We are entirely ready to have A.I. remove all these defects of character.

I fed the transcript of today’s LIVE conversation into ChatGPT and asked it to summarize. AI’s instant take on our chat is pretty much on the mark, although I don’t think either one of us was quite this coherent, and ChatGPT draws more conclusions than either Peter or I intended. I’m leaving it at that for today.

Thanks to everyone for tuning in, and especially for the good comments and questions from , , and .

AI summary starts here:

“This lively, funny conversation between and ranges across creative reinvention, cartooning, writing, journaling, Substack, money, marriage, aging, and what makes a life worth living. Moore, 69, describes how a long career as a magazine editor unexpectedly evolved into a new identity as a writer-cartoonist after he lost his major magazine job and the pandemic disrupted his freelance work. A daily journal he has kept since 1978—now totaling millions of words—became the raw material for an illustrated memoir and eventually his Substack. The conversation repeatedly returns to a larger theme: you don’t have to know exactly what you’re doing before you begin something new. Moore’s willingness to say yes and then figure out how to do it becomes a model for later-life reinvention. Debbie and Peter also explore the value of humor, the difficulty of persuading readers to pay for creative work online, the peculiar behavior of Substack readers, and the difference between wanting a long life and wanting a good one.

From Magazine Editor to Cartoonist

• Peter spent roughly 30 years in magazine and book publishing, including a long tenure at Men’s Health, where he eventually became editor. He describes the magazine years as both lucrative and exhilarating.

• Losing his job at Men’s Health was a major rupture. By the pandemic, other freelance work had disappeared as well.

• That disruption created the opening for something completely different: memoir, drawing and eventually cartooning.

• Peter had always known he could write and be funny. What surprised him was discovering that he could combine writing with drawing.

• The breakthrough was realizing that his “cartoonist self” could make fun of his “writer self.” That tension became central to his voice and work. This was my favorite thing that Peter said!

• Debbie seizes on this as something Substack could use more of: less solemn self-importance and more willingness to laugh at oneself.

A Journal Kept Every Day Since 1978

• Peter has written a journal entry every day since October 12, 1978.

• He estimates that the journals contain more than seven million words and encompass virtually his entire adult life.

• Entries can range from a couple of sentences to thousands of words.

• He generally writes in the evening, recording what happened that day rather than using the journal as a conventional morning creativity exercise.

• The journals preserve births, marriage, deaths and other major life events, along with countless ordinary days.

• During the pandemic, this enormous personal archive gave him the source material for a memoir.

• The journal began almost casually when his brother gave him blank books. Peter wrote about October 12, then October 13, then October 14—and simply never stopped.

How the Drawing Took Over

• Peter initially imagined illustrating his memoir somewhat in the tradition of illustrated literary books: a few drawings accompanying sections of the manuscript.

• The drawings proliferated until the project became an illustrated memoir.

• When he began publishing on Substack around 2021, he paired memoir excerpts with comic illustrations.

• Eventually he realized that cartooning wasn’t merely decoration for his writing; it was becoming a creative identity of its own.

• A memorable turning point came in an art class. Peter had painted a perfectly respectable landscape but found it boring. He added foxes and rabbits traveling in opposite directions like commuters. When his classmates applauded, he realized that his artistic impulse was not simply to represent the world but to reinterpret it humorously.

• Drawing also gave a lifelong professional talker, writer and editor another way to communicate—one that allowed him, as he puts it, essentially to shut up for three hours.

Reinvention: Say Yes, Then Figure It Out

• Peter’s career repeatedly advances because he offers to do something before he completely knows how to do it.

• After his cartoons led to a column for the Colorado Sun, he began doing radio commentaries through KUNC.

• He then proposed creating animations to accompany the commentaries.

• Once they said yes, he went home and figured out how to animate his drawings in Procreate, frame by frame.

• Debbie identifies this as one of the most important ideas in the conversation, particularly for people approaching or beyond conventional retirement age.

• Instead of asking, Am I qualified? Can I really do this?, Peter’s approach is closer to: announce what you want to do, create the opportunity, and then learn what you need to learn.

• Peter also argues that people are far too judgmental about their own creative ability. He says he “can’t draw” in the conventional virtuoso sense either; what matters is that the marks he makes are recognizably and authentically his.

• An art teacher once told him that anyone who can write cursive has enough manual dexterity to draw—a notion Debbie particularly likes.

Humor as a Way of Looking at Life

• Peter describes his humor as extremely deadpan; his wife has often had to explain to baffled people that he is joking.

• But humor is more than joke-making for him. It is a way to step outside your own life and observe it.

• Everyone says foolish things, gets misunderstood, behaves badly and lands in ridiculous situations.

• The humorist can stand slightly apart from those moments, recognize their absurdity and forgive himself.

• Peter’s basic choice is simple: life provides plenty of reasons to cry, but he would rather laugh.

• Debbie connects this to her own frustration with the earnestness of much writing about aging—and with the seriousness she sees on Substack Notes.

• Both suggest that humor can coexist with serious subjects rather than trivialize them.

Peter and Claire (sp.?): Almost Meeting Before They Met

• One of the conversation’s most charming detours concerns Peter’s wife, Claire.

• In 1978, Peter was studying at the Alliance Française in Paris while Claire was studying nearby in Middlebury’s French program.

• Claire regularly ate at the Alliance Française cafeteria—meaning they repeatedly occupied the same space without meeting.

• Years later, there was another near encounter in Sorrento, Maine: Peter was onshore while Claire happened to be aboard a passing sailboat.

• They finally met in Knoxville, Tennessee, when Claire came for a job interview and Peter was assigned to take her to lunch.

• Peter says that even before meeting her, he saw her résumé and thought she was “the one.”

• Debbie and Peter use the story to muse about fate, chance, partners and the strange alternate lives that might have unfolded if encounters had happened differently.

Substack and the Problem of Getting People to Pay

• Debbie raises a question that clearly interests both of them: if readers value good writing and cartooning, why are so few willing to pay for it?

• Peter traces much of the problem to the early internet, when publishers trained readers to expect online content for free.

• They contrast that expectation with established publications such as The New Yorker, The Atlantic and major newspapers, where readers understand that subscriptions cost money.

• Peter sees Substack as increasingly legitimate as a publishing platform, especially as prominent journalists and writers have migrated there, but says that legitimacy hasn’t necessarily translated into adequate income for less-famous writers.

• Peter acknowledges that he is fortunate: the money he earned during his magazine career means that “old me can subsidize new me.”

• Yet money still matters psychologically. Throughout his career, being paid was evidence that the work had value. He describes financial reward as a form of validation.

• At the same time, he makes paid material available to people who genuinely cannot afford it if they contact him.

Readers Who Read but Never Comment

• Debbie and Peter discuss the phenomenon of the “lurker”—someone who reads faithfully but rarely comments or otherwise engages publicly.

• Peter tells of attending his mother-in-law’s memorial service and being astonished by how many relatives approached him with detailed knowledge of his Substack despite never commenting online.

