February, 2022. My husband and I sat outside of a Coldstone Creamery and shared a Love It size of Birthday Cake remix. Just days ago, I was in the hospital for a mental health episode. It was an entire day of fighting for my life, of feeling trapped in the inescapable doom of my own mind, a dark cloud over everything. Before driving myself to the hospital, it had been months of suffering and anguish. The decline had been slow, almost invisible, to the point where it surprised friends and family that I was going through a “hard time.” But for me, it cracked everything open. There was who I had been before and who I would become after. I needed help. I needed to figure out a better way to go on, to live my life with more intention, more honesty. I was unraveling.
My husband had been by my side through it all, and then, on a temperate winter’s night, we decided to go out for ice cream. We sat and talked and somehow the topic of conversation turned to my time working as a stockroom associate. I told him about my summer working alongside my mom at Macy’s department store; she worked in sales for the larger part of my adolescence, and I joined the company as part of the inventory and stock team. I’d interned for DKNY doing merchandizing during my sophomore year of college, and I’d had countless retail jobs all throughout young adulthood, but working in the stockroom was a world unto itself.
I told him stories about that summer: the customer who told my mom he was looking for his wife, and it turned out he came to the store because he thought he could purchase one; customers who tried to return used underwear without the tags and she had to let them because of company policy; the time she caught someone shoplifting and security tackled them and she got $500.00 for her services; the time a customer asked my mom to check out his ass in his pants; the time all the power went out in the store, or how I would unwrap hundreds of designer purses and steam evening gowns before they went out on the floor, or how on my breaks, I’d wander aimlessly, trying to reconnect to the rhythm of life, the fluorescent pulse of the mall. I walked in loops not to shop, but to feel like a person again.
And then the idea came to me, to write a book about that summer, a book about the mall. The concept came fully formed: a girl has a mental breakdown and has to return home to work alongside her mom at a department store in South Florida. I went home that night and wrote notes and outlined a bit, feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time about my work.
A few days later, my husband would receive notice of a job in Nashville, Tennessee and later that week we would make plans to move across the country. By the beginning of summer, I’d have a new fulltime job. At the end of summer, I’d find out I was pregnant. It was a season of change after so much waiting.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding on until life gave me something new to carry.
*
I once had a therapist tell me that jealousy is a smoothie, meaning it’s the end product of a lot of different ingredients (aka emotions). Throw in sadness, anger, guilt, shame, humiliation, disappointment, embarrassment, etc. Delicious!
Self-comparison is the telltale sign that jealousy is being evoked. When we feel a secure bond with something—a person, activity, hobby, passion, career, or any meaningful connection—it can feel deeply unsettling when that bond is disrupted. The intrusion triggers a rush of emotions: panic, anger, sadness, etc. and creates a complex emotional space where we perceive that secure connection as being under threat or attack.
For years, I asked, “What do I do with the jealousy?” If I know and understand this to be a major culprit of my own suffering, how do I eliminate it? But the problem is that to simply eliminate jealousy isn’t realistic, or even healthy. And to vow never to compare myself to anyone else ever again—lol.
Even with a third book on the way, I'm still navigating literary envy. But I think it’s less about eliminating jealousy altogether and more about stepping into the space of awareness and acceptance.
The jealousy smoothie therapist also told me about the Emotional Auditorium. Imagine a theater where each seat represents a different emotion. When you walk in, you get to pick where you sit. The full spectrum of emotions is all here under the same roof, where anxiety and excitement might sit side by side. Optimism might be only one row ahead of pessimism. It’s a powerful metaphor, this grand hall where all your feelings exist together, each with their own designated spot. You’re not exiled from any emotion, and none are more “right” or “wrong” than others. They’re all here.
When I walk into my own Emotional Auditorium, jealousy is always in attendance, usually a few seats over from shame, catty-corner from admiration. Just a tilt of the head and you might confuse the two. Jealousy isn’t loud or demanding anything of me, but it’s there. I don’t need to kick it out or ask it to leave. Instead, I take a seat beside it. Not because I want to indulge it, but because I want to understand it.
Jealousy shows up whenever something matters to me, when I fear there’s not enough, when I’ve told myself a story that someone else’s having means I cannot have.
But sitting next to the emotion, I don't feel swallowed by it. I feel curious. What is it pointing me toward or away from? What do I believe I’m missing? And is that story even true? The more I sit with it, the more I realize it’s just another seat in a much bigger room. And I always get to choose where I sit, even if it doesn’t seem that way. I'm not stuck. I have free will. I can decide for myself.
And maybe it will become easier for me to choose a different seat, perhaps compassion, who might even share her snacks or offer me her cardigan if I get cold. Together we can gently hush self-pity a few rows over. She really needs to get a grip.
*
When I hit the second trimester of my pregnancy, I was able to sit down again and write. I started the manuscript that would become The Style of Your Life and finished a draft before giving birth. I revised postpartum and queried and piled up the rejections, eventually putting the book on hold to work on something else. And then a whole year went by until I looked at the manuscript again, or rather, I had one of my writing mentors look at it.
I also had another writer pal read it and give me feedback. I used to be so superstitious about my work, not wanting to show anyone anything until it was completely done. But having two writers whose insight and craft I greatly valued was key in giving me the confidence to revise the book and take it out of the metaphorical drawer again.
My family and I moved back to California in the summer of 2024 and I continued revisions up until before the holiday season. I printed out the book and gave it to my mom to read when she was here visiting for the holidays. She read it in one night and told me she loved it. The book is a fictionalized version of our relationship and the summer I spent working alongside her at a department store, so her impression and her opinion was really important to me. I wanted to know if I had gotten it right by her, and I had. She also told me she felt like I just needed the right person to publish the book, the right editor who would understand Florida and mall culture and this failure to launch narrative, someone who could truly guide me and take me under their wing.
