I Lost Everything (And Found Something Deeper)
When writing a book gets stucky. You haven’t lost your book. You’ve lost your place—and that changes everything
I lost everything this week.
Not in a poetic way. Not in a “clear out the clutter” kind of way.
Actually.
Locked out.
Files gone.
Years of work sitting somewhere I couldn’t reach.
My masterclasses. My notes. My coaching records.
All the things that make a business feel… real. Held. Contained.
Gone. Off it went into BitLocker land and it’s now existing in the either somewhere. And you know what, I’m thinking I won’t bother searching for it. Because…
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There was a moment—sitting in front of the screen—where I felt it drop in my body.
That hollow feeling.
I can’t do this again.
It’s not that I didn’t know how to but when I thought of all that work, it was just too exhausting. And then something strange happened. A quiet kind of strange, not the inspiring kind, just…quiet.
Because once everything external disappeared, there was nothing left to lean on. No slides to open. No document to tweak. No structure to hide inside.
Just me.
And the work.
And I saw it. Properly. In a way that was almost uncomfortable. This work isn’t in my files.
It never was.
It’s in how I sit with a writer when they’re halfway through a book and can’t see a way forward.
It’s in the moment I can feel—almost physically—where the manuscript has gone off track.
It’s in knowing, quietly but clearly, what needs to shift.
That didn’t disappear. Even when everything else did.
And I think might be where it lands for you.
You think your book is fragile. You think you’re one wrong move away from losing it. One missed week. One messy draft. One moment of doubt. But you haven’t lost your book. You’ve lost your place in it.
And those two things feel the same—but they’re not.
When you lose your place, everything starts to feel strange. You open the document and it doesn’t quite meet you. You write, but it feels slightly off. You go back to fix it, but that makes it worse. You start messing with it. Quietly. Repeating yourself.
It doesn’t work because you’re moving without orientation. And that’s the part that wears you down. Not the writing. The not-knowing.
This is why my masterclass exists. It’s not about motivating you so much as helping you see where you are.
Because when you can see your place in your book—
something shifts.
You take a step.
And it’s the right one.
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A small practice
Sit where you are.
Take a breath.
Imagine you’re in a forest.
No clear path.
Ask yourself:
Where am I, really?
Look for one small shift.
Take that step.
That’s how books move.
Come to the masterclass. Not for inspiration. For orientation. Because this work— my work - was never in the files.
It’s in me.
And I can help you find it in yourself too.
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A small exercise
Open your manuscript.
Not to fix anything. Not to read everything.
Just… open it.
Now scroll—not carefully, just let your eye move—
until you hit the point where something shifts.
You’ll feel it.
A slight resistance.
A confusion.
A place where the energy drops or becomes uncertain.
Stop there.
Ask yourself, honestly:
What is this section trying to do?
Not what you hoped it would do.
What it’s actually doing.
Then ask:
What’s missing for this to work?
Clarity?
Tension?
Direction?
Truth?
Don’t overthink it. The first answer is usually right.
Now—this is the part that matters:
Write one sentence that moves this section forward.
Not perfectly.
Not beautifully.
Just… forward.
That’s your place.
That’s your next step.
You don’t need to fix the whole book.
You just need to stop writing past the point where you got lost.
Come to the masterclass and find your place: Register here: Thursday 26th March at 7,30pm (UK):