• Debbie has noticed the same phenomenon among family and longtime friends: they may send a thoughtful private email but resist leaving a public comment.

• They speculate that people who know a writer personally may feel especially exposed when commenting publicly.

• The exchange is a reminder that visible engagement—comments, likes and restacks—is not necessarily a reliable measure of actual readership or impact.

Substack as Creative Laboratory

• Peter originally started his Substack to publish material connected with his illustrated memoir.

• But the platform itself began pushing him in unexpected directions.

• That is part of its value: rather than simply being a distribution mechanism, it has become a place where Peter can experiment with writing, illustration, cartoons and storytelling.

• Debbie recognizes something similar in her own experience: publishing consistently can begin to redefine who you think you are, which then raises the question, Where is all this going?

• Both retain the career-long instinct to wonder what the current work might become next.

The Illustrated Memoir—and What Comes Next

• Peter’s working title for the memoir is Portrait of the Artist as a Young Nincompoop.

• It draws on his journals from his early twenties, especially his experiences in Paris and Europe—falling in and out of love, reading, exploring and trying to figure out what kind of life he wanted.

• Looking back, Peter sees his younger self as both naïve and surprisingly perceptive about what mattered to him.

• He is currently trying to find an agent, although the publishing industry’s difficulty categorizing an illustrated memoir has made that challenging.

• More importantly, he does not see this as a one-off book. He already imagines five more books, drawing stories from the journals and illustrating them.

• Substack, therefore, may be less the final destination than a creative proving ground that could lead to an agent, publisher and series of books.

Aging, Creative Expression and the Long Game

• Beneath the jokes is a serious conversation about what it means to keep creating as one gets older.

• Peter is approaching 70 but is talking not about winding down but about a new series of books and an expanding creative identity.

• Debbie explicitly frames his story as an example for people wondering whether they can reinvent themselves after 65.

• Both emphasize creative expression as worthwhile in itself, even if it never produces enormous financial rewards.

• Technology—including Substack and digital drawing tools—can make that creative expansion possible rather than being something older people should fear.

Why Peter Doesn’t Particularly Want to Live to 100

• Debbie closes by returning to a question Peter had initially refused to discuss: living to 100.

• Peter’s objection is essentially about quality versus quantity. He has no desire simply to accumulate years if those years mean extreme physical decline and dependence.

• His father strongly shapes this view. At 73, his father went out for a run and died suddenly—apparently from a heart attack or stroke.

• The death was of course painful for Peter, but he also sees something enviable in the trajectory: his father went almost instantly from being vibrant, funny, loving and engaged to being gone.

• That story brings the conversation full circle. Peter has many things he still wants to make, but the goal isn’t simply to stay alive long enough to reach some arbitrary age. It is to remain engaged, creative, curious and fully himself for as long as he is here.“

END OF AI SUMMARY

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Dear Lucy,

I can finally tell you why we left Maine during the glorious summer months: our younger daughter had a baby. We drove down to Connecticut to spend four weeks helping her with her newborn son, our newest, and rather unexpected, grandchild. What joy! Everything about a newborn feels so clear and uncomplicated, the stark opposite of the depression I sometimes struggle with (and I know you did too).

Nothing has ever surpassed the awe and intense delight I felt after each of my three children was born: their silky skin, milky smell, jerky, waving arms, legs still folded as if in utero. Still, this experience was mind-bending.

My personal essays, like this one, are for paid subscribers. I keep my annual rate as low as possible ($32.50), but if it’s still a barrier, email me at debbieweil @ substack dot com—and I will comp you.

Read on for more about mind-bending joy and my nearly sober summer.

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Upgrade for the full replay

The following summary of our hour-long conversation was generated from the transcript by ChatGPT; then I rewrote it.

📚 My LIVE yesterday with about her new book, Beyond the Prescription (pub date is Aug. 11th, but you can order it now), turned into a wide-ranging discussion about what good health is, especially as you age. Thank you to Dr. Lucy’s 100+ fans (and a few of mine 🤓), including , , , , and , for tuning in.

I’ve known Lucy since she was a girl, growing up in Washington DC; my husband practiced medicine with her there before he retired. So I’m naturally a fan, but more than that I find her inspiring. What comes across most clearly, both in her weekly Are You Okay column (one of my favorite Stacks), and in this video, is her compassion as a physician.

My main question for her: Am I doing aging right?

Most important, she told us, is to cultivate your own self-awareness, accept what you can’t control or change (as in the AA Serenity Prayer), and tune out the noise of the wellness industry.

So her answer to “aging right” is to focus on the basics: Yes! to exercise and strength training, adequate protein and fiber, enough sleep and social connection, and reducing or eliminating alcohol.

But don’t obsess about perfection, either in your habits or your lab numbers, she told us. As she puts it:

“Good enough is… enough.”

“Aging isn’t about preventing death, it’s about improving quality of life.”

She also shared her one specific recommendation for sexual health for women after menopause, and it’s not systemic HRT…

Read more

When our first grandchild was born 16 years ago, very old age seemed very far off. Now, doing the math as I turn 75, I’m stunned at the result: Will I really be 95 when he’s just 20?? How many more healthy years do I have left? To write, to travel, to hang out with my husband, to be an attentive grandmother? Ten, 15, 20 years max, if I’m lucky.

So I’m changing my tune. I’m wishing for 20 more good years. I can’t believe I’m saying that, that I’m acknowledging there is a time limit. I just know I want to enjoy and get to know this kid, from snuggles while he’s a baby, to talks as he becomes a young man.

Aiming for 100 still seems unappealing to me, given the degradations of old-old age. But 95 and in active good health? Well, that’s probably not realistic either, but I’ve decided to be hopeful.

The above is a shortened version of what I posted last week: Fine, I want to live to 95…

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What I’m reading about old age and longevity

’s popular Substack is known for his positive take on aging. But something has happened for him, between his mid-to-late 70s, and now. In his recent post, he acknowledges the difficult reality of hitting old-old age. This really struck a chord with readers—and with me, as I think about the years ahead:

Enjoy The Moment

I Thought I Had Accepted Old Age, Then I Turned 81

I’m learning that the best times of your life aren’t always the easiest…

Read more

2 months ago · 383 likes · 186 comments · Gary Buzzard

And one more article… debunking the longevity movement

A recent New Yorker article by Dhruv Khullar argues that the modern longevity movement rests on questionable data and expensive biohacking. The best evidence for living a long and meaningful life still rests on, well, common sense:

• Don’t smoke.

• Exercise regularly.

• Eat a balanced diet (not a perfect one).

• Get enough sleep.

• Maintain close relationships.

• Keep your weight and blood pressure in a healthy range.

• Wear seat belts and avoid other preventable risks.

• Enjoy life—including occasional treats like ice cream.
  