I agreed. But I wasn’t sure I could find that person. Who really wants to publish a book about some crazy girl working at the mall?
I daydreamed about the world of the book all the time. I made a playlist and listened to it when I drove; I created a folder on my phone with inspiration photos for the manuscript; I thought about what the teaser trailer would look like if I ever got the chance to film one.
In the Emotional Auditorium, I sat in the seat of trust. All in the same row sat delusion, excitement, hope, worry, and awe.
*
I have a general knowledge of how the ocean works. I know there are waves and currents. If I stand on the shore, most likely I will connect with those waves and currents. They exist, but the details of each don’t come to fruition until it breaks land. I don’t have access to knowing what each wave will be like; only the knowledge that it will come. And so I must allow each wave to pass and adjust to its strength, instead of charging toward each one in a fury.
This process teaches us perspective. Sometimes we need to take a few steps forward or back as the wave approaches. Sometimes we need to stay put, right where we already are. This is the part we have control over, learning the rhythm.
In this way, life can feel like being out in open water. We all have our ways of how we make sense of the world—maps we sketch, anchors we trust—and for me, it’s always been writing. Words have been my life vest, keeping me afloat when I’ve felt I was sinking beneath the weight of things. The act of writing itself has been my lighthouse, steadfast and glowing in the fog, reminding me that there’s land somewhere, that I'm not lost, just at sea for while. I have a purpose, and the purpose is not just survival, it’s a journey across emotional tides, a search to identify connections where others might only see chaos, to break apart the unspeakable and shape it into language, to swim toward understanding. To write is how I find my way back to shore.
The current changes without warning. The sky can flicker in an instant. We will always be navigating tumultuous currents, no matter how skilled we become, no matter how well we’ve learned to read the horizon.
In this way, I don’t believe there is such thing as a final destination; only waves.
*
March, 2025. I email CLASH books during their open call for submissions. This is the email I send:
Thank you for reading my novel, The Style of Your Life, and considering it for publication with CLASH books. I deeply, truly admire the work you do. As I am in between agents, between writing lives, between so many things, I submit this manuscript in hopes it finds a home. I've published indie and big 5 and I can honestly say that I just want my work out in the world and in the hands of a publisher who believes in me and my craft. I've toiled over this book for years and I'm ready to see what comes next.
The Style of Your Life--
Days from her college graduation, Stephanie Shiman finds herself back in her hometown of Delray Beach, Florida, recovering from a mental health crisis. Working in the stockroom of Dillard’s alongside her charismatic, sales-savvy mother, Robin, Stephanie navigates a turbulent mix of guilt, pressure, and her mother’s unfulfilled dreams. While Robin thrives on the showroom floor, Stephanie retreats into the quiet, still grappling with her own ambitions as a writer.
When Trevor, a charming but reckless drifter, enters her life, Stephanie is lured into a relationship that promises escape but threatens to derail her future. Haunted by the wounds of her parents’ divorce and Robin’s aging regrets, Stephanie must reckon with her own desires: Can she truly understand what love means, and can she break free from the inertia of obligation to claim the life she wants?
The Style of Your Life is a poignant coming-of-age story that captures the bittersweet dance between family ties and self-discovery, set against the backdrop of small-town struggles and quiet ambition. With vivid characters and emotionally rich prose, it examines what it means to take ownership of one’s story—and to write a life worth living.
Two weeks later, the Editor in Chief emails me back that the book will be published. After years of hard work, all it took was two weeks. I won’t include the full email because it contains spoilers, but here are some highlights:
Hi Brittany
I have sent out a lot of acceptances but this is quite special as I grew up in Boca Raton and just love this book on so many levels. The characters, style, story and setting had me…I see CLASH being a great press for the novel along with me being a caring editor and champion of the book…Congrats on writing an excellent novel.
*
Publishing a book only moves the goalposts once more. Now, I'm diving into another round of revisions on another manuscript and stepping back into the whirlwind of the writing industry, determined to get this next story out into the world. It’s a worthwhile pursuit that often feels like a lost cause, but I keep doing it because it’s in my heart, true and true, to express myself through writing.
My therapist congratulates me on the deal announcement. We talk about whether or not I'm able to fully embrace this success. I tell her that although I am extremely proud of myself and excited for this book to hit the shelves, I fear it might never be enough.
She asks me to think about something before our next meeting, the question of: What constitutes as a fulfilling and meaningful life?
I know the answer lies in the life I’ve already built, the one I’ve shaped for myself and continue to shape for my daughter and our family. I know that each success might never feel like enough, but instead of getting stuck in that feeling, maybe I can let it fuel me for whatever comes next.
Turns out, someone did want to read about that crazy girl at the mall after all.
—
The news is finally out!! CLASH Books will be publishing my forthcoming novel, The Style of Your Life, in 2027! I’m so honored and thrilled and can’t wait to share this book with the world <3
This Fall, I’ll be teaching Personal Essay I & III at UCLA’s Extension, and the beautiful news is that the courses will be remote— so anyone can register! More info coming soon, but check out my Instructor Profile video to learn more about me and my teaching style.
Just a few more weeks until my next 8-Week Advanced Nonfiction Workshop begins with Lighthouse Writers! Click the link for a full course description :)
Congratulations! The Style of Your Life sounds like a great read, I am completely hooked. Thank you for your generosity in sharing the story behind it as well as the query. I am so inspired. Glad to find you through NorCal Writers group.
Thanks for sharing this, Brittany, and congrats on the new book. Literary jealousy aside, I'm amped to read this one in 2027.