I’m Writing a Cookbook… I Think
I’ve been quietly working on something behind the scenes.
And even saying that out loud feels a little bit vulnerable.
I’m writing a cookbook… I think.
Even typing that makes me pause for a second. Because the truth is, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’ve never written a cookbook before. I don’t fully understand the process, the structure, or what it will ultimately become.
But I do know how to tell stories.
And I do know what I want it to feel like.
What I Know (and What I Don’t)
I’ve written and self-published a children’s book before, and I learned so much through that process. Enough to know that starting something like this always feels a little messy at the beginning.
There’s excitement, but there’s also uncertainty.
Right now, I’m somewhere in between the two.
I have a draft outline. It’s still very rough, but it’s a start. I’d say I’m about 75% of the way through choosing the recipes. Some are from my childhood, some are inspired by the kitchen at the Preserve Company, and some are just dishes that have become part of our everyday life.
More than anything, I want people to feel inspired to cook them. To gather. To try something new or revisit something familiar. I want the recipes to feel approachable, but also meaningful. Like they belong in real kitchens, on real tables.
And then there are the stories. The ones tied to the Island. To family. To moments that probably felt small at the time, but somehow stayed.
That part feels the most important.
The Vision (Even If It’s Still Evolving)
I don’t want this to be just a cookbook.
I want it to feel like a love letter.
To Prince Edward Island.
To gathering.
To slow mornings and long tables.
Something you would leave out on your coffee table. Something you flip through as much for the feeling as you do for the recipes. Something you might pick up with your morning tea, or in those quiet little pockets of the day when you have a moment to just be.
I keep imagining pages filled with beautiful Island photography, pieces of my childhood, glimpses of the Preserve Company, and recipes you’ll actually want to make. The kind you bookmark, come back to, and eventually know by heart. Maybe even some of my own watercolor doodles woven in between it all.
It feels feminine. Soft. Grounded. A little nostalgic.
And still very much unfinished.
What It Looks Like Right Now
Right now, it looks like a lot of quiet work.
Reading cookbooks. So many cookbooks. Paying attention to what draws me in. The way recipes are written. The styling. The flow of chapters. The little details that make you want to keep turning the page.
At the same time, I’m starting to understand just how much goes into bringing something like this to life. It’s not just me. It’s a whole community. A food stylist, a prop stylist, a photographer, someone to test recipes, editors, a graphic designer… and likely so many more pieces I haven’t even thought of yet.
And the truth is, I don’t know any of those people yet.
So for now, I’m just trusting that the right people will show up when the time is right.
And in a way, they already are.
Next month, I’m taking a cookbook writing course with Christine Flynn, who I’ve been lovingly calling my cookbook doula. She has already been such a wealth of information.
The idea of having her in my corner for this next step makes me smile… and feel a little nervous at the same time.
I’ve been following along as she launched her third book last month, quietly taking it all in and learning as I go.
If I’m being honest, I’m a bit intimidated to even send her my draft pitch. It feels personal in a way I didn’t fully expect.
A Few Truths About Me in the Kitchen
I love to cook. I really do.
I do not love the cleanup. Not even a little bit.
But I’ve noticed something about myself over the past couple of years. I always know I’m in a good place in my nervous system when I feel creative in the kitchen. When I’m not rushing. When I’m not just trying to get food on the table, but actually enjoying the process of it.
That’s the version of cooking I want this book to reflect.
Not perfect meals. Not complicated techniques. Just food that feels thoughtful, comforting, and meant to be shared.
What This Might Become
I don’t know exactly what this will become yet.
But I know how I want it to feel.
I want to feel excited to sit down and work on it. I want to feel that little spark of creativity. Maybe even a few butterflies in my belly when an idea comes together or a recipe feels just right.
I don’t want it to feel forced or rushed.
I want it to feel like something that unfolds naturally. Something I’m proud of. Something that feels like me.
Right Now, This Is Enough
For now, it looks a little like organized chaos.
A binder that’s meant to keep me on track… which, if I’m being honest, is still a blank white binder with no pages in it.
Notes on my phone at all hours of the day.
Files on my computer that I keep rearranging.
A Pinterest board that keeps pulling me in.
More cookbooks than I probably need.
And quick little bookstore visits that never feel quick.
It’s a bit messy. But it also feels exciting.
I don’t know exactly where this will go.
And I don’t know how long it will take. My guess is a few years, and I’m trying not to rush that.
Because this feels like something I want to do well. Something I want to take my time with.
Something that feels true.
I think I’ll share pieces of it along the way.
Lots of love,
Marsha