From Something Is Very Wrong With Longevity Science by Dhruv Khullar (July 6 & 13, 2026 issue of The New Yorker)

I’ll be discussing these common sense claims about health on Friday July 31st in a LIVE conversation with . Mark your calendar ➡️ https://open.substack.com/live-stream/279647?

Questions for you, dear reader

• Do you have a specific age in mind that you want to live to?
  

• Have you changed your mind about old-old age, as has, or do you think you might do so?
  

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That something is a brand new person weighing 8 lbs, 10oz; he’s our seventh grandchild…

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I vowed recently to be radically honest about the hard stuff, so that’s what I’m highlighting in today’s “Best of” selection from my archive: the honest truths—the good, the bad, the blessings, and the bullshit of [b]old age.

So herewith, a meaty selection (plus one thing for fun) put together by me and by my astute editor . I hope you’ll meet us in the Comments; I’d love to hear what most resonates with you.

But first, the best part

I don’t write about this much, maybe because it goes without saying: my grandchildren are the best part of getting old. But (this is hard to express), it’s not just because they are each adorable and unique and challenging, it’s because they are the children of my (three) children.

Update! 🐣👶 Our six grandchildren became seven, with the birth of our new especially adorable grandson on July 11th.

On Depression, Identity, and Grief:

1. Turns out, my offline persona is not always so bold.

“On Substack I play a character who is a bit [b]old, who is bravely reporting back as she navigates the sometimes rocky land of the old, and who has something useful and honest to share with you about her experiences.

In my real life I (sometimes!) stumble through my days, unfocused, confused, and searching for clarity about who I am and what I’m knowledgeable about and what I even have to offer family, friends and the wider world.”

→ Read more about disconnect, being okay with your different selves, and your place in the world.

2. I lost my mother before she died.

“Underneath her Southern politeness, my mother was ambitious and determined and, I suspect, loved being a student at Harvard. She must have felt frustrated when she was forced by the university to switch her major from physics to art history.

Looking back, I wish I had asked her about my unplanned appearance and the disruption to her life when she was 21, barely more than a girl herself. Of course, she would never have actually discussed this with me. She would have batted the subject away as ‘not important’ and ‘of course I wanted a baby then.’”

→ Read more about how I lost my mother before she died.

On Eldering and Living to 100

1. Despite what the longevity gurus are proclaiming…

• We can’t reliably defeat or “hack” the aging process.

• Old age is not a disease to be cured (fact).

• There is no magic pill (yet), to ward off death.

• And, finally, a final 4th quarter of life is not at all guaranteed.

The idea that you can look forward to a 4Q roadway stretching to 100, shimmering in the distance when you turn 75… is bullshit. Living to 100 is largely about privilege: education and income.

→ Read more here.

2. Turns out, not everyone wants to live to 100.

Top Reasons People Do NOT Want to Live to 100:

1. Declining quality of life, both physically and mentally

2. Concerns of money running out

3. Loss of family and friends / loneliness

Top Reasons People DO Want to Live to 100:

1. Curiosity to see what the world becomes

2. Passionate about continuing creative endeavors / life’s work

3. Feeling love and hope for life

→ Review the full findings + quotes from participants here.

3. If eldering is a call…

to live my best, most patient, most generous life, I want to answer it.

I want to be present for my family. I want to keep writing, in this newsletter or elsewhere.

That’s how I’ll keep turning my lived experience into wisdom I can share. Not out of fear of dying, not to create some flimsy form of legacy. But to keep fueling my creativity, to keep offering, without expectation, what I can to the people around me; and to keep stepping into my truest self.

→ Read more about how I’m eldering.

On the Realities of Old Age:

1. The more you age, the more shit happens.

The occasional stiff drink, downhill skiing, traveling overseas… ? Do I have to give it all up?

→ Read more about the shit that happens when you get old.

2. Sex in my 70s isn’t what I expected… or want.

“I read all the time about older women and their marvelous sex lives, including earth-shattering orgasms. I’m sure this is meant as helpful, or even inspiring, but it sounds a bit like one-upmanship, as if sex is a competition. Perhaps it is, if I’m competing with my younger, hotter self.”

→ Read more about Sex in your 70s.

3. Three recent realities of aging have me reeling.

Here are the three things, in the order of Good, Not So Great, and Devastating. As with a kaleidoscope, I’ve been turning the dial to see each one more clearly. I am still reeling.

1. I retreated to Baja for space to reflect with ; that opened up some uncomfortable realizations

2. Sam continues to recover from painful knee-replacement surgery; taking care of him evokes fear for the future

3. Lucy, one of my dearest childhood friends, died unexpectedly

→ Read more about the realities of aging that hit me all at once recently.

The [B]oldest Women Told Us:

1. Abigail Thomas

“Debbie: What’s it like to be 83? You’ve told me that the 80s have gravitas and that you feel “superior” to younger people who are running around trying to stay healthy.

: Well, God. Yes. Desperately staying strong and healthy is so boring. Have a piece of cake. Have two. It seems so humorless.

I love being eighty-three. I love all the petty and even the not so petty concerns that seemed so important that now have vanished. I have no vanity, no embarrassment, no guilt left. Guilt has grown up and become regret. Guilt keeps you center stage. Regret urges you to do something to make amends, something invisible, helpful, or maybe even something funny. I indulge and enjoy myself, and I write. What I write is fun for me, and it’s lovely when other people like it, but I write really for clarity, for myself.”

→ Read the [B]old Woman Q&A with Abigail Thomas on not giving a shit.

2. Judith Viorst

“Debbie: You write in your new book Making the Best of What’s Left: “I don’t want to flunk old age. I want to be really good at old age… I want an A-plus.” What grade are you giving yourself at 94?

Judith: Grade B. I need to get better at worrying less and spend more time embracing my fortunate life—each day, every day—if I want a higher grade.”

→ Read the [B]old Woman Q&A with Judith Viorst on not wanting to flunk old age.

3. Jody Day

“Debbie: How have attitudes towards women who don’t have children, and/or can’t have children, changed over time?

: I created the word “nomo” back in 2012, which is a contraction of “not-mother” and includes all non-mothers, because frankly, it’s none of anyone’s business whether you chose childlessness or it chose you. However, that does impact how society sees you: women who are childfree (by choice) are having a moment and are, to some extent, celebrated as modern feminists who’ve made a choice and had the agency and privilege to make it happen.

However, for childless (not-by-choice) women, particularly those who are childless due to not finding a willing or suitable partner (the most common reason, above infertility), they’re either ignored or pitied. And, even though there are more childless women than childfree ones, feminism has little to say about the inconvenient truth that not everything in life is under our control; it’s complicated, and it doesn’t make for a snappy feature story either.”

→ Read the [B]old Woman Q&A with Jody Day on women without children.

On Fashion, the Best Notebooks, and Online Shopping:

“I’m an old woman, turning 75 this year, and yet, just as I have for decades, I care a lot about what I wear and how it makes me feel. Online shopping lets me choose what makes me feel most like “me,” what identifies me as a [b]old, even badass woman. So I like to think it’s more than an indulgence.”

