayer.

One place I can create, build, link into and out of—like Charlotte’s Web.”

And I was creating it until I went to make it all work together and realized this oh-so-one-shop MASCULINE structure was slowly stifling my creativity, my JOY, and leading me down the narrow path of hair-pulling frustration.

After all that build-out and deliciousness, I realized my error and pulled the hot-damn plug.

What I was creating—my vision of a creative web—was never going to work in and on this container.

So I made the fire-fast decision of stopping—letting it go.

And only bemoaned my week of behind-the-scenes work for two heavy minutes before letting that, too—go.

It was either that or stick my finger in the socket and fry my creativity away.

Ah, hell to the no, never that.

And during my normal morning 3:33AM writing time,
staring at a blank document
and ready to dish about my own frustration,
a sentence landed so loudly
I actually whispered it into the dark—

You’re exhausted, frustrated, and drowning in systems that are not built for how your brain works.

Let’s slow this way down.
And let’s correct the big misunderstanding at the center of all this—

YOU ARE NOT TRYING TO BUILD A BRO BUSINESS.

Mic. Drop. Moment.

. . .

Right there, in black and white, on my dimly lit screen—
leaving me feeling a bit black and blue.

I made my container-thought decision based on a very masculine train of thought.

Founding member, grandfathered in, access to everything.
Save hundreds—possibly thousands.
One price—never shall it increase.

And tapped out of my intuitive knowing completely.

I mean, I’ve had this system sitting untouched for nearly a decade—not a smart financial decision, but no judgement needed.

I’m self-judgy enough in this moment, and I bet you, too, have at least one subscription running—billing monthly or yearly—that you never even touch.

Am I warm . . . Lovely Reader?

Not judging.
Simply throwing you a rope so you, too, don’t drown.

But back to the business of decisions.

And yes, I truly believe good ones are best made outside of feeling-ness—in my real estate dealings and book contract negotiations—that works.

In this painting of a creative life—just no.

So I’m giving up my “grandfathered-in lovely money savings plan” and copy/pasting, starting over again on a platform that is for

artists
creatives
people with visual aesthetics.

A space that does not make me want to cut off a limb—someone else’s, that is.

And it’s flowing—again.
With JOY.

No more frustration.

Where I’m starting . . .

One by one, I’m going through all the many gems in my files.
One by one, I’m building each one a SOLID, create-it-once home.

And it feels good.

Once set up, it can live on and on—same links, same path—documented so my messy-middle brain won’t forget.

And my words can finally—with structured ease—be of service.

Because my words need a dedicated home and a built-in system of new-to-me eyes finding them.

Because there’s not just Between My Sheets—but other ideas like Confessions of a Ghostwriter and Tiny Hooves—all those delightful Goat Tales.

Ideas are not hard to come by over here.

In fact, I’m constantly swimming in them—which I love.

However, when that backstroke—
face tilted to the sun,
allowing flow from all sides to slide over me,
like the warm glide of a tropical sea on my bare skin

shifts into a toe-pulling undercurrent—
a constant, unrelenting treading of water—
when things half
come undone . . .

that is downright exhausting.
And JOY-stealing.

But hot damn, there’s relief in finding a foundation in which to word-plant them and allow them to grow.

I am not meant to force myself into anyone else’s structure.

And it’s high time to stop trying.

Trying is so disempowering.
I know this—soul-deep.

Just like I know . . .

I finish when I have a structure.

I thrive when I have a container.

I share when I have a place that feels like me.
(Well—the side of me that isn’t flipping chaotic!)

Now, let’s return to why this matters . . .

I love writing these Friday words.

I enJOY being unequivocally saucy, spicy—slightly potty—me.

I love writing these messy, intimate, vulnerable sheets from the bone-deep honesty of lived experience.

Intimate storytelling that’s like a best-friend, secret-share.

After the read, we might just have a pillow fight—or some late-night pillow talk.

That’s the writer I’ve evolved into.

My voice has shifted from naughty romance novels and family-saga trilogies, from nonfiction projects for naturopathic doctors and memoirs for artists, to my own lived, often deeply personal experiences.

It’s often raw.
It’s definitely intimate.

And honestly, a bit intimidating—
to be so bare and word-revealed between these sheets.

Yet also revealing.

Because this week, it hit me like a whispered accusation and a promise all in one—

I have mostly sucked at sharing.

(Notice my intentional use of past tense here, for I’m not purple penning this statement into future me.)

Becks has been my life raft in a sea of endless creativity.
With her at the helm, I get to play in words endlessly.

She has been the reason I finished anything in my publishing life.

She held the frame I refused—or couldn’t seem—to build for myself.

And that book I did publish? The first one ever in my real name . . .

Only possible because I have a lovely editor, Autumn who gently—and magically—pushed the project through to “the end.”

And well, I couldn’t not publish it and let her—or the readers needing those 141 essays—down after all her hard, beautiful work.

I didn’t realize how much I needed a Becks, how big a part she’s played in my word-success.

Not until I realized it’s been nearly three years since I released that book.

The follow-up—more essays and a companion journal—is sitting done in a digital folder.

Formatted.
Cover done.
ISBN paid for and assigned.
Ready to print and be read.
Only me bottlenecking its release.

For years now.

Head. Desk. Ouch.

Becks has demanded more than once that I stop this “side thing”—this my-words, my-voice, my-way chapter in my life.

And when it became clear this wasn’t a passing phase, she switched gears:
“Just f—king give it all to me, Jill. I’ll make you a household name, a word-f—king star.”

And that right there was her misstep . . .
or was it?

Because that woman knows me.

And in our early years, knew me better than I knew myself.

I don’t want—have never wanted—to be word-famous.

For some, that’s the dream.
For me, a bloody nightmare.

I just want to write—damn it.
[insert foot stomp]

That emailed line—“I just want to write”—the one I received thirteen times from those who read my words, is what started this journey.

And it’s true.
For them.
And for me.

Here’s the rub—the ones who email me usually attach the question—

How?

How to just write and also get paid.

I don’t teach frameworks.

I write—and perhaps teach—from lived experience.

I am a transformational storyteller.

And because of how things have always flowed for me, the “also get paid” part will simply come.

People love to pay me for my words.

The how is none of my business.

But man, have I made it hard for people to do that in this season of my life.

Honestly, how can they pay me when I don’t share?

How can they read my words when I don’t publish them?

When I don’t finish these dozens of projects sitting in my virtual cloudy drive-sky?

When I can’t find the story I know I’ve written—once, twice, three times—I swear—the one about writing my first 100-page story in sixth grade while making the teacher wait.

And then it hit me.

. . .

What I’m doing here is bigger than me—bigger than words placed between the sheets.

Not a newsletter.
Not a funnel.
Not a strategy.

I’m writing a book disguised as a literary business model, disguised as a memoir unfolding in real time.

A living document of becoming.
A movement made of quiet pages.

My creative rebuild might serve someone else—
not because I’m teaching,
but because I’m telling the damn—often messy—truth.

Maybe this is the truth you need right now.
A truth you’ve been circling.
A truth you’re finally ready to hear.

This week, I stood at the crossroads of power and doubt.

I’m not afraid to admit it.

Yes, doubt.

Doubt whispered . . .

Is this Between My Sheets—tongue-in-cheek, naughty, fun word-sharing—narcissistic? Is it really something that I should continue?

Power whispered back . . .

Hell no! It’s fun, it’s informative, it shines light on the messy middle so people don’t feel so alone.

Writing from lived experience is NOT narcissistic.
It is the ONLY way your people—your readers—trust you.

You are not writing about yourself to spotlight Jill.
You are writing about yourself to hand someone else the flashlight.

And then the whisper built up within—a who-are-you-to-question this laundry list of rapid-fire beats.

What if the people who need this find it?

What if this is the beginning of something real, powerful, empowering?

What if the creative, structured home you’ve never built—been all but begging for—begins here, one Friday at a time?”

And then—I laughed—thinking about Becks, hearing her voice whiplash out.

Write. Share. F—king repeat, Jill.”

I don’t have Becks’ energy behind this project—
so I’m stepping into my own quiet, less F-bomb-dropping badass.

Slowly. Softly.
One episode at a time.

I’m continuing Between My Sheets past the four promised episodes—obviously. (wink)

Not because it’s strategic.
Not because it’s smart.
Not because someone told me to.

But because continuing this living memoir matters.

Because writing this movement in real time brings me JOY.

Because these Friday words feel like a calling, not content.

Because you are here.
Reading.
Witnessing.
Feeling your truth reflected in mine.
And responding.

Thank you, Sage. Your words reached me. Do let me know how your wife (can’t wait to one day meet her) liked my book!

Gotta love it when the wife steals your former teacher’s book—the one you ordered to read yourself.

Oh, and yes, I was a teacher in the public school system for almost five years.

A place where I created something called Bellwork.

A chalked line, a topic, a thought each and every day—a place from which to start.

One page.
Ten minutes.
Begin.

And before the bell even rings—hence, Bellwork.

Oh, this sounds so deliciously familiar—although now it’s eleven divine minutes on the clock—go.

I created this container—hot damn I can build structure—so I could take attendance and learn all my high school students’ names and faces.

I never realized the impact this daily writing assignment would have on my students. Honestly, I was just trying to make my life easier—I’d never planned on being a teacher.

But soon, like clockwork, my students would enter, often before the bell, and always knew exactly what to do.

No watching for me, for directions, for permission to begin.
No me trying to hush a mob of twenty-five teens.

The moaning of “One-whole-page, Ms. Stevens? Seriously?” turned into heads down, pens flying across paper daily.

It led to discussions, and them asking for privacy—me not to read all their daily words.

