While 2018 was all about surviving my book launch, this past year was all about figuring out what the hell I wanted to do next.

Feeling adrift, I started and abandoned numerous essays. I stopped pitching new articles. I cut back on my editing hours. I went to Martha’s Vineyard for a week-long residency, where I wrote about five different versions of the same book proposal, finally putting it to the side.

Eventually, I became more comfortable with not pushing so hard. I considered non-writing projects. And I slowed down my work and allowed myself to goof off for the first time in forever.

For me, this meant getting back to a regular yoga practice. Joining a women’s choir. Learning to play the ukulele.

And, of course, reading more books.

As always, this isn’t a list of the best books that came out this year. Rather, it’s a list of the books I most enjoyed reading, whether backlist titles, new buzzy books, or advanced reading copies (ARCs) of titles that have yet to come out.

Read on for my 32 favorite reads of 2018.

(CW: Because I write about sexuality for a living, a lot of the books I read grapple with themes of sexual violence.)

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It was 2012 when I read Kim Wright’s “Living the Dream,” an essay in the March/April issue of Poets & Writers on how to beat the postpublication blues. “[G]etting what you always wanted, finally reaching that single enormous goal. It can all be a little… depressing,” writes Wright. She was referring to how the realities of becoming a published author can never quite live up to your dreams and expectations.

As the type of person who purposefully approaches life with low expectations so as to perhaps experience delightful surprise later on, I assumed I’d dodge this particular bullet. But six years later, I’ve been blindsided by my own post-book slump — and my book isn’t even out yet. [Read more…]

As scattered as my life might seem to others (“What do you do?” “Oh, well, right now, I edit content for a general interest website; blog for a book website, a sex ed website, and a sex site; pitch freelance articles; work on book stuff; and sometimes teach yoga and meditation), I am actually very methodical when it comes to my career. I generally set a big goal ⇒ break that goal up into smaller steps ⇒ make my slow way toward completing all the steps ⇒ achieve my goal because I’m awesome ⇒ and then flail about because, suddenly, I don’t know what to do with myself.

The flailing sometimes involves binge eating and sometimes involves shopping and sometimes involves both but whatever. This is my process.

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After the end of one big project, and after the flailing, there is eventually a new beginning. And so I start all over again.

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There was a day last week when I felt extra murder-y.

It started early on. Like, within the first few minutes of waking up. After that, I spent my entire day with a permanent scowl on my face, my head throbbing, my fingers clenching, my skin hot. I had zero patience for anything and felt that, at any moment, the smallest thing could set me off and I’d be all:

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