Sebastian Gregory's Blog
January 12, 2026
How Losing my Writing Helped me Find my Voice
Although it felt like the end of the world at the time, the best thing that could have happened to me was my laptop crashing and losing the two novels I was working on, both of them nearly finished first drafts.
Putting stories on the page was the one constant in my life. But teaching had taken over most of my energy, and I wrote only in those rare moments when inspiration punched through the exhaustion. For inspiration to hit on two novels at once felt like some kind of cosmic joke. In fairness, one of those projects had been through more versions than I can count over the past decade, and I had finally cracked it.
And then my laptop died. I took it to a few repair shops, but none could salvage the files. They were gone; both manuscripts evaporated. Losing those drafts felt like amputation. I stared at my blank screen and thought, Okay. Maybe that's it. Maybe this is the sign to quit.
So I did quit, for about two years. I didn't write anything. I couldn't even look at old project files without feeling sick. For the first time in my life, writing didn't feel like home; it felt like grief.
What pulled me out wasn't discipline or some grand burst of inspiration. It was nostalgia. I started thinking about the 90s, about the books and movies I devoured as a kid—those pulpy teen thrillers with illustrated covers; the ones I'd beg my mom to buy me at B. Dalton or Waldenbooks. Fast-paced, ridiculous, and ridiculously fun. I missed the feeling of reading those books.
That's what sparked 'We Know Your Secret.' I didn't write it to be profound or literary as I used to do. I wrote it because I needed to find the joy in writing again—something fast and messy that reminded me why I fell in love with stories.
I also knew this wasn't a book traditional publishing would know what to do with. It wasn't on-trend, and it didn't fit into the neat little boxes they like to sort writers into. Then I found Pocketbook Press, a small indie publisher just starting out and looking for exactly the kind of weird, nostalgic project traditional publishing wouldn't touch. They wanted to bring back the quick, pocket-sized books I loved as a kid, and they gave me a home.
Losing those manuscripts hurt. But it cleared the space I needed to write the book that brought me back to life. Now, I can't stop writing and wouldn't trade that crash for anything.
Sebastian Gregory
Putting stories on the page was the one constant in my life. But teaching had taken over most of my energy, and I wrote only in those rare moments when inspiration punched through the exhaustion. For inspiration to hit on two novels at once felt like some kind of cosmic joke. In fairness, one of those projects had been through more versions than I can count over the past decade, and I had finally cracked it.
And then my laptop died. I took it to a few repair shops, but none could salvage the files. They were gone; both manuscripts evaporated. Losing those drafts felt like amputation. I stared at my blank screen and thought, Okay. Maybe that's it. Maybe this is the sign to quit.
So I did quit, for about two years. I didn't write anything. I couldn't even look at old project files without feeling sick. For the first time in my life, writing didn't feel like home; it felt like grief.
What pulled me out wasn't discipline or some grand burst of inspiration. It was nostalgia. I started thinking about the 90s, about the books and movies I devoured as a kid—those pulpy teen thrillers with illustrated covers; the ones I'd beg my mom to buy me at B. Dalton or Waldenbooks. Fast-paced, ridiculous, and ridiculously fun. I missed the feeling of reading those books.
That's what sparked 'We Know Your Secret.' I didn't write it to be profound or literary as I used to do. I wrote it because I needed to find the joy in writing again—something fast and messy that reminded me why I fell in love with stories.
I also knew this wasn't a book traditional publishing would know what to do with. It wasn't on-trend, and it didn't fit into the neat little boxes they like to sort writers into. Then I found Pocketbook Press, a small indie publisher just starting out and looking for exactly the kind of weird, nostalgic project traditional publishing wouldn't touch. They wanted to bring back the quick, pocket-sized books I loved as a kid, and they gave me a home.
Losing those manuscripts hurt. But it cleared the space I needed to write the book that brought me back to life. Now, I can't stop writing and wouldn't trade that crash for anything.
Sebastian Gregory