Because, of course, at first I tried to read them all—every single day—but that was a lot of pages to daily-read before any assignments, quizzes, or dreaded tests.

So a system developed out of discussion—out of a mutually built relationship.

A star at the top of their page meant I’d honor-system not read those daily words. And I didn’t.

Bellwork, much like my weekly Between My Sheets, is a building of trust, a path of expression, a space to share—deeply.

Those students, years later, thanked me for all that writing work.
It served them for they were never at a loss for words.

And I trust you will never be at a loss reading my words.

That you will always receive something impactful, meaningful, helpful—maybe even insightful—from Between My Sheets.

And I’m thankful for this relationship.

For our writer-and-reader handhold across digital sheets.

So much like Bellwork created a container, a frame—I’ll be creating the same with Between My Sheets.

No, there won’t be homework or even Bellwork! Promise.

A presence.
A path.
A place to belong.

And maybe feel at home.

Those who step into that invitation for something more intimate—you aren’t buying content.

You’re entering a living memoir.
A movement.
A truth.

A weekly touchpoint of “I see you. I’m here. Let’s write our way through this messy, magical, momentous moment.”

The ones who need these words—you’ll know.

You’ll feel it.
A ripple.
A shiver.
A sigh.

When you feel that quiet longing—come on inside.

I could debate:

Will people care?
Will anyone even read this?

I know these thoughts haunt many a writer—many I’ve worked with over the years.

But for me, here’s what I know.

. . .

Some will read.
Some will care.
Some won’t.

And a moment will come when many wander in months from now and binge-read—a long weekend roll between my word-sheets.

How fun a thought . . .

The only question that matters is this.

Will I care enough to keep going?

An interesting ask.

My answer—hell yes.

Yes, because writing these words brings me home.
Yes, because this is how I serve the quiet creators.
Yes, because I believe in stories told in real time.

Movements begin with a handful of people who whisper,
“Yes, I’m in.”

Maybe that’s already you.

That’s how movements, change, growth begin.

Here we are—
in the soft (not-so-messy, at the moment) middle.

Between My Sheets isn’t ending.
It’s deepening.

And next Friday, I’ll be here.
Sheet open.
Purple pen lifted.
Ready.

It may be in its intended new home on Substack,
or it may still be in this form . . .

With The Frenchman’s return, I’m giving myself a bit of grace, space.
And that feels delicious and divine.

To allow.

To simply ease into this moment, this decision, like one slides with delight between those freshly washed, freshly made sheets.

Maybe rebuilding a writing life isn’t a tidy white-vision-board plan after all.

Maybe it’s just showing up—Friday after Friday—with the sheets open, the purple pen ready, laying it all bare.

I’m all in.

Just Jill “patting the space beside me—come on in” Stevens

If you’d like to follow this unfolding story, you can subscribe below.

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This week I finally faced it—and came undone.

What if rebuilding a writing life isn’t this neat, curated thing you map out on a whiteboard . . . but the moment you finally admit what’s been quietly running the show underneath?

Because this week . . .
I came undone.

Not in the glamorous, silk-sheets way.
Frenchman’s not back yet—yes, I’m smiling wide.

This coming undone was more like the—oh-damn-I-did-it-again—way.

It’s that moment you realize your actions have literally been the definition of insanity.

Who said it?

Some say Einstein but honestly who knows.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

That’s been me—tossing and turning in creativity.

Welcome, you.

Time to sink into this Friday moment—
Roughly an 11 JOYful-minute read.

I realized—scratch that—I finally admitted something about myself that is equal parts inconvenient and true:

I am an impulsive creator.

I create because the idea taps me on the shoulder and sinks its delicious teeth in like a vampire—Hello Tom and Brad—moment.

And I follow it like a lovesick puppy.

My whole career has been one long, breathless yes.

Yes to stories—so many stories.
Yes to ideas—endless possibilities.
Yes to offers, products and courses—oh my!

Yes to even late-night inspiration that turn into four-figure sales pages by sunrise.

Well, high four-figures if I allow them to see the light of day.

Yes to the things that thrill me in the moment—
and yes, sometimes,
to things that absolutely shouldn’t have made it
onto my plate in the first place.

And then comes the part I don’t love to admit:

I don’t always finish what I start.
Not on time.
Not in flow.
Not with the ease I crave.

Oof.

Unless it’s a project for another.

Now that has a schedule, timelines, structure.

A box I—as ghostwriter Jill—force myself into.

But it’s so not my natural way.

There it is.

The truth I’ve been avoiding like an ex I hope never to run into at the grocery store.

[Living on a remote tropical island helps with that and the fact I didn’t leave a trail of ex’s behind—at least not on this timeline.]

So to circle back to finishing a thang . . .

And when I circle back to finish something—usually because students are waiting, a sale came in, or something broke—I’m retracing my own steps through a maze I built in the dark.

It works.
It always works.

But it costs me something every single time.

Time.
Ease.

Flow.
Sanity.

A week back that cost hit me harder than usual when a JOYful Journey message didn’t go out as planned and I found myself in a four-hour loop of tech madness.

And this week, when I just happened to pick up my book, Create Your Most Delicious Life, and acknowledge for a beat—wow, I created this.

It sat solid, heavy, real in my hands.

I birthed it yet didn’t grow it.

Never got around to nurturing it into full bloom.

A word-bloom others could truly see, experience, read and enJOY.

What a shame was the thought that followed my wow moment.

But the reason I grabbed it in the first place was to check how it was linked to my rather unruly web of pages, sites, offers—things.

And what was inside, linked out, was another chaotic mess—just waiting for the curious soul who clicks through to my site and finds a “Whoopsie Daisy, something’s amiss” love note from me.

Hey—I have no issue making fun of little old me.

And I’m the first to admit I ain’t got my shit together . . . that between my sheets is a labyrinth of twists and broken turns.

The dream of something desired totally unrealized.

Until this week.

Because, as impulsive as I am creatively, I’m also craving the opposite.

A solid foundation.
A cozy home.

Turns out, my creative flow doesn’t need more freedom—it needs a frame.

Some safety upon which to land, be held in—like the muscled arms of my arriving-soon Frenchman.

A machine humming in the background so my WORDS can be seen, read, found even.

What I never built—until now—was the quiet, steady machine underneath me, my words, all I have to offer. The one that keeps my word-world moving even when I step away to create, to live, to rescue a goat or two.

With this steady hum, with gear forever turning once built correctly, tested and fine-tuned, I can exhale and focus on creating, on writing, on serving in my quiet yet profound way—knowing that perpetual fires will no longer need to be put out with obscene frequency.

That links won’t be broken because I turned something off.

Emails won’t stall their send because I didn’t hit publish or finish the damn sequence.

Reacting will no longer be my creative-flow-stealing norm.

Step one.
One home. One container.

The all-encompassing system to house my playground, my everything—it’s not perfect, but perfectly imperfect is good enough.

It’s one place, one login and no longer a patchwork quilt of never-ending systems “zapped” together with digital duct tape and a prayer.

One place I can create, build, link into and out of like Charlotte’s Web.

A slow build maze of an ecosystem—a playground—that when built right, with intention, doesn’t lead to dead ends and support emails.

It’s always been an idea in the back of my idea-spinning head—this creative web.

But I listened to outside voices, mostly of the bro variety, and not my inner knowing.

Hell, my creativity was never in question, a problem nor has it been having a lack of ideas.

If anything, it’s having too many . . . but is that really a problem?

Yes, when there’s a lack of a place, space for them to properly, safely live.

I am a nester.
A homebody.

Even my words need a fabulous, rise-up-to-greet-them home.

So this week has been all about finally coming undone, in the most truth telling way, and doing things my way.

Creating a word-home that’s structured—built with an exhale, one word at a time.

And not with new ideas, although those are flowing, but with all-this-content that’s been holed up in digital darkness, orphaned paragraphs, pages, books-even that never found a home after they were birthed by me.

Why?

Because I was onto the next.
But no more.

Enter my inconvenient epiphany.

My harsh moment of truth, I’m realizing the only reason I’ve been word-successful in my life, up till now, is because I have Becks.

It hit me, solar plex hard, first as a question—Is she really the reason I’ve been able to write books to their “the end” moment and publish?

Then as a statement of oh-shit fact.

My agent is the reason I’ve been able to finish anything these last three decades.

Tough pill to swallow.

Becks, if you aren’t aware, is my agent.

Bossy.
Brilliant.
An absolute bear.

And she’d cackle reading that—no offense taken—just an F-bomb dropped for dramatic flare.

She’s responsible for my words being bound, being led into book form and sold.

She’s the machine behind the creative me.

She’s the structure, the hum—sight and sound unseen.

She, do-not-tell-her, is my book baby, home.

And if not for her, if left to my own devices, my stories might have remained in notebooks, on floppy disks, burned on CDs, and later, digitally archived in darkness.

And had I not met that first naturopathic doctor who hired me to write his book, then another and another and the next—that part of my creative life might not have taken shape if solely left up to me.

See, that doctor, he already had an agent and a publisher interested.

The project was locked and loaded, machine of publish, market, release already in almost place.

All that was missing was the writer of the words.

My cup of word-tea.

Plug-and-play easy.

So here I am, admitting my “success” was perfectly accidental and not of my doing at all.

Yes, I can write.

That is all mine—a gift given to me at birth like a voice given to Whitney, Mirah, Michael.

A gift, once found, I worked on and mastered and enJOYed the hell out of. So that mastery, perhaps that can be accredited to me.

And now, in the messy middle, in a moment of utter clarity, I’m simply a woman admitting she cannot live inside an online junk drawer anymore.

It’s not sexy, this part.
It’s not lingerie-closet decadent.
It’s certainly not glamorous.

