After work, on an ideal day, I make it to a cardio dance workout class in my neighborhood. (I have zero rhythm, but five minutes in I feel like the Jewish J-Lo.) I also like boxing because sometimes you need to punch something. I get home by 7 p.m., and start cooking dinner. I could burn toast if left to my own devices, so it’s usually a HelloFresh