First things first: THANK YOU!
I kept refreshing the screen, convinced it must be a data glitch. But no. The Navigator just spent weeks at #1 in all three of its Amazon categories—and that’s entirely because of you. Every download, every review, every enthusiastic recommendation to a friend... you made this happen.
This win belongs to both of us, and I’m so grateful to be on this adventure with you.
Writing Up the Ladder to Ellen and Perk’s Next Adventure
Last month I told you my writing process was best compared to the game Chutes and Ladders. Just when I think I’m making progress, I’ll land on a chute and slide back down to the beginning of the board. But that was last month. This month, I spun far better and am heading back up a ladder, rung by rung. And after a stuck stretch, the manuscript is finally, finally, getting me really excited. So if you can hold fast a bit longer for A Course to Steer, I’m confident you’ll dig it!
Last month I asked about your personal Chutes and Ladders, and Jeni sent back my favorite response: parenting. And I thought, wow. That’s a very profound way of viewing it. Those surprise difficulties aren’t just to be tolerated; they’re literally part of the game. Thanks as always for sharing your hearts and minds with me. Your email replies are my favorite part of every month. :)
In the meantime, I’ll give you a hint about chapter one along with an interesting little historical factoid I discovered in my research. You know how a captain can perform a marriage ceremony? Turns out, that’s not a thing. Thank Hollywood for the persistent myth because, apparently, captains have never had general legal power to solemnize marriages. The only pinkie toe of reality behind the notion is that a couple tiny countries, like Bermuda and Malta, let a ship’s master officiate aboard a vessel that sails under their flag on the high seas. Otherwise, the captain would have to be specifically authorized as an officiant. So in chapter one, my ‘captain from the neighboring brig’ had to become an alderman pulled from a tavern across the street. But I’ll leave it to you to guess who got married.
Three Weeks to a Major Life Change
Your support on this journey means everything—especially now, as I’m preparing for the biggest adventure yet. At the end of October, Colin and I head to France to prep for our boat’s November splash.
And here’s the weird thing. Since the Great Pillow Terror of 2025, my fears have actually been diminishing. The closer we get to blast-off, the more at peace I feel.
Somehow, in the hairiest situations, once I’m in the moment, the clarity of what needs doing brings a preternatural calm. It’s always the lead-up that’s the freakiest.
But I didn’t arrive at this calm by accident. What usually keeps me up at night is the worry that I’ll miss something critical—that I’ll arrive at the airport to discover my passport expired, or learn we can’t get the sat comms we need in France, or find out we need a text code for health insurance—after we’ve used up our global roaming.
There are a lot of potential minefields, and here’s the truth—she says, revealing her deepest fears—if something goes wrong that I could have prevented, it would be my fault for being an idiot.
No spares for a failed part? Poor planning. No backup plan for an economic downturn or health crisis? On me. Unless it’s a crazy edge case—say, asteroid damage or war breaking out in Portugal—I see it as my responsibility. Maybe that’s an eldest-child-of-divorced-parents thing, but it’s also the core of every success I’ve had in life, so I’m not knocking it. The trick is what to do when that responsibility needles me at 3am.
That’s when I sit down and cluster.
Mrs. Greiner, my high school writing teacher, first taught me to use mind maps to brainstorm story details. Little did she know she was giving me a life skill—another form of having coffee with my fears. Pretty much every week, I do one of these clusters to tease out the open loops stuck between the couch cushions of my brain. After a moment of overwhelm, I can almost always decide what to tackle next—and what has to wait.
For Project Pristine, I did the mother of all clusters: a sprawling map that became task lists, then priority groups, then finally do-able steps. Phew.
The life of a sailing writer is gloriously full of awe and adventure. It’s also full of paperwork and project plans. I’ve always said this life is about working the dream, not living the dream. I’d get bored any other way.
Fair winds,
Cheyenne
P.S. Mission accomplished! I finished all of Jane Austen’s novels just in time for her 250th birthday (December 16th). My mom gave me this incredible puzzle featuring all the characters and settings from Jane’s books, and it was literally the most fun I’ve ever had with 1000 pieces. ‘Oh, that’s Mr. Knightley!’ ‘That window is from Pemberley!’ Pure joy.