→ Read more for an inside peek at my [b]old essentials.

Questions for Readers

• Do you have a pleasurable addiction, like online shopping, that you’ll admit to?

• Reckoning with complicated grief seems like a necessary part of [b]old age. Do you have any lessons learned you are willing to share?

• What is the best part of old age for you?

Leave a comment

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Are you up for letter writing again? Remember, I promise to write back. Maybe it will take your mind off the unrelenting heat, in Europe, in parts of the U.S., and elsewhere. Scroll to the bottom for my mailing address.

❤️ 50-year-old love letters ❤️

I recently rediscovered a trove of love letters from my husband, written during the summer holidays of our college years. They were sent over 50 years ago when we were young and newly in love. His handwriting was atrocious, barely decipherable then, and still a spiky scrawl today. I love its familiarity—a reminder that I’m still in love with this man.

Somehow these missives have survived storage in a handful of damp basements. I only thought about them recently when I was discussing with my editor how I wanted to write a short post about the appeal of handwritten letters, so infrequent these days.

Inspired by our conversation, I crawled into our cellar here on the coast of Maine and found the ones from Sam in a small box labeled “Private.”

It’s not the first time I’ve laid eyes on these letters, but it was still remarkable to handle these envelopes again; they’re a tiny, tangible reminder of our half-a-century love story (yes, with its ups and downs and permutations). I did read through a handful of the letters, or I tried, given Sam’s penmanship. Many are travelogues sent while he was touring around Europe. They’re not especially poetic; there’s an “I love you” thrown in now and then.

That very much fits with the Sam of today. He’s not exactly sentimental, but he’s wonderfully steady, pragmatic, and caring, just like these letters. That’s really the thing about letters, actually. It’s often not the specific words that matter. 

And some lovely recent letters…

More recently, I received, somewhat to my surprise, a handful of written condolence notes after my father’s death in late May 2024. Some are perfunctory, a quick note on the inside of a card, but others are truly meaningful, a memory or anecdote about my dad captured by the letter writer. I treasured these words about my late father, rereading them at least twice. But I was equally struck by the care and effort it took to write each one of these notes, procure a stamp, and send it. 

You could say I’ve been swept up in nostalgia around letter writing. Professing love, describing the weather… it doesn’t matter. It’s the act of handwriting, then the effort of finding an envelope, the snail mail address, and a stamp–and carrying the missive to the post office or a post box–that makes them so special. 

An invitation to readers

If you feel inspired, might you write a letter or card to someone in your life this summer? If you need a little practice, or you feel so inclined, write to me as well. I would love to get a letter or postcard from you! I promise to write back (even if it takes me several weeks).

Lengthy, existential messages to me or anyone else are not required. Tell us where you are in the world, what the weather is (heat waves for you??), and one thing you’re loving during these slower months.

Here’s where to reach me via snail mail:

Debbie Weil
P.O. Box 786
Stonington, ME 04681
USA

Speaking of letter writing…

In a discussion post last week about the childhood mementos my mother saved, to my great surprise, I mentioned the many letters I wrote my parents, while away at camp, at boarding school, and as a new mother, still hungering for a career as a journalist.

Be sure to read the heartfelt comments on this one, from readers with similar experiences—and mixed emotions—when they stumbled on childhood keepsakes.

Questions for readers 

• Do you still write and send postcards or letters?

• Do you keep letters sent to you?

• What about other mementos, either from your own childhood, or that of your children?

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In [B]old Age, I write about the bittersweetness of old age, from the blessings to the bullshit. Paid subscribers are supporting my work and can read my revealing Personal Essays and my popular Q&As with [B]old Women.

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This one is as close to giving myself radical permission as I’m comfortable with. I’d love to hear your thoughts below, in the Comments.

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Last year my sister dropped off a bright red cardboard box, which she’d found when she was cleaning out the basement of my parents’ house after they died. Inside was a stash of mementos from my childhood that my mother had carefully saved... and never told me about. There was even a copy of my college thesis, on an obscure literary topic that would interest no one, except maybe my biggest fans.

I wouldn’t count my mother among those fans. She was highly judgmental, at times even a bit cruel towards me, a tendency which worsened in the last few years of her life (she died at 92). Still, I loved her very much.

So when I pried open the lid 13 months ago, I was astonished to find she’d saved everything from a doctor’s instructions when I was a newborn, to my baby teeth, to grade school report cards (I was always an excellent student), to letters and postcards I’d written as a child and teenager, and even clippings from my first real job as a newspaper reporter.

It gave me a shiver, almost bringing me to tears, to see so many memories of my childhood heaped neatly in a cardboard box. My first question was why? Why had she so carefully saved everything? My second, more devastating question: Does this mean she really did love me?

I was an only child for almost a decade before my younger siblings came along; I lacked the happy-go-lucky, outgoing personality that would have pleased my young parents (they were 21 when I was born). Through countless messages, some explicit, some implied, they made it clear: they wanted a different kind of child—an exuberant, entertaining, less needy little girl to show off to their friends.

For my part, I wanted something different, too. Even as an adult I wanted my mother to be more loving, more accepting, and to say out loud, “I love you, Debbie.” (I don’t recall that she ever did.) I longed for her to celebrate me for being a shy, introspective girl who became a writer, a journalist, an author, a podcaster, an essayist, a wife, a mother, a grandmother–even if I didn’t like entertaining and cooking for large crowds of family and friends (something she greatly valued). Even as I grew older, grew less shy, more chatty, more humorous, I could tell I still wasn’t the right kind of person.

Maybe I’m overthinking this. Maybe the answer to why she saved everything is obvious: I was her first-born child, and she was proud of my achievements. But she couldn’t show it, couldn’t talk to me about her feelings (or listen to mine), and maybe that’s the point. All she could do was save report card after report card because they were tangible and lent themselves to her organized and meticulous approach to everything she did. I was to be managed, not openly cherished… and this was her way of doing that.

Still, I’ve been staring at this box for over year. It feels like a message to me from her grave; I just wish I knew exactly what it is.

So herewith, I give you a glimpse inside the box, followed by my questions for you about your own childhood mementos. Maybe together we can come up with some clarifying thoughts about the meaning of cherished keepsakes, as well as what to do with them, especially if they’ve been carefully saved by a parent. I’m counting on you, astute and [b]old readers, to help me out.

Questions for my [b]old readers

• What was your first thought, if you’ve come across a stash of childhood things saved by a parent?

• Why is it always mothers who save this stuff?

• Can you offer any suggestions for what I should do with this box and its contents?

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This is part of my new series, Letters to Lucy. Lucy was a dear childhood friend who died unexpectedly this past winter, at 72. In these looser, more raw essays, I’m sharing some evolving thoughts with her. 🙏

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Dear Lucy,

I’ve been feeling unreasonably happy recently—truly [b]old; my familiar summer depression, so debilitating and frustrating, has not yet settled over me.

When I began drafting this letter to you a week ago, I used those exact words, and they were accurate.