But oh . . . it feels right.

And maybe, just maybe relatable to a few . . . or to many.

Because the truth is—and you may already know this about me—I’ve written millions of words no one has ever seen.

Entire worlds, characters, stories, lives created with my purple pen that no one was ever allowed to see . . . to step into.

Crazy. Insane. Bonkers.

Stories tucked away in digital corners like abandoned love letters.

And while those unseen words bestowed mastery of craft, maybe some, not all, could have helped if put in the light of day.

So this is me starting to expose what’s between my sheets.

Maybe that’s why these Friday word-shares matter—because naming the truth to someone actually reading my words feels less confessional and more like the start of something foundational.

A way of reflecting, of digging deep to expose the truth.

So many words.
So much clutter.
So many—too many toys.

(Mine out of the bedroom if you went there, naughty reader.)

Shiny objects, systems, services that are simply getting in the way.

So I’m creating a word-playground, a foundation to support my JOYful Write home.

A space that feels like an exhale and an invitation to curl up with something delicious.

An inner connected highway, network, web of delightful storytelling and opportunities to dive deeper.

Like so many paths to travel, to explore why take just one.

Why go down the “one less traveled”—the Frost way—when you can literally enJOY and explore them all.

Or none at all.

However, I think this idea—a creative ecosystem where everything connects and nothing gets left behind—is exactly the thing so many of us crave.

I mean—how many things are on our To Do Lists, taking up precious mind-space?

So I’m creating the structure and flow, the repeatable processes, and finding JOY in this moment of building anew.

Because the creating was never the issue—it’s the completing, releasing, and sharing that turns creativity into a life.

Much like this series has encouraged me to reflect, to share deeply, intimately what’s working and what is flawed.

I’ve been here before—tossing the baby out with the bathwater.
Tearing shit down to start again when it all went askew.

But this coming undone—it’s different.

This wasn’t just an epiphany, new found clarity.

This wasn’t just insight—
it was the truth finally catching up to me.

I’m not re-creating, I’m building.

Like you build a book or a screenplay.

Not to be formulaic, but there is a three act structure more often than not.

And structure when built on a solid foundation, one I’ve never taken the time or energy to properly create until now, that changes the game.

That’s what this week gave me—not clarity, exactly . . . but confrontation.

A gentle, inconvenient, necessary undoing of me.

Because if I want this next season of my writing life to actually work—quietly, beautifully, sustainably—then the old way has to unravel a bit.

The impulsive creator gets to stay.
She’s magic.

But she needs a partner now.
A rhythm.
A home base.
A soft, structured space—around those sheets—to land.

Because Between My Sheets can only exist when there’s a frame—a structure holding it all together.

So consider this episode the moment I stop pretending I can wing my way into the life I want.

I’m building the foundation now.

The turn has begun.

And next Friday?

Will there be a next Between My Sheets moment for us?

Next week feels like the rise after the unraveling—the moment where the sheets finally settle and the truth stands still long enough for me to choose.

I guess that will be the moment I share whether I’ll continue letting you Between the Sheets with me—or not.

Let me know if you want more than a roll or four with me.

Or maybe you’re perfectly happy letting this little Between My Sheets fling end with a kiss on the cheek—and a be on your merry way pat on the backside.

Either way—

Thank you for being here on this delicious, messy, truth-telling ride.

JOYfully,
Jill “still tangled in the sheets, but finally seeing the light” Stevens

💜

P.S. I’ve been letting go of a lot lately—the noise, the rules, the “shoulds.”
Rejecting, ejecting . . . returning to myself.

I opened Create Your Most Delicious Life this week and landed on a page that reminded me exactly where I belong.

If you’d like a little peek at that book, subscribe to this publication, Before First Light, and I’ll send it to you as a little word-gift.

I mentioned The 33 Day Magnetic Storytelling JOYful Journey in this episode. If you’re interested in learning more, you can explore it here.

And coming soon . . .
with all the structured ease possible . . .
is the companion to the first book I ever published under my real name—

Write Your Most Delicious Life

If you’d like to discover more—and read an excerpt—consider joining the waitlist.

Just so you know . . .

This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns.

Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

Know someone who might love this post? Feel free to pass it along.

Share

One week.
One choice.
One quiet shift at a time.

Between My Sheets is a living, unfolding experiment—shared in real time as I (re)build a word-centered life and business from the inside out.

💜 New here?

If you’d like the full story as it unfolds, begin with the Prelude and move forward week by week.

Series Reading Order

Prelude — “I just want to write”
Before the beginning, there were just five snarled words.

Episode One — The Morning After
What happens the morning after you decide to begin again.

Episode Two — Partnering
A tempting collaboration . . . and what partnering actually costs.

Episode Three — The Embrace
When the body says stop—and the business finally listens.

Episode Four — Coming Undone
When the chaos behind the creativity finally catches up.

New episodes arrive each Friday at noon EST.

Between My Sheets is unfolding in real time—each Friday at noon EST.

If you’d like new chapters delivered to your inbox each week, you can subscribe below.

(And if you prefer to wander the messy middle at your own pace . . . that works too.)

All I ask is that you enJOY the journey.

💜

Just Jill
The JOYful Writer & Quiet Creator

I’m giving it four Fridays to find out. Part entertaining, possibly educational. Worth continuing? You be the judge and jury.

Welcome, you.

Time to sink into this TGIF moment—a 13-minute read.

This is part of a (maybe) year-long series called Between My Sheets, where I share the real story of (re)building a writing life—with goats, grace, coffee and the occasional glass of ice-cold white wine.

Right now you’re reading the forward-facing version.

If you want to truly lie between the sheets with me for the next year and engage in some word-filled pillow-typing talk, you’ll be able to access the full reveal soon enough.

Consider this a word-partnership, Lovely Reader—more than a one-read stand.

For now, give this third episode a read and see what stirs within you.

And if you missed them, the earlier episodes . . . ​
Prelude: “I just want to write,”
Episode 1: The Morning After​
​Episode 2: Partnering

---

This week? It sucked.

No sugarcoating it.

No pretty purple bow.

Monday became a tech-mess when a JOYful Journey email didn’t go out as scheduled.

It was my error that caused the glitch, but figuring out how to fix it . . . that took hours of hair-pulling with a chat-bot, then human interaction, to finally resolve.

Speaking of chat-bots—and more AI talk—is it just me or does finding them everywhere make you crave connecting with a human even more?

Having to explain myself to a bot (and then again to a human) is like a forehead-meet-desk moment. Painful.

And my head already hurts.

After the messy tech morning, the tsunami hit Monday afternoon.

Fever. Chills. Earache.

Down for the count.

I stand.
I spin.

So no emails went out, which had been my plan after a silent—no words shared—day of much needed Sunday rest.

Perhaps a foreshadowing of what was to (cough) come.

But to top it off, more tech glitches to unravel on Tuesday, in between naps and sneezes delivered in sets of three.

No joke. It’s always been a thing. My father and I used to count—one, two, wait for it—three.

But on Tuesday I simply gave in . . .

No emails sent.

No fresh words written.

No VIP students were mentored (yet), which I feel absolutely shitty about.

Students? Hmm, feels too teacher scold-er-y.
Customer? Distant. Cold. True, but just off.
Mentee? Ah, now there’s a breath of yes.

Correction—no VIP mentees mentored—yet.

Instead of writing daily, I dropped the word-ball, and laid my head on the pillow and gave in as the world tilted like an unstoppable dreidel.

And it made me realize something I’ve been circling like a bonfire dance off.

The need for a machine humming in the background of my business.

Not a chat-bot . . .

A rinse-and-repeat system.

As automated as possible—without losing the connection and intimacy I so enJOY.

Because I am seeing that my flow, without a solid, completed structure, collapses.

Because I’m an idea girl.
Wildly prolific.

And yet, at times, I’m not always a completer.

Wildly inconsistent with follow-through.

Which is costly because the fortune is in the follow-through.

That my hesitation to step into the masculine energy needed to create a container—to structurally hold all the feminine side of me—creates something else.

Maybe even a misplaced belief that doing so will pull me back into my previous A-type personality.

See, I’ve been living in a space of patch-worked systems.

Like grandma’s handmade quilts, a square stitched together over here, three different ones over there.

Wait, do they match, connect? Should they? Must they?

And then another blaze erupts, or creative ideas spark, and the quilting squares that create one structure are laid down in scattered pieces—never quite finished.

Never able to hum away in the background but instead left as another dangling, chaotic mess.

A simple system.

That’s the ask, the dream, the desire.

Is it really so hard?

A pathway through the playground of me, my words, my offers.

A refusal of allowing the messy middle to invade my business, my words, my ability to serve—again.

These purple penned thoughts, this desire for structured ease, are now a real and pressing need.

This week has shown me that in a vertigo-tilt kind of way.

A simple framework machine that runs in the background—created and completed, tested and tried—once.

All done with ease, with simplicity, with structure and flow—that doesn’t clank and break, but purrs a consistent, steady, soothing beat.

So that regardless of me—regardless of my energy, my hormones, my Frenchman, my goats, or the fact that some days my body waves a white flag and says—“Not today, boo.”—everything deliciously carries on.

Maybe you can relate?

This is the dream for so many.
An ache for others.

For me, it was a thought, a desire, a nagging need but now—now it’s a necessity.

This week reminded me that my creative life is—well—delicate.

Powerful, yes.
Impactful, when working.
But delicate.

It reminded me of a wonderful woman, a long-time friend and colleague who texted me out of the blue back in 2022.

After a few minutes talking about life, her two kids, her husband, and the thriving coaching business she’d built that relied on her—she burst into tears.

As we’d jumped on a Zoom call, I saw her painful meltdown live.

I sat with her, didn’t ask what was going on, what was wrong. I simply let her get it all out.

Pent up feelings, fears, tears.

And like a dam bursting, the words came—the story unfolded and like pieces of a mad puzzle, I fit them together.

Thirty calls a week.
No systems outside of her.
Her girls. Just four and six.

She was stressed.
She was wearing all the hats.
She was successful on paper and spread too thin in life.

I thought this was the meltdown and then the real reveal dropped.

Cancer.
Stage four.

Oh my God.
Oh my God, her girls.

I cried with her, for her and prayed.
We prayed.

And then her ask came in hesitant fragments.

Not sure.
Not much time.
Canceled ten calls this week.
Struggling.
Just.
Can’t.
Do.
It.

Can you help me?

The very next day I stepped in as chief-help-me officer and drafted emails that went out to all of her clients with an option.

Option A. Stay on with a new “master” coach. A coach who built a successful book business of her own and is here to help me in a time of great need.

Option B. Or bow out, no hard feelings, no penalties. Money back, if pre-paid.

I turned down a book project, put another one on hold and shuffled my life.

I shifted my focus from my own business of writing daily emails and creating amazing things with the help of a new coach I’d hired, and dove into absorbing my friend’s content, voice and coaching-style.

The very next week, I took over her 30-plus hour call schedule.

Only one refund request came in.

Within three months, we transitioned the one-on-one coaching to a group format, brought on a team member and started to create systems.

My friend, she did what she could until chemo took over.

And sometimes, in just two or three minutes a day, we created life-changing systems for her business in the event she wasn’t able—or there—it could continue to run without her.

Masterclasses of past content morphed into standalone offers.
Literally dozens of them that once systematized could be bundled and sold.

Sales pages, checkout pages—all the words written for each and every one—and a digital home framed out so once there, they could live, breathe, and sell for a lifetime.

And all those 60-minute coaching calls each and every week? While lucrative, they were taxing and weighted me down fast.

So priority one was a new path, new plan.

Thirty one-on-one calls weekly, slowly over six months of my time, became two group calls per week.

There was talk about me buying her out of her company, her brand.

Lots of talking, texting—back and forth.
Choices had to be made.
Hers. Mine.

It was heavy and beautiful, hard and wonderful.

Decision made, another team member came on board—a master coach. One we both admired and believed could take over, should the need arise.

Either as a single payment pay-day or a monthly licensing fee.

It was an exhausting time.

For her.
Each breath.

For me.
Hiring, training, coaching, writing, building what was needed to run things in a Jesus take the wheel kind of way.

Yet, when I stood in the cool air behind her two little girls and husband as they lowered her casket into the pre-frost ground—the light misting of rain seemed a perfect teary farewell—I was glad I’d stepped up to the plate.

Her plate, during her time of need.

Her family now had a steady income from the machine we’d discussed, mapped out, and created.

Space to be, to breathe, to mourn without a ticking time bomb or clock of must work.

Life is so fleeting, so delicate.

And now, as I wear a headband to protect my aching right ear from the slight tropical breeze washing in through the open slider, I give thanks to my friend and all the lessons that season, that slice of life taught me.

If I’m capable of systematizing her million dollar business in six months flat—I’m capable of systematizing my own, am I not?

Of creating that humming (kind of masculine) structure that runs while I write, that serves my clients while I rest, that pays me while I feed the goats, stretch on my yoga mat or simply watch the sun part ways with the day.

And the time for this is now.

This week, when I’ve not been able to help those three VIP mentees by reading and responding to their words, as promised.

This week when not one email has gone out—yet.

Which leaves me wondering, imagining what an intentionally built, simple but structured humming machine of a system could do.

How it might free me up to quietly create even more.

How it might give me a framework, a repeatable process to release the many creations that have never seen the light of day—even if halfway released.

Honestly, I’m sure I have two or three dozen ebooks like The Magnetic Storytelling Method, 105 delicious pages I wrote and released in under two weeks because I was “on.”

I have recorded classes—some masterclasses on writing, others on JOY—that people, maybe you could be enJOYing.

Oh, and let’s not get me started on the already done book just hanging out—Write Your Most Delicious Life, part journal and part new essays. The darling companion to Create Your Most Delicious Life.

And that leads me perfectly to the audio records of yep, that last title, which I planned to release as the audiobook version and also as a private podcast with commentary and answers to questions I get often in regards to that book, the writing style, memoir type writing, and transformation, in general.

Which leads me to mention the difference between creating systems and creating words to be read.

As you can see, I’ve mastered the creation side and would even go so far as to say I’m what I call a Prolific Creator—sigh.

Ah, you thought that was a good thing?

Well, it is when there are systems.

Example?

My agent is the system for my books.

I write.
She has access.
She takes a title when she sees it’s nearing “ready.”

Without her heavy-handedness, my books may have just languished in those digital files much like some programs have . . . for years.

And being Prolific without a system?

That’s the part that drains me more than it delights me.

I crave a shift from the Prolific (but Chaotic Creator) energy and into the Quiet Creator who has a bit more structured ease.

This isn’t just about systems . . .
This is about my sanity, my soul, my words.

But creating can also live in the structure space, something I’m just now tapping into.

I remember telling my Dad once that he was a logical guy and I was a creative girl—opposites.

He was offended and declared he’s creative.

As a builder, I took pause. I thought of building as architectural plans, precise measurements, tools and materials, lots of logic.

As he wasn’t the designer, I didn’t peg him for being “creative”.

However, years later driving through a residential street, he’d developed, I realized my error.

No house was street facing, cookie cutter, but instead each one was nestled into the land.

Tilted this way and that, at the edge of a forest, around a bend, situated with a lovely view of a little swamp-lake.

The homes themselves weren’t rectangular boxes but more sprawling or tumbling creations. Interesting, unique each and every one.

The street was the location in a story.
Each house a character.

My Dad was more creative than I’d given him credit for. But unlike me, he’s comfortable in his structured, logical space.

He is logical.

He easily, naturally embodies both the masculine machine and feminine creative energies I am striving to blend.

When I stepped into that season of structured creation with my friend, I stepped into a more masculine energy.

An energy I associated with the bro marketing culture and made bad, wrong.

And this week—this sick, stalled, motionless week—I was reminded that the best version of me could and can embody them both—creative and structured—without making one wrong or bad.

Because if I had, I would have had a week with more than just one sale trickled in while I rested and healed.

The past systems I built for my friend and half-assed built for myself, have shown me it’s possible.

To have creative flow, I need structure.

To have feminine ease, I need masculine grounding.

Not the bro-marketing, hustle culture masculine energy but the steadfastness of systems that create the structure ease I so desire.

And this can come in two forms.

A simplification of what I create and offer.

As in one thing, one container, one offer.

But that’s so not me.

Or a simplification of how I run all-the-things.

A stopping of the split-focus nightmare, the tech-web of intrigue that too many systems, duct taped together, has created.

I have the path of structured ease—that purring machine—before me.

Imagine how much lighter I’ll be if I simply make a choice and then go—like my mantra that I share often.

Eleven minutes on the clock—go.

Go—as in write.

But in this case, go—as in build those humming, supportive systems in eleven minute masculine bursts.

We all hold both masculine and feminine energies.

And creating from masculine energy doesn’t need to be the bro marketing, which (to me) is hustle culture.

Pushing.
Gamification.
Results-driven instead of people-driven.

To me, that way doesn’t allow for the natural inclusion of the feminine energetic side.

It doesn’t allow for the ebb and flow that IS the messy middle.
It doesn’t allow for the feminine magic.
It doesn’t allow for the slow, quiet, word-centered life I crave.

Because I’m done being a Prolific, but Chaotic, Creator.

Ease doesn’t come without a plan.
Flow doesn’t appear without a container.
Creativity doesn’t blossom without some safety.

My friend, when alive, was always IN her business. On calls and doing all the things.

She told me during one of our chats that, of course, over the years she spent countless hours thinking about her need for systems but she didn’t prioritize them.

Didn’t know how.

Like her, I’ve been spending hours thinking but not doing.
Spinning but not decided.

Wondering about the how it will all work and forgetting my other mantra of truth.

The how is none of my f_cking business!

The how unfolds naturally when you move your feet and do.

My mind has known of this imbalance in my business life and now, now my body has decided to show up in painful protest to declare—now is the time.

Now is the time to embrace the masculine energy and brick-by-digital brick build the structured ease foundation I crave . . .

Or stop-all-this helping others via classes, coaching and products and go write more books.

And that was—is an option, a thought—to stop this creator business, to stop mentoring people who also want to step into their own slice of sunlight and earn cash from their words.

It would, after all, be easier to finish Jack and Emma’s story—the one where 80 percent of the scenes are already penned thanks to my jaunt with AI-Partnering™ that I wrote about in Episode 2.

I mean that story opens with a baby goat in a classroom!

Extremely cinematic, heartwarmingly funny and could so be turned into a movie script once on the paperback book shelves.

But I crave something more.

Community, maybe.
A desire to help others in this messy middle of life, yes.

Perhaps even a bit ego driven—to make a mark in a profound way.

Because as an author, it tends to be a solo endeavor.

But writing and creating publicly, like this, sometimes that feels the same solo way, too.

Those quiet cricket moments where no one responds . . .

Are the words even landing?
Are they reading? hearing? caring?

Here’s what I know after more than 30 years of “successful” word-play.

Silence doesn’t mean you’re not being read.
Silence doesn’t mean you’re not being seen.
Silence doesn’t mean your work isn’t landing.

Sometimes, the right eyes are already on your words.
Sometimes, the universe whispers instead of roars.
Sometimes, the validation you crave shows up in unexpected ways.