But then I attended my family’s biannual reunion over this past weekend and my thoughts quickly spiraled: Why is my daughter seemingly ignoring me? Why am I being left out of group activities? Why aren’t I more respected as a family elder?

I know, I know, this makes me sound a little pathetic… nobody likes me, nobody wants to play with me. I can hear my mother’s voice, grating in my ear: Debbie, don’t be ridiculous! Pull yourself together! Lucy, you knew my mom, and her no-nonsense approach.

Because of course, ruminating goes hand-in-hand with depression, an affliction all too familiar to me—and one my mother never understood.

I guess when your mother tells you that your thoughts and feelings are wrong, you doubt yourself.

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I first heard about —and her splurge gift to herself on her 70th birthday—after reading her viral essay in ’s Oldster Magazine. And Part II (even more eye opening) a few months later. Then she was interviewed on the New York Times’s Modern Love podcast, and suddenly her late-life sexual adventure was recounted in English-language newspapers around the globe. It was a story you couldn’t ignore.

It started like this: as Gail’s 70th birthday approached, she realized she was terrified of entering the land of the elderly. A practicing psychologist, she wanted to do something scary, something to jolt herself awake… and thus was born the idea of hiring a sex worker to meet her in a hotel room. Less scary, she explained, than jumping out of an airplane.

But it turns out the real draw for Gail was finding her voice, regaining self-confidence, and saying out loud what she really wanted. So many older women can relate to that, myself included. I’ll also admit to a twinge of envy, as someone married for decades to the same man… what would it be like to undress in front of a stranger? Gail’s “sexcapade” (thanks to my editor for that word) sounded scary and, yes, exciting.

What follows is a truly revealing Q&A; we cover what it feels like to become famous, research on loneliness and lack of physical touch, fear of becoming invisible in old age, the challenge of writing a memoir, Gail’s current intimate life, and more.

You won’t want to miss this one! Gail is so open and honest about what it’s been like to become a now 72-year-old celebrity, and how that is affecting her life going forward. Hope you enjoy this Q&A as much as I did.

Debbie Weil: You were living a relatively quiet life in Australia when you suddenly received international publicity about your unusual 70th birthday gift to yourself—how has that been?

Gail Rice: Amazing. It feels like I am living in a parallel universe. I wrote that first essay privately, tentatively. I had never had anything published before…

This [B]old Women Q&A was open to all for 24 hours. After that, it went behind the paywall.

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This LIVE Substack conversation is the new incarnation of the [B]old Women Book Club. ’s A Creative Compass was published on June 25, 2026.

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I think you will love this conversation with Substack superstar , a Sunday Times bestselling author and publisher of , read by 82,000 subscribers.

Emma is turning 37, so she is exactly half my age. As puts it, “If you’re British and of a certain age, Emma Gannon will need no introduction.” No matter, you’ll hear that Emma and I have lots in common: too many pairs of glasses, a passion for mint chocolate chip ice cream, a love of stickie notes and bright colors, and the necessity of time alone.

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I want to look under the hood of aging—in real-time. I want to answer the question: what is it really like to grow old in a society that denigrates and devalues old people? - Debbie Weil

Recently, I went back to read the very first post I published on Substack in June of 2023. I was pleasantly surprised (astounded, actually) to see that all the things I promised I would do in my newsletter, I have in fact been writing about, week after week, for close to 150 weeks.

It surprised me because I’ve felt a good bit of doubt, at times, wondering if I had enough to say on the topic of getting old—enough that was worth reading, anyway. That doubt has time and time again been allayed by the many subscribers who have left dozens and dozens of thoughtful comments and contributed meaningfully to the conversation. Your interest in all things [b]old has been the fuel I needed to keep going; my heartfelt thanks.

My aim all along, and still today, as I turn 75, has been to reveal what’s “under the hood” of growing old (and I mean old, not “older”). Three years ago, I identified the big topics that define the journey into old age: health and wellness, retirement, reinvention, money, the new meaning of ambition, love, family and friendships, death and mortality, legacy.

I’ve been steadily addressing these topics…

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First, I’m going to write in a more informal style, at least for these summer months, because… why not. I’ve discovered a sense of freedom in writing Notes on Substack where I often disregard proper punctuation, use swear words when it feels right, and sometimes post on [b]old age-adjacent topics, like the stack of books I’m reading. I want to bring some of that [b]oldness, and informality, over to this newsletter.

Second, and in line with the above, I am going to publish some shorter, looser, more raw essays; you might remember I gave myself radical permission to do this a while back.

Third, I’m starting a new essay series I’m calling Letters to Lucy.

Lucy is my childhood friend who died this winter, unexpectedly, in her early 70s. She was that rare person who is utterly authentic, utterly honest, direct to the point of being rude—and yet you accepted and believed her no matter what. She was so warm and embracing (she was literally a hugger), and the best way I know to honor her memory, is to be more honest, to be less afraid.

So here goes, my first Letter to Lucy…

As always, there are Questions for readers at the end. I hope you’ll join in for the conversation.

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writes exquisitely about something exquisitely painful… and that is the death of her husband. I’ve been married for 53 years, to a man I am still in love with, and the idea of losing him is unbearable. Reading Mary’s experience of grief after three years since her husband’s death is unsettling; she offers a glimpse of something that is so private, so immense, so frightening—a topic that is almost too hard to think about, let alone write about.

But with her pen, Mary makes it accessible, even beautiful, for a reader like me. A reader full of that particular fear. She writes, “Almost daily, I find myself stunned by some small remembered sweetness, or an unresolved hurt. Sometimes I’m ambushed by a longing so intense I need to stand still, eyes closed, waiting for it to subside.”

Mary’s Writer, interrupted is a two-time Substack Featured Publication, read by nearly 6,000 subscribers. She also writes about Minnesota winters made even colder by the presence of ICE, her burgeoning spring garden (ravaged by rabbits), and more. Whatever the topic, she draws us in with the rhythm and specificity of her writing, and through the emotion we can feel so clearly behind her words, and connect with. Her essays are as good as any you’ll find in The New Yorker. As one of her readers put it recently, “You open the door and I simply do not want to leave.”

At the same time, like most good writers, Mary does not write alone. She is an active participant in ’s Conscious Writers Collective, and as you’ll read below, she credits that experience with sharpening her craft and making her a better writer.

For a behind-the-scenes with a very [b]old writer, read on.

Debbie Weil: Mary, tell us how you became a writer, and an enviable one at that.

Mary Roblyn: I’ve been a writer since I was seven. But as I grew up in a family which discouraged such things, I kept my writing a secret. Despite – or because of – their opposition to girls’ education, I moved out at 19 and worked to support myself as a full-time student, graduating from the University of Minnesota with a degree in anthropology and linguistics. I got married at 23. We had a daughter and a son; I stayed home with them for several years. Although I published a few things in literary journals, I never earned an income from my creative work. I worked in philanthropy, as a grant writer, and as a book publicist. None of the jobs I held were satisfying, and mental health issues kept me from pursuing fulfilling work. But I kept writing. I took classes and joined a writer’s group. I even got my MFA in my 40s.