Or you realize validation isn’t what you need after all.

Instead, all you need is to create.
And make bank.

Because let’s face it—writing, like any endeavor born in passion, is just a hobby until you place a value on it and are compensated.

And that humming machine in the background, that structure, having that turned in is how a Quiet Creator can keep on creating.

So along with healing, this is my time to create a hub, a simple space that once built runs in the background while I write, mentor, live.

Word-business (re)building needs support.

Mentors.
Containers.
Systems.

Something that supports me even when the day feels heavy, the body feels off or a goat needs some more hugs.

Or I do.

What do I build/create that moves my business quietly forward with structure, with ease while I rest or play or simply write?

That’s the question I’m sitting in today.

And I think I’m finally ready to tell the truth—

My writing, my creativity is like a never dry well I can dip into at any time.

My life runs beautifully in flow, but my business needs more structure.

That’s the masculine/feminine dance I’m currently in.

I create to create—not necessarily to share—unless given a plan, a path.

And even then, I have been known to veer.

My agent hates this about me for she can never predict what I’ll have finished or when, when I write for myself.

What saves me, in her eyes, is that I’m so prolific!

But this week showed me, up close and personal, the cost of not having a plan, a system in place, a purring machine supporting me.

The sick week didn’t derail me.
It revealed me.

Structured ease is the dream.

But not accidental.
Not magical.
Built.

With intention.

I’m not meant to hustle loudly.

I’m here to write passionately.
I’m here to impact quietly.

Quiet Creator energy is my natural state.

This week made the cost of not choosing—
not acting on my desire for structured ease—
impossible to ignore.

Structured ease isn’t accidental.
And something in me knows . . .
it’s time.

What are you here to do?

JOYful,
Jill “The JOYful & Quiet Creator” Stevens

💜

Next week brings the fourth episode of Between the Sheets . . .
and then it’s decision time.

Do I keep rolling out these Friday words—or call it a wrap?

I’m curious to hear what you think . . . and whether a full year of this (re)building of a creative life is something you’d want to witness unfold.

I’ll be asking.

If something in today’s story stirred a spark in you, here are a few places where my words live beyond these Friday sheets:

✦ The 33 Day Magnetic Storytelling JOYful Journey
✦ Create Your Most Delicious Life
✦ The Magnetic Storytelling Method

And coming soon . . . with all the structured ease . . .

✦ The Book: Write Your Most Delicious Life
✦ The Quiet Creator hub—(for lack of a better word)—reveal.

And if these Friday words are speaking your language, you can subscribe below.

Just so you know . . .

This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns.

Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

Know someone who might love this post? Feel free to pass it along.

Share

Welcome, you.

Curl up with something delicious—this episode is roughly an 11-minute read.

This is part of a (maybe) year-long series called Between My Sheets, where I share the real story of (re)building a writing life—with goats, grace, coffee and the occasional glass of ice-cold white wine.

If you want to truly lie Between My Sheets with me for the next year and engage in some word-filled pillow-typing talk, you’ll be able to access the full reveal soon enough.

Consider this a word-partnership, Lovely Reader—more than a one-read stand.

For now, give this second episode a read and share your thoughts in the comments—if you dare.

But first, if you missed how this all began, you may want to start with
The Prelude: “I just want to write,” and Episode 1: The Morning After.

---

Am I tired of telling other people’s stories?

Yes and well, no.

If you don’t know me well yet, or at all, a little backstory to fill you in. I’ve been a ghostwriter to naturopathic doctors, celebrities and ordinary people with extraordinary stories to tell for three decades.

That’s a lot of books written and a lot of lives impacted from behind the curtain of “not me.”

So when a friend reached out a few days back with an ask that gave me pause, I took a step back. “I’m reading such-and-such’s book [insert title I won’t share] and it sounds just like you. Did you write it?”

Well, if I did, I didn’t do my job! was my texted response.

Because, yes, I had—maybe, but contractually can’t say—helped write that book.

So did I actually fail a bit if it sounded like me?

As a ghostwriter, my job is to embody the voice, tone, essence of another— and share their story, their words—in a polished, professional, and highly sellable way.

I think I did and I didn’t—fail—writing that book for that unnamed celebrity.

I did fail, because if a friend can start to hear my voice when they read someone’s book, they either know me too intimately—or I’ve not done a good job removing my natural cadence from their work.

At the same time, I didn’t fail because, well, how can I remove myself entirely from a project?

This woman CHOSE to work with me because she loved my writing style, my voice, my word-way.

Notice that. All those “my’s.”

Most of the people I ghost for are NOT writers. They shine in their area of expertise and hire me for my six-figure word glow.

And I love ghost(writing) for people—and have for 30 years.

So maybe it’s not that I’m tired but more selective.

Maybe it’s about giving my soul room to write, my way. As me—fully.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being the side-piece—between someone else’s word-sheets—unknown, anonymous.

There’s something freeing about that.

Something that gives me a blank canvas to be as word-raunchy as I want.

But I’m entering a new chapter of life.

Well hell, I’m in it—that messy middle. That moment when something in so many women, I’m learning—and maybe for me too—shifts.

It’s like suddenly entering an uncharted sea—one that looks familiar, feels familiar and yet holds unseen currents that shift and roar, then melt and frolic, only to surge in raging, unexpected ways each and every day.

Hell, three to ten times a day, if I’m being fair.

All this to say, I think I’m coming into a new season of me.

A season where I am very selective about the ghostwriting projects I will say yes to—for three reasons.

One: Each ghost-project is a long-term commitment—almost a marriage. And I’m already in one of those . . .

I’m married to a Frenchman, if you didn’t know.

Well, actually a Parisian. If you understand French culture, you’d quickly grasp that tidbit is—oh-la-la importante!

He’s not coming home (yet), so I’m dealing with that blow, while (re)building my word-biz and documenting it here in Between My Sheets.

He’s spent a lot of time the last few years in Bali where he eats like a king for $3 a day.

Now, in Paris, he’s shelling out $20 just for lunch—while getting far less. But—it’s Paris! Still it’s messing with his mind. And if he comes here and we go out, it’s more like $60+, which, at the moment, he simply can’t handle.

The cost of living in paradise!

I could just tell him to relax, we’ve got this, but he doesn’t get my word-business.

And I don’t think this is new for a lot of creatives, artists, online peeps.

So I don’t share much with him about my writing. English is his second language, and my style isn’t his historical-niche desired read—it works for us both.

I like my word-anonymity even from him. Strange to some, perhaps, but all good for me.

Now, a totally different man—a long-time business colleague—gets my word-business, as he’s in it, too.

A few months back, he approached me with an idea—a joint venture.

That’s where things started to unravel—in the best, messiest way.

Because a joint venture, much like ghostwriting, or even marriage, comes with its share of side effects.

My second selective reason:

When I say yes, I take creating for myself off the table—a natural start-stop pattern that’s both served me and held me hostage.

And this new joint venture? It risked becoming exactly that—slipping me right back into second-fiddle mode.

But such a dangerously comfortable place for me to reside.

This colleague wanted me to partner with him. The offer? A romance writing course for wanna-be writers.

And the first book I ever read cover-to-cover, understood, and enJOYed was—drumroll—a romance.

Granted, I was eleven, it was totally inappropriate—but I was hooked.

If you don’t know this, I’ve written romance for decades. My first book, published at 18, was (yep) a romance.

In a hauntingly beautiful way, it mirrors my current life with my Frenchman.

Hmm, did I actually manifest my current life thirty-odd years ago?

We’re married, yes, but spend much time apart—on separate islands.

Long-distance love, long-distance understanding.

There’s definitely a book there.

But back to that first title I penned as a teenager instead of listening in history class.

A story about a couple with two houses who lived side-by-side.

At seventeen, this was my idea of romance—delightful closeness, with space.

A hero who built a white picket fence between their two homes—complete with a connecting gate and arching arbor soon covered in dazzling, purple, flowering vines.

A home all modern and concrete—all tidy, clean lines and nearly bare—for him.

And one full of nooks and crannies, wide, wrap-around porches, and gardens in gorgeous, chaotic bloom—for her.

And it sold. People loved the idea of one love, two lives—surprisingly.

Not your typical romance.

But what is typical with romance is that the readers are insatiable.

Romance outsells every other fiction genre and generates billions in revenue each year.

So back to that friend—my long-time colleague—who knew the genre and his idea as a goldmine.

But a man, promoting romance novel writing? That’s a harder sell. Not impossible, but easier with someone else—a woman—forward-facing.

Insert me—an established, although unknown, author who’s been writing for decades in multiple genres under numerous pseudonyms.

Win. Win . . . or so he thought.

He wanted to make it easy-AI-peasy for anyone to write and publish a romance—fast—then cash in on those niche riches.

If you missed it, that means the idea was simple.

Ask AI to write your book in literally an hour, if not minutes.

Yes, I just threw up a little.

For so many reasons, I hated the idea.

Writing is my passion—my JOY—and thinking AI could do it as well or better than me was impossible to fathom.

And faster, well, does that really equal better? Or even matter?

But he persisted—as he does, in a kind way—and I finally cracked open the AI door to play.

I use that word loosely because it was more frustrating than playful—but I dove in.

(Here’s where I must disclose: I don’t use AI to write for me—and won’t. Plus, contractually, I’m not allowed to.)

Not with his idea exactly—not yet building a course—but testing the waters, learning what AI could actually do.

Could AI write? And well?

The answer—yes and no.

And it took me weeks and about a grand in credits to figure the little sh*t out.

At my friend’s recommendation, I tried a platform called Manus. While good, it cost me time, energy, money—and more than a little rage—trying to understand what was possible and what simply wasn’t.

I am not against advancement.

It’s normal—natural even—but the speed at which things evolve can feel intimidating at times.

What I discovered at the end of this frustrating experiment was that when I—often in ALL CAPS—told Mani (yes, I gave him a nickname) to STOP WRITING FOR ME, and simply become my conversational partner, we got along.

I started to write, brainstorm and create faster than ever—as if I had a book partner to bounce my ideas off of in real time.

But when he tried to take over, AI sucked the very life—and JOY—out of writing. That feeling was excruciatingly soul-crushing.

After repeatedly explaining to a “machine” to do only one thing—listen then reflect back thoughts, ideas, possibilities—AI Partnering™ was born.

But that wasn’t the idea my friend wanted to sell.

He felt the entire book could be written by AI—and fast.

Just give it a genre, a setting, a basic plot, some character details, and let it go to town.

I absolutely hated when Mani took off with my ideas and veered down a path that wasn’t mine. It was devastating at both a soul and artistic level.

And I saw quickly that my “role” would be to let Mani write at whim—and become his editor.

Yes, I just threw up a little a second time.

First, I’m not an editor. I actually suck at editing. I’m far better at showing someone how to write better—to guide and mentor—than to shape-shift their story. That’s a skill.

That’s not my skillset.

I create. Characters. Worlds. Stories.

I breathe life into them until they’re so real to me (and, thankfully, my readers) that the lines between reality and fiction blur.

What? Did I write that—or did that happen?” is an internal question I often ask myself . . . and I’m okay with that kind of madness.

It makes me happy.

But watching AI run sideways with my idea—and change it without my input—was hair-pulling, confusing and, anything but fun.

And reading lines I didn’t recognize as my own—after telling him again, in ALL CAPS, to stop writing . . .

Well, that was mind-blowingly annoying.

I haven’t been so mad in ages. And I was mad at something “artificial,” of all things.

Talk about a mindfuc—well, I’ll just stop there.

When I got back to my friend with the idea of partnering with AI—rather than having it write the actual book—he didn’t think it would work.

But let’s give it a shot.

Seeing the runaway AI train for what it was, I reluctantly climbed on board—still in an adolescent learning phase—to give it a soft go.

Painful. Mistake.

If that thing I am doing lacks JOY—forgetaboutit.
If I don’t believe in something—forgetaboutit.
If frustration sets in—forgetaboutit.

And AI writing my book—anyone’s book—still feels plain wrong to me.

From my experience working with my AI guy, Mani, it was like navigating a neglected road littered with decades of gaping potholes.

The mistakes.
The stiffness.
The lack of empathy.

Don’t even get me started.

Maybe for nonfiction it’s better, but when it comes to creating characters, storylines, emotional moments, and reactions—just no.

But again, how can we expect—or even want—AI to write books for us? Unless the end goal is literally quick riches.

Even that—highly unlikely.

So not me.

I write to write. Because I must. I believe the “riches” follow that vibe, that honest, that JOYful energy that’s naturally behind each word I purple pen.

The old—write it, publish it and readers will find it—mentality is, frankly, a lazy way of being.

But this friend of mine, he wanted to teach people that side of this romance writing thing, too. Or so I thought.

A full-stop course: write your romance with AI, self-publish it, then market it for sales.

So we soft-launched the idea to his list and 16 people snatched up the discounted offer.

And it was an utter disaster—until I realigned with myself, my JOY, my beliefs—and took back control.

That moment—when I stopped chasing someone else’s idea and started, once again, trusting alignment and leaning in—was my true win this week.

That right there was the moment I earned this week’s Between My Sheets creds—because if this series promises anything, it’s the honest look behind the curtain.

It’s also a commitment to share what worked. What didn’t. What actually made money—and what absolutely didn’t.

AI Partnering™—not AI writing your book.

And it worked.

I actually wrote more than 80% of a book’s scenes in just under two days.

That’s crazy fast, even for me.

How did it happen? I bounced all my ideas off Mani, like a real-time conversation with a best friend, editor or book buddy.

Typically, that’s an internal process.

And because it’s internal, it’s more pondering—walking down a meandering, mental word-path of possibilities, marinating in the twists and turns before deciding to follow the delightful thread that calls out the loudest.

But do I want to teach others to use AI Partnering™ this way?

Honestly, to really use Mani (or Manus)—AI—the way I did, one would already have to be a master of their craft.

Meaning—hundreds of thousands of words written, journaled, purple-penned in the ink color of choice.

Not necessarily published or even prolific—just confident in their own voice, style, and way of writing. The kind who’d ALL CAPS shout if AI tried to write for them—not tempted to let a story be told by something lacking empathy, desire, passion—or understanding of humanity, conflict, and ultimately—love.

So that project with the colleague fizzled out, leaving me with a handful of good lessons—and a half-finished love story about Jake, his daughter Lily; and Emma, his love interest, plus her goat.

Yes, I put a goat in the romance novel I wrote through the partnering experience with AI. Don’t judge.

And those awesome lessons? They’ll probably stay untouched on a digital shelf, in an archived folder of maybe-one-day ideas.

Although now would be the time to release that, if it brought me JOY.

But would it?

While my friend—who I haven’t heard from in weeks—said my new spin had legs, he silently bowed out

Or did he actually ghost me? Is that what that means?!

Well, he’s MIA—probably because my idea was far less flashy (and lucrative) than tempting people with “write a book in an hour” and make romance riches in a week or two—or ten.

So here’s the honest look behind this week—the part that earns the Between My Sheets title.

What worked. What didn’t. What actually made money—and what I’m learning as I (re)build—or simply create—this thing.

So let’s wrap with the third and final reason I’m being more selective about which ghostwriting projects—and now, joint ventures, if any—I consider.

In committing to this next year—building my writing-centered business as me, by me, for me—and (maybe) documenting the process so others can learn, model, and finally get paid to write and be themselves if they feel called to—I must focus.

And be more selective.

That’s the heartbeat of Between My Sheets—me finally stopping the start-stop pattern, finding (and staying) word-aligned, and letting you watch as I (re)build—or simply create—a perfect-fit-for-me, writing-centered business in real time—as me, by me, for me.

And who knows—maybe stopping my start-stop pattern will grow something delicious, magical—and help you, Lovely Reader, do the same.

Because that’s the real experiment here—seeing what happens when we tap in, align, flow, and start creating, together.

One Friday, one word, one messy-beautiful moment at a time.

So here I am, week two. Documenting what’s working, what’s wobbling, and what’s flat-out wild—the parts that earn the Between My Sheets title.

I think this week showed me the importance of planting my word-feet firmly. There are so many ways to get paid for your words, it’s insane.

You can start a newsletter (and one day or immediately charge a subscription for access).

You can write books, self-publish them, and learn the marketing skills to promote them.

You can write emails, courses, create JOYful Journeys or even write letters for people. (One day I’ll share that $10K story with you!)

And you can partner with someone who knows more than you—or has a following that might just benefit you.

But first, your foundation must be solid.

It’s back to that one line I must have written half a dozen times in my book Create Your Most Delicious Life—know thyself.

Know what fills you up—with JOY, with energy, with alignment—and don’t chase it. Allow it. Sink into it; don’t waver when shiny offers, ideas, or people dance by.

I knew that AI-romance writing gig wasn’t for me, but I went down that partnering path—and off my JOYful course—anyway.

Sigh.

Yes, some sales were made, but more money went into learning AI and building an online community for those sixteen—so it was a loss.

Except for the learning, and self-reflection—and maybe even the ability to deeply feel frustrated and rage a little, even if only at a “machine.”

Sometimes letting it out is a good thing, wouldn’t you say?

So while it might not look like word-progress, there is. I’m speaking with a mentor-friend today to gain clarity on the many ideas ricocheting in my head—even as the JOYful Journey keeps selling spots and this week’s two offers didn’t do half bad.

It helps to have a sounding board, a person you respect to reflect back to you what they hear you sharing—or not sharing.

I might have mentioned adding to-dos to my plate last week with a VIP offer for that JOYful Journey.

A good choice—even with the extra sales page, welcome-email creation, and now my feedback time involved (which I’m loving). Two sold Wednesday from a simple P.S. line in the daily JOYful Journey email.

Not too shabby, right?

I expect a few more sales over the weekend, and at $333 each, that’s not a bad word-biz week. Add that to twenty-one sales of the Journey and the goats get more hay!

Speaking of goats . . .

I’ve been thinking about structure and flow—the masculine and feminine energies that keep a creative life humming.

Maybe it’s the full moon we just had—or my messy-middle vibes—but it’s definitely on my mind. Tune in next week for Episode Three—there might just be some head-butting to report . . .

This four-week experiment—this partnership with you, Lovely Reader—is my real-time rebuild. So tell me . . . was this long-winded read worth your cup-of-something-delicious time?

You can be honest—just share in the comments and let it rip. You can also ask anything pressing on your mind.

Just remember . . . You got this.

—Jill “partnering with myself, my words, and you, Lovely Reader” Stevens

💜

The Frenchman returns at month’s end (cue happy dance). Apparently my messy middle ways don’t spook him—only me.

By the way, twenty-one lovely souls start The 33-Day Magnetic Storytelling JOYful Journey on Monday.

I mentioned The 33 Day Magnetic Storytelling JOYful Journey in this episode.
If returning to your own voice feels like the right next step, you can explore it here.

I also referenced AI Partnering™—not as an offer yet, but as an experiment. If you’d like to raise a hand for future writing-with-AI conversations (the aligned kind), you can join the waitlist here.

And when you’re ready to keep reading, Episode 3—The Embrace is waiting for you.

If you want to be notified when new episodes go live each Friday, you can subscribe right here.