It wasn’t until I began my Substack that I became a paid writer. And now, a bestseller. I’m incredibly grateful for the generosity of my subscribers.

DW: You spent a long time taking care of your dying husband; how are you taking care of yourself these days?

MR: It’s been challenging. As I wrote about in a recent post, All Things Must Pass, I had to say goodbye to my 23-year-old cat, Mini. She was a wonderful companion for two decades, and saw me through the death of my husband and the three years since then. I cared for her when age took its toll. She slept in my bed every night. It’s a big loss.

I have a daughter and son who live nearby. They will say things like, “Mom, you need to get out more.” And they’re right. Now that it’s spring, I’m spending time in nature. I live in the Twin Cities, near the Mississippi River. There are bike paths and walking trails everywhere. I have great neighbors and wonderful friends. A six-year-old girl lives next door. Everyone should have a six-year-old in their life.

And then there’s the Writer, interrupted community! My readers sustain me. I could not do this without them. There are many times when I think I should send out a post, but I know it’s not ready. My readers deserve my best work.

Writing is at the very core of my being. It brings a huge sense of purpose, which I think is the key ingredient to aging well. And the writers on Substack are extraordinary. I try to be a good literary citizen by promoting others, buying their books, and taking out as many paid subscriptions as I can afford.

I love Substack. I’ve found my home.

DW: You’ve been so forthright in writing about your grief, as in your recent What I Learned in My Third Year as a Widow. Does writing about it ease the pain?

MR: Oh, absolutely. I wrote in my journal – in fact, I ended up filling six journals during the year after my husband’s diagnosis and between his death – about everyday details. The things you might otherwise forget. I’d found Substack through George Saunders’ Story Club, from a random email that arrived in my inbox. That gave me the idea that I, too, could start a Substack. I sent out my first post in November, 2023, six months after I became a widow.

It was so rewarding. It gave me the idea that I could get through grief by writing about grief. And I found this to be true.

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My 74-year-old husband is in relatively good health: active, not overweight, and enjoying a productive life as a retired physician. But daily he reminds me that the surgeon had to “cut his leg off” as part of the TKR (total knee replacement) he had… three months ago. Sam has a dry sense of humor_, so it’s hard not to giggle; but as much as I love my husband (and his sense of humor), I’ve grown a bit weary of his kvetching and whinging. His unexpectedly slow–and painful–recovery from this surgery is, shall we say, the topic du jour in our household.

Sam is not normally a chronic complainer, but like most physicians he’s a very bad patient; he catastrophizes over worst-case scenarios, including infection, disability, and other long-term outcomes that, as a non-medical person, I’ve never even thought of. For his left knee, he tells me, these include continued pain and not regaining full flexion, which, according to his surgeon and his PT aides, are highly unlikely to be the ultimate outcome.

Despite their reassurances, he seems a bit depressed, as well as angry, about his slow progress. He compares himself to several contemporaries, all men, who had TKRs but had much quicker and easier recoveries. It’s as if recovery is a competitive sport (surely, as a physician he knows better), and he thinks he’s losing.

I should note that he is very diligent about doing his PT, and is walking quite well at this point; but he’s not running down the block yet. He’s not back to where he was before surgery; and, more to the point, in a better place, with a stronger, pain-free knee, which was the whole point. His favorite physical therapist recently told him that he would be in fighting form in 12 months.

That sounds reasonable to me but I’m not the one who’s temporarily lame. So far, I’ve taken to telling him how sorry I am that he’s in pain, reiterated that the stiffness is sure to go away, and pointed out that things could be much worse (he could have a chronic medical condition with no cure, for example). But honestly, I’m not sure what the best way is to encourage and support him. With a little humor? With a lot of patience? Maybe you have some ideas! I need help!!

Questions for readers

• What are your best recommendations for supporting your partner?

• How do you stay sane when your partner is going through it, whether it’s a physical problem, an illness, or depression?

• Do you find that you are balancing patience and sympathy with admonitions to snap out of it?

• How does humor play into it?

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I almost didn’t publish this, fearing that you would think me self indulgent for chronicling a three-week trip to Paris when many are having a hard time right now1, due to external events in the world, or personal situations. Then I said what the heck this is what turning 75 this year means; I’m tired of giving flying fucks… I’m doing this, publishing a day late, and feeling great about it.

Hope you enjoy!

Herewith, a selection from my Paris diary2. I’m writing in the casual style of Substack Notes rather than a proper essay. Meet me in the Comments if you’ve got your own Paris stories; I’d love to hear.

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Welcome to [B]old Age, where I write about the bittersweetness of old age, from the blessings to the bullshit. I write revealing Personal Essays for paid subscribers (like this special article), publish Q&As with [B]old Women, and offer discussion posts open to all.

My guiltiest pleasure is shopping online, most often for clothes but for other things as well. “Guilty” because I know that shopping does not make you happy… except in my case, it does. I feel instantly soothed when I scroll a favorite site; it scratches an itch that, I am aware, is an addiction. In addition, I rationalize that I’m saving money because I often shop the sales, and I savor the colors and styles which are displayed to full effect online.

I sometimes offer myself this experience as a reward. If I finish a vexing chore (or a Substack draft!), I give myself permission to log onto my favorite sites. Of course, I have an account on each one, with favored “insider” status. Recently I came across Cartoons Hate Her, a svelte Millennial influencer and excellent writer, who was sharing her spring 2026 picks. Lo and behold, she recommended the EXACT SAME jeans that I buy online and that I’m obsessed with.

This coincidence emboldened me. Granted, I am not a fashion influencer, but it made me think you might want to know more about where I shop online and for what essentials. One of the contradictory truths of being an old woman is that the way I feel inside and the way I look on the outside do not match up.

I’m an old woman, turning 75 this year, and yet, just as I have for decades, I care a lot about what I wear and how it makes me feel.

On a typical day, it’s blue jeans (they’re the most essential), with a different sweater or scarf, and comfortable walking shoes. (I have a thing for scarves, which cover up my wrinkly neck, as Nora Ephron pointed out.)

Online shopping lets me choose what makes me feel most like “me,” what identifies me as a [b]old, even badass woman. So I like to think it’s more than an indulgence.

Here’s an inside peek at this [b]old woman’s essentials…

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Not all of the immersions have been as dreamy as that sounds. There was the week with Jean on Belle Île, who accused us of spilling red wine on the bed covers1; another with Claude near Bordeaux, who was floundering in the midst of a divorce and insisted on including his unhappy young sons at dinner with us (not a conversation starter).

But then we found Julie Gaudin in Avignon, and it’s been a magical experience ever since.

This is our fourth séjour linguistique2 with Julie and she has become a friend as well as our favorite teacher. Not that either of us is truly fluent, but we both speak passably well and enjoy tremendously the challenge of trying to improve, of doing it together, and of laughing all week with Julie.