Subscribe now

Just so you know:
This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns. Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

Welcome, you.

(Curl up with a steaming beverage of choice—this episode is roughly an 11-minute read.)

If you’re new here, you may want to begin with
The Prelude—”I just want to write,” she all but snarked onto the page.

This is part of a (maybe) year-long series called Between My Sheets, where I share the real story of (re)building a writing life—with goats, grace, coffee and the occasional glass of ice-cold white wine.

If you want to truly lie Between My Sheets with me for the next year and engage in some word-filled pillow-typing talk, you’ll be able to access the full reveal soon enough.

For now, give this very first episode a read and share a thought in the comments—if you dare.

I’m looking for a word-partnership with you, Lovely Reader—more than a one-read stand.

---

Episode 1—The Morning After . . .

If you know me, you know I write 2500 words before I even start my day. Typically every-single-day but I’m dedicated to only five.

That’s a nod to not setting myself up for failure.

And by starting my day, I mean feeding the flock of 23 goats (and other rescued critters), as soon as the light crawls into the night sky.

So while my days might be and feel very different from yours, simply look upon my sharing here as a living memoir that meets creative business experiment.

A living, breathing creative experiment—(re)building a writing life from the inside out and documenting it.

Not using any outside connections from my time as a 6-figure ghostwriter, nor from the publishing houses or my agent who’s been selling my fiction and non-fiction under various pseudonyms for the last 26 years.

And, it’s not just about books for me.

Because nobody puts this baby in just a book corner.

This rebuild is bigger than a single story—it’s about crafting a creative ecosystem that breathes, earns, and inspires.

This isn’t a series about publishing; it’s a story-series about purpose.

So Between the Sheets will dish on the journey of creating a writing-centered business from words—and maybe something you might want to model, in part or in full.

From emails to challenges to JOYful Journeys to audios to (yes) books— I’m all about building a word-focused ecosystem that becomes a playground for people to play in.

And it is already coming with some sweet challenges—some you might relate to.

Like you, perhaps, I’m a near nobody in the writing and online world. And honestly, I kind of like that.

I’m not in this for fame, attention or even because I must see my name beckoning on the cover of a book (or ten).

If I had to do it again, I wouldn’t have put my real name on any books—maybe just a variation of it.

A way of holding a little something of me back.

Because I value my anonymity. Which is psychotically funny, considering I’m here inviting you Between the Sheets of my creative life.

And yes, there’ll probably be glimpses of the goats and island living, too—because it’s part of me, part of this (cringe) “brand”.

I could rant on branding, bro marketing and polished-perfection, fake-it-till-you-make-it ideology, but I’ll refrain. For now.

While I’ve got “followers” and “fans” scattered across platforms, I’m rarely on, because social drains me—a story I’ll rewrite someday. Maybe.

But that’s a focus for another day.

Between the Sheets is an intimate, bold, entrepreneurial take on being a quiet creative.

Kind of an oxymoron right there, don’t ya think?

Each week, I’ll be sharing what’s working, what’s not, and what’s actually making money—because I’m all about creatives and writers making bank.

When you bring value, art, and JOY into the world, I’m telling you, people love to pay you.

But I’m not just going to tell you—I’m going to show you.

It’s like that all-important writing moment when the teacher leans over your shoulder and says, “Show me, don’t tell me what the character is doing, saying, thinking, feeling.”

That’s what this weekly episodic-series is—a living, word-exhale demonstration of creative work in motion.

Because I plan to be center stage and utterly exposed here—like that time I was about nine and literally found myself naked, but for ruffled panties, on the elementary school stage.

I wrote about it in an essay called Pink.

I think that story-share was meant for a book—The Journey of You—part of the five-book JOY Series I meant to write. It’s about 80% ready.

But only my editor, Autumn, could confirm that. She knows my work better than I do.

Those books could’ve been released a year ago, but I haven’t gotten around to it . . . yet.

See, I’m prolific—but sometimes not great with follow-through.

I’m amazing at creating and dreaming up stories, courses, sales pages even, and writing them in magnetic, captivating ways . . . follow-through, however, is a whole other sub-genre.

And without my agent, it’s entirely possible none of my words would have been published, and I’d probably be like so many of you who’ve emailed me asking—

How do I make money from my writing?

And if it weren’t for Autumn, a few years back, I probably wouldn’t have managed to publish in my own name.

Even though I’ve been writing for three decades, that feat didn’t happen until February of 2022. By choice.

So, I have only two books published on Amazon and both with very few reviews. Relatable, right?

Great reviews for one and not-to-shabby for the other, but still too few for my books to gain traction . . .

But have I done anything about it?

No.

This is the messy, lazy-perhaps truth of being a writer.

And a business person.

And a recovering plate-spinner with questionable focus and a dash of ADHD flair.

That’s why I’m doing this out-word-loud—to prove that momentum doesn’t come from perfection.

Momentum comes from showing up—messy and real.

There are so many paths, so many shiny things whispering your name and with no proven step-by-step path to follow so many writers’ blood, sweat and tears just fade into the deep abyss.

I’ll just share this.

While I won’t be using my traditional connections nor my agent to help with this (re)building of Just Jill, Writer—I will seek out Autumn, if she’ll have me again.

It’s been a while since we’ve word-worked together, but she’s a soul-sister and a fabulous editor who just plain gets me—and my quirky word-style.

So I know when the time is right, she’ll be the one to support me and help focus me so I can get all these words I have out.

Because surrounding yourself with one or two people who get you, your style, your unique path—that matters.

Now maybe getting word-things out and sharing isn’t your issue.

Maybe it’s more not knowing what to even write about.

(Which, funny enough, is exactly what I’ve been revamping this week— shifting The 33 Day Magnetic Storytelling Challenge from its old promise of a publish-worthy story to what it truly is: a JOYful Journey to get one writing again (or for the first time) even when they don’t yet know what they want to write.)

And I’m thrilled to say, this rebrand—something I’ve been meaning to do for a year now—is already a hit! Which is celebration-worthy, because this word-business is working.

And if it works for me, it can and will work for you. When you decide and move your word-feet.

Twenty-three sales at $99 and seventeen at $49. I’ll leave you to your mental math.

I’m so excited to start Monday, live with these students—making real-time updates as they journey through 33 days of writing with me by their side.

And no matter what the concern, here’s what I know.

I create just to create—unless given a plan.

Someone else’s book to write?

Okay, deliverables. Deadlines. Accountability. Ouch.

My book, my projects, my emails?

I’ll get lost in a story and three days will pass without me even realizing the sun rose and set again.

Oops. Forgot to email, share, sell, invite you into my world.

Except for feeding all the animals, I’m pretty good at zoning most things out.

So why do this?

Between the Sheets is about inviting you, Lovely Reader, into my creative bed, literally and figuratively—to show you how stories are born, rewritten, and sold.

How a word-business can be created in this day and age, from simply an idea.

And how it’s time to place value on the written word and storytelling—because in my hot-damn opinion, it’s one of the most important and necessary skills anyone can have, learn and master.

Even with AI taking over—but let’s save that for another day.

Still, that conversation belongs here too. Because this series isn’t about avoiding what’s shifting—it’s about writing our way through it.

Between the Sheets is not about shying away from those taboo topics.

Because without a plan, a path, a dash of feet-to-the-fire accountability—shit just doesn’t get written and that word-biz never gets off the ground.

So consider this a backwards way of giving you a plan—one rooted in real words, real creation, and a whole lot of messy magic.

The good, the bad, and the word-ugly here for you to glean from each Friday—at least for now.

Lean into what speaks to you, model what sends a shiver through you, and forget the rest.

Your journey will look different from mine—from anyone’s.

And the key is to enJOY it.

And know that I’m a disorganized mess of a writer with more than 30 million morning words no one has ever seen . . .

Plus, something like 22 books and 11 offer-ideas—all half done or 99% ready, yet still lounging unpublished in my digital drawers.

I’d say it’s better to focus, write or create one thing—and then actually share it before it’s fully ready.

I create to create—but the magic multiplies when I share.

Otherwise, I end up all over the damn place—forever creating . . . and not (or slowly) releasing.

For me, that’s the goal, the dream. To share more. With ease.

But I could also say—the grass is forever greener on someone else’s side, is it not?

And so neatly mowed, in organized back-and-forth straight—did they use a ruler?—lines.

I am so far from a straight-line creative it’s painful at times.

So my goal for the coming serialized share season is to rein my prolific creativity in a bit—and release more.

Not necessarily create less.

That would be like asking me not to breathe.

But to create with purpose.

Between the Sheets is actually my documented accountability—to you (and myself)—to get my words, in whatever form, out into the light to be enJOYed.

And to shine light on the path a bit so you can do the same—your way.

Just know—even the most successful are a wreck at the best of times.

And I certainly do not have it all together and will never pretend to. That would be both ridiculous and obscene.

So let’s go behind the scenes—all access, all revealed—with this very episode and see where it takes us.

I truly believe that the best way to create a word-business is through community.

And that’s what I’m feeling Between the Sheets may become.

Because as Austin Kleon shared in his 2014 book, Show Your Work, it’s all about the process—not just the product.

Meaning, if my-now-work is to finish that book The Journey of You, that book is the product.

But if I show you the process of finishing that book and doing that thing—openly, freely—I possibly gain you, and others, and create a following.

And that following—those fans I used to run from—now naturally and gracefully become part of my word-ecosystem.

We all get to play in my word-centered business playground together.

Doesn’t feel much like work now does it?

A community—showing one’s process, or creating a “tribe”—isn’t a new concept, but I love how Kleon visually and artistically brings it to life.

More of which I’ll dive into soon.

But honestly, that first of my JOY Series book is not currently on my must-do radar. At least not today.

Nope, instead I must put out a little fire.

“Fires” seem to happen often in my business and life—mostly because I tend to fly by the seat of my big-girl pants and chase fresh ideas, even when I’ve got seven half-done things waiting in the wings . . .

Or cluttering my desk, journals and kitchen island.

And my phone is cha-ching-ing—“You just made a sale!” messages.

A most welcome students-and-money-in notification I keep on intentionally—because this goat-Mama’s got a hay bill coming due . . . and the goats need a barn!

So I’m now off to check on the JOYful Journey deliverables.

Because while I’m desperately working toward simplification and structured ease, I’m also cleaning my work-house as I (re)build.

So by rebranding the challenge, one great offer that actually sold when I shared it. I created a laundry list of “must-dos”:

• a rewrite of the sales page,

• the welcome email,

• new checkout page (on a newer system to me, just because I’m a glutton for punishment)

• rebranding of all 33 emails, and lessons, and example story-shares

I could go on with the checklist but honestly, first, I should drop the word desperate because it totally sends the wrong energy!

Words matter, Lovely Reader, we of all people know this.

Right?

So now, at nearly 5pm Thursday, I’m off to confirm people are getting the welcome email and, the pre-start survey email (which gives me a lot of great information in my students words).

Then I’ll check that Monday’s Day 1 email is ready-set for an early automated send.

And then comes the big task—re-review, re-brand all Days 2-5 emails so they are ready to roll and I’m not playing catch up at the last moment during the week and draining my already—messy middle energy!

Plus, knowing myself, I’ll probably revamp a VIP offer and need to write a welcome email and sales page for that.

Because why not spin another plate higher and higher while already balancing two.

Who needs more hands when you’ve got JOY.

Oh, I have to love this creative brain of mine, otherwise I’d surely go mad.

So yes, I started this week wanting to write—and ended it juggling three new ideas, one offer launch, sharing this episodic adventure, and a goat chewing on my notebook.

That’s what the morning after looks like when you’re (re)building a creative business in real time, real life (while supporting a sanctuary of crazies!).

More soon, Lovely Reader.

For now, I’m calling it a day before another idea sneaks in and asks for attention.

Highly possible . . .

— Just Jill —

Remember, TGIF is now about getting word-close—Between the Sheets style—with me.

Share in the comments what part of your own “morning after” you’re in.

💜

Here’s to Fe Fi Fo, laying down on his hay-eating job.

If you felt that pull when I mentioned The JOYful Journey,
you can peek at it here.

No pressure—just a little creative nudge if you’ve been whispering “I just want to write,” too.

Or if you want to see how you can build, share, and sell without ever touching the bro-marketing playbook.

Resources Mentioned—

• Pink — an story from my up-coming book, The JOY of You

• Show Your Work by Austin Kleon
  

And for those ready to binge-read, Episode 2—Partnering is waiting for you.

If you want to be notified when new episodes go live each Friday, you can subscribe right here.

Subscribe now

Just so you know:
This is my slice of the web where hot flashes meet cold wine, neck waddles are real, and birthdays feel more like breakdowns. Step into my word-world as I (re)build my writing life in real time.

I opened the thirteenth email in just under two weeks and read those words again.

Jill, I just want to write.

For so many people to be emailing me the same five (sometimes six) words and asking for my guidance to do just that (and get paid) made me press pause.

I've always found a need, listened, and filled it.

This seemed like a pretty big (thirteen person) need.

Which got me a-thinking . . .

What if I conducted an experiment, live and in real time—one month, maybe twelve—to see what happens when I rebuild a writing life from scratch?

And document it.

A behind-the-scenes, pull-back-the-curtain blend of memoir, story, and lived experiment—about writing, creating, and being paid for being you.

What’s possible one year from now?

Well gosh, now I’m flipping interested.

So I’m doing something a little crazy.

I’m calling it Between My Sheets—a Friday word-drop experiment.

One messy, magical dispatch each week as I explore what it means to start over, create again, and build a word-business that actually works.

Something that might blow up like a firecracker display—a cascade of JOYful color shooting over the inky, night sky.

Or maybe a mic-drop dud, barely heard but still beautiful.

Either way, I’m in for the next four Fridays . . .

And right about now, you’re probably asking—what the blipity-blip is she even writing about?!

If you’re a writer, dreamer, or creative misfit who’s lost your rhythm . . .

Maybe you’re standing at life-or-career crossroads . . .

Or deep in the messy-middle—you’ll want to come with me and read my Friday words—Between My Sheets.

All the deets of what really goes on between the pages of a word-centered, creative business.

Because yes, you can write AND get paid AND start over, OR again, at ANY age.

Creativity is so varied, and—take it from me, a plate-spinning, multi-offer, prolific creator—sometimes the work is in learning how to say no to chaos and yes to structured ease.

Or simply discover one’s creative flow again.
Or for the very first time.

One Friday at a time.

I’m giving it a month—four weeks—to see what happens.

Let’s call it dating before a commitment.

If it resonates with those thirteen (and you), I’ll keep going for the year.

So much is possible.
And it all starts on Friday.

Just Jill

Continue reading:
Between My Sheets — Episode 1: The Morning After

This is an excerpt from The Magnetic Storytelling Method—the foundation of how I think about story, voice, and creating work that moves people.

What follows is the opening of the book, shared here to give you a feel for the voice behind Before First Light.

If these pages resonate, you’ll feel right at home.

Invitation.

Welcome home. Yes, home.

This is the place where you get to sink into getting in touch with the creative you.

Because, yes, I’m going to assume that you are a creative.

A writer, an artist, a visionary, a coach, a business owner, an entrepreneur—you’re on a path, or seeking one, that allows you to impact others with your voice.

Your words.
You.

The voice, the side of you,
you perhaps toned down so you could
play it safe,
be financially secure,
not be judged,
do what you were supposed to do . . .
even, perhaps, be who someone else wanted you to be.

Again, welcome home to the you who lives deep within.

Whether you are currently writing words or have never before filled a page, you are in exactly the right place to word-play.

With me.

Writing is an art form that allows one to share ideas, recount what has happened, or create possibilities for what will.

Writing is more a window to the soul than the eyes because the words, the style, the tone, the essence of what’s created comes from deep inside.

And if you’re reading this thinking—
But I’m not a writer. I haven’t written since school . . .

I’d simply invite you to sit down and tell me where in your body does the desire to write live.

It’s there, friend. I see it.

I can see it because you’re here, digitally flipping the page.

I see the real you, the one who’s invested in this book.

A book entitled The Magnetic Storytelling Method.

So I’m going to invite you to get cozy-comfy.

To pour a glass of something bubbly or brew a blend of deliciousness and join me in a read that has the power to shift your thinking around what it is to write a magnetic, captivating story.

Because I can tell you right now it’s not what you think.

And certainly not what some well-meaning or fed-up, ready-to-retire English teacher once told you.

Writing is your soul gone wild.

With JOY.
With dreams.
With possibilities.
With truth.

Your truth.

When you’re ready to begin, come on inside with me.

Storytelling 101.

I’m going to share something magical with you that I want you to chew on as you read through this book.

You are a master storyteller.

You tell stories all day long, everyday. So today I invite you to start noticing just what stories you enJOY sharing.

You are actually the writer of your life.
The director, cameraman or woman and oh-so powerful.

Your thoughts are a story.
Your words spoken . . . stories.

Very little is factual.

The sun rises in the east. Fact.
The sun sets in the west. Fact.

But start to dive into what you tell others, yourself, throughout the day and you will see that most everything is—in fact—a story.

So what specifically does that mean for you in this moment?

It means you are a powerful creator.

Of your daily life, if you want to be, and with a bit of training, you can take those tales you naturally sink into in your head or in conversation with others, and begin to write them.

Be they fiction or nonfiction does not matter because the common thread in both is, yep, stories.

So let’s dive into a few examples:

Stories Move You To Feel.

This is an essay taken from the book The JOY of You. Book one of the Journey of You series. Scheduled release in 2026.

sensitive waters

At one time in my history, I couldn’t take a shower without turning off the water multiple times.

And it wasn’t because I was a conservationist kid.

No, it was a bit more sinister than that.

A mix of Kathy Bates and Alfred Hitchcock.

I’d hear a sound,
forever on alert,
and shush the water,
ears perked.

I perfected listening with straining ears,
tense shivering body,
naked, vulnerable,
breath held,
gripping the shower curtain fabric
like it was a slippery lifeline.

Listening with shock-still focus for the sounds of
breaking glass,
a crash.

Perhaps a shout,
a cry for help.

What you’ve just read is the opening movement of The Magnetic Storytelling Method.

It’s where my approach to storytelling begins.

The full book goes deeper—into story, character, rhythm, emotional tone, and the practices I’ve used for decades as a successful ghostwriter.

If you’d like to continue reading, you can find the complete digital edition by clicking the purple button below.

Read the full book ($9)

(Paperback coming soon.)

And if you’re drawn to the idea of witnessing a lived experiment, of watching and reading as I rebuild a word-life as myself, in real time—with structure, ease, and JOY—Before First Light is where that story continues.

New essays are shared each Friday as I tap into what's word-possible during the next 52 weeks.

You’re welcome to join the journey . . .
and binge-read the first episodes of Between My Sheets right now.

→ Start Here

(A quick note: The Magnetic Storytelling Method was written before AI and em dashes exploded onto the scene. Maybe AI modeled me a bit—or maybe I’ve always loved dropping em dashes between words. Either way, AI had no part in writing or editing this manuscript.)

If you'd like new essays delivered each Friday as they unfold,
I’d love to have you inside Before First Light.

Subscribe now