In this little video, I speak with Julie about why we’ve chosen immersion as a way to improve our French.

A summary of the conversation with Julie

Debbie explains that she is spending a week in France with her husband Sam, and with Julie, their prof, in order to practice speaking French in a real-life setting and in a way that is both engaging and meaningful.

When she was 14, she spent a year in school in France and learned the language through daily life and interactions with her friends. That experience shaped her belief that the most effective way to learn is through immersion—by listening, speaking, and living in the language, rather than relying primarily on formal instruction.

Julie draws a clear distinction between speaking and writing. While grammar exercises are useful for improving spelling and written accuracy, she sees them as secondary to developing fluency in conversation.

During the immersion, Debbie and Sam benefit from Julie’s real-time corrections, which she offers gently and constructively. She also takes notes in a Google Doc which they can review and refer to later.

Finally, the experience includes cultural outings, such as their visit to the newly restored and magnificent Château Thézan in Saint Didier, about 30 minutes from Avignon. They also visit Venasque, a picturesque “village perché" (hilltop village).

More about Julie’s immersion course here: lefrançaischezjulie.com

Questions for readers

• Do you have a desire to learn a new language?

• Do you like the idea of immersing yourself in the culture as well as the language, the approach that Julie is so passionate about?

• Is there an experience you’ve signed up for once, and then kept coming back because you liked it so much?

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The previous “Bonjours” d’Avignon… in 2025 and 2023!

And the sounds of Avignon on my podcast in 2019:

Today’s video post is just for fun. I’m obsessed with the bittersweetness of growing old, from the blessings to the bullshit. I write revealing Personal Essays for paid subscribers on topics like Why I’m pushing back on living to 100 and Three realities of aging hit me last week. I also publish Q&As with [B]old Women, and offer discussion posts open to all.

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“Everything I’d been working on for 25 years was turning to dust [thanks to AI], and at the age of 72, I was facing the reality that I had to find a new way to make money and get artistic recognition.” -

I met Pamela Redmond when she bounced into the newsroom of the University of Wisconsin’s Daily Cardinal, eager as a puppy, her flaming red hair long and flying. This was a half century ago, when she and I were both reporters on the student newspaper. We lost touch in the intervening years, but we reconnected about a decade ago at Generation Women, a women’s multigenerational storytelling event1 in NYC.

Now we’re both in our 70s and Pam is busier, more productive, and (this part is important) more fearless than ever. You might be familiar with the hit Netflix series Younger, based on her eponymous novel. Pam is also the creator of Nameberry, the world’s largest and longest-running baby naming site. But it’s her new one-woman show that caught my eye recently.

Pam is keenly aware of the threat of AI to her baby naming business. What could she do that AI can’t, she wondered? The answer came almost immediately: Old Woman Naked, her one-woman performance where she strips off her clothes, on stage, in front of a large audience, as a way to reveal her deepest secrets and to make the point that, as a 70-something woman, she is not invisible. This would be my definition of fearless.

More fearlessness in the revealing interview below. Enjoy!

And be sure to read Pam’s essay, What the Body Knows, how the story of her body is really the story of her life.

Debbie Weil: You started your Substack, The Jubilarian, saying “I need a plunge,” quoting Mrs. Dalloway. What’s the plunge been like this past year?

Pamela Redmond: Writing that first Substack, getting in touch with that wish for a plunge, was the start of a huge creative renaissance for me. I’d just left my publisher after rewriting my novel 11 times over three years, finally concluding that we’d never agree on its direction. I was struggling to keep my website Nameberry alive after AI stole all our content, and with it my reliable income and funding for my retirement. Everything I’d been working on for 25 years was turning to dust, and at the age of 72, I was facing the reality that I had to find a new way to make money and get artistic recognition. A Substack that made no money was in no way the logical solution to those problems, but that was its appeal. Since everything I should be doing hadn’t worked, why not do what I wanted to do, what made no sense but presented a new challenge and new freedom?

It opened up the world to me in a way I hadn’t experienced since I launched the website in 2008 and started publishing novels in 2000. That creative energy from the newsletter led directly, if not logically, to the idea for Old Woman Naked and a completely new direction in my work.

I had the idea for Old Woman Naked this past July, finished writing it by late August, and performed it in New York on October 7.

Now a fancy NY director, Wendy C. Goldberg, is developing it to be performed on a bigger stage with a star in the lead role. The New York Times Style section has already written and photographed a piece I hope will run soon. Ed note: we will insert the link as soon as it’s published.

So, the plunge has been incredibly invigorating and has set my career on a completely new path.

DW: You’re either very brave or, er, totally crazy: take us back to last summer and the genesis of your one-woman show, Old Woman Naked.

PR: I am very brave and I wouldn’t call the show crazy, but original. The work I always aspire to, the very best work of mine and of other people’s too, is something that is both totally original and totally natural. Something you’ve never seen that way before, but as soon as you see it, you know that is the way it should be.

Exposing the truth about women’s bodies over their lifetimes feels like that kind of work.

The funny thing is that I remember the genesis of each of my great ideas very clearly. They happened quickly and (that word again) naturally. Old Woman Naked started with wanting to do something AI couldn’t do. That meant it had to be real, personal, live, indelibly human. So, a one-woman show of some kind.

But how would I get people to come to my show? I could take off my clothes, I joked to myself. And immediately thought: That is a great idea. Taylor Swift, Beyonce, Chapel Roan, Kim Kardashian take off their clothes and attract massive attention. But no old woman has ever done that.

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Thank you , , and many others for tuning into a LIVE conversation with my old friend, ex-Google blog editor . I first met Karen when I interviewed her for The Corporate Blogging Book, so we’ve known each other for over 20 years.

Karen tuned in from her longtime home in San Francisco’s Noe Valley neighborhood; I was in our apartment in New Haven, CT. The video starts four minutes before the top of the hour, when we were supposed to be in preview mode. Just start at 04:00 and you won’t notice.

Below is a summary of our one-hour conversation, generated by ChatGPT from the transcript. I’ve reviewed and tweaked it for accuracy and to add a few links. You can probably tell that I didn’t “write” this summary because it’s not really in my voice; no matter: this is a good use of AI.

One of the things we talked about was book writing and publishing. Below you’ll find Karen’s memo on Hybrid (aka Indie) Publishing.

When I sat down with Karen Wickre for a Substack LIVE, we began with tech glitches, laughter, and the realization that neither of us understands every intricacy of Substack’s platform, which, in its own way, felt appropriate. We’ve both been early adopters for decades—and we’re still figuring things out. (Well, that’s what ChatGPT surmised, but I’d say Karen has tech tools and AI pretty well mastered.)

Karen, a former communications leader at Google and later at Twitter, only recently joined Substack, as author of The Accumulator, after what she described as “more than a year of agonizing.” Her hesitation wasn’t about writing—it was about format. “I realized I don’t want a newsletter,” she said. “I want a blog.”

That distinction matters. The Accumulator is deliberately intermittent: no schedule, no niche, no pressure to produce. Instead, it reflects what she calls “a lifetime of ideas and memories and opinions.” In contrast, my own approach is more structured—and paid. Which led us into a lively discussion about money.

I admitted something I feel strongly about: professional writers should be paid; not just for the income, which is very welcome, but for what it represents—commitment and accountability on my part, and respect for the work, on the part of readers. Karen agreed, but has chosen a different path, at least for now. She doesn’t want to feel obligated to produce on a schedule.

From there, as we’re both turning 75, we went back—more than 20 years—to the early days of blogging. Karen helped build Google’s first corporate blog, at a time when most companies relied on dry press releases. Her insight was simple but radical: let subject-matter experts speak in their own voices. Not executives. Not corporate speak. Real people.

That model—now taken for granted—was once revolutionary. (I included a case study of Google’s multiple blogs in my book.)

We also talked about editing, a profession Karen believes is deeply misunderstood. “People think they need a writer,” she said. “But often what they really need is an editor.” Someone who can shape, question, and “see around the corners.” It’s a kind of wisdom role—one that feels closely aligned with what we also talked about: “modern eldering.”

That phrase comes from our friend Chip Conley and his Modern Elder Academy, which has influenced both of us. The idea is simple but profound: we now have decades of life beyond what used to be considered “retirement.” The question is not whether we’re done—but what we do next.

For Karen, that means staying engaged—with younger people, new ideas, and emerging technology. For me, it’s that and more. It also means slowing down, listening more carefully, and becoming a more intentional mentor.

We ended, inevitably, with thoughts about AI. Karen’s view is pragmatic. AI isn’t one thing—it’s many tools, some of them extraordinarily useful. But her most striking point was this: if you want to be a relevant elder today, you have to engage with AI. Not blindly, not uncritically—but actively. As she put it: “You better be using it and know how to use it.”

That, in the end, may be the through line of our conversation: from blogging to Substack to AI, the tools keep changing. But the mindset—curiosity, openness, willingness to experiment—remains the same.

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Traditional vs. Hybrid (aka Indie) Publishing

⬇️ Below is Karen’s very informative publishing memo, which she prepared with the help of Gemini:

Hybrid vs. Traditional Commercial Publishing For First-Time Nonfiction Authors by Karen Wickre

Executive Summary

For a serious nonfiction author, the choice between traditional and hybrid publishing is a trade-off between risk and control.

Traditional publishing minimizes financial risk (no cost to you) but requires a loss of control and a much slower timeline (18–24 months).

Hybrid publishing requires a significant upfront investment ($25k–$50k+) and places the financial risk on you, but offers speed (6–8 months), creative control, and higher potential royalties per copy.

Comparative Analysis

1. Traditional Commercial Publishing

The Model: You sell the rights to your manuscript to a publisher. They own the product; you earn a royalty.

Author Cost: $0. In fact, they pay you. You typically receive an advance against future royalties. For a first-time author, this might range from $5,000 to $50,000 depending on the topic’s commercial potential and your “platform” (audience size).

Author Workload:

→ Writing: High. You must write the manuscript (often after selling the book on a proposal).

→ Marketing: High. Contrary to popular belief, traditional publishers expect authors to do the heavy lifting on promotion. They provide distribution and some trade reviews, but you are responsible for speaking gigs, social media, and PR.

→ Production: Low. The publisher assigns editors, designers, and project managers. You have input, but they have the final say on cover, title, and interior design.

→ Timeline: Slow. Typically 18–24 months from contract to publication.

2. Hybrid Publishing

The Model: You pay a publisher to produce and distribute your book. You retain the rights and creative control; they provide professional curation and distribution.

Author Cost: High ($20,000 – $50,000+).

Industry analyst Josh Bernoff estimates that a high-quality hybrid campaign (including printing, design, and perhaps some marketing support) costs between $30,000 and $50,000.

You pay for everything: editing, cover design, proofreading, and printing.

Author Workload:

→ Management: Moderate to High. You act as the CEO of your book. The publisher serves as a high-end contractor. You don’t have to *do* the layout or editing, but you must review and approve every step.

→ Marketing: High. While some hybrids offer PR packages, the success of the book largely depends on your own efforts and budget.

→ Timeline: Fast. Typically 6–9 months. This is often the deciding factor for “serious contemporary topics” where the information might become outdated if forced to wait two years.

Key Difference: Risk vs. Reward

Traditional: The publisher takes the financial risk. If the book flops, they lose money, not you. You get lower royalties (typically 10–15% of net).

Hybrid: You take the financial risk. If the book flops, you are out your investment. However, if it succeeds, you keep a much higher percentage of earnings (often 40–85% depending on the model).

Part 2: Reputable Hybrid Publishers

For a “serious contemporary topic” (e.g., business, politics, social issues, big ideas), you need a publisher that specializes in thought leadership and has strong distribution into physical bookstores. The following firms are widely recognized as reputable (vetted by sources like Jane Friedman) and are specifically recommended by Josh Bernoff:

1. Amplify Publishing Group

Best For: Business, Politics, “Big Ideas”

Details: Includes imprints like RealClear Publishing (politics) and Amplify Publishing (business). Known for high production value and speed.

Recent Titles: The Age of Intent, Losing Our Elections.

Greenleaf Book Group

Best For: High-achieving authors, Thought Leaders

Details: A veteran in the space. Very selective with a strong airport bookstore distribution network.

Recent Titles: The New Experts, Optimizing Strategy for Results.

Ideapress Publishing

Best For: Business, Innovation, Trends

Details: Focuses on “non-obvious” ideas and business trends. Highly regarded for marketing support.

Recent Titles: Non-Obvious Thinking, The Disruption Mindset.

Page Two Books

Best For: Nonfiction, Strategy

Details: Based in Vancouver but serves the North American market. Specialized in strategy and nonfiction. Known for excellent design and handling complex projects.

Warning: Be cautious of “vanity presses” masquerading as hybrids. If a publisher accepts your manuscript immediately without vetting, it is likely a vanity press. Reputable hybrids are selective and will reject manuscripts that are not ready for market.

Sources & Further Reading

JaneFriedman.com: Offers a definitive list of “Best Known Hybrid Publishers” and guides on how to spot scams.

Bernoff.com: Josh Bernoff’s blog offers deep dives into the “ROI of hybrid publishing” and detailed cost breakdowns for business authors.

At the end of the memo are Karen’s four recommended hybrid publishers, a list I heartily concur with: Amplify, Greenleaf, Ideapress, and Page Two.

Well-known Substack writer , mentioned in our Live conversation, and author of eight books to date, has recently left her traditional publisher for hybrid publishing. Her recent article, The rise of the ‘authorpreneur’, makes the case for why this path is so appealing.

Comments or questions?

Questions and comments about publishing, AI, blogging or anything else we discussed in the LIVE are welcome. Either Karen or I will respond.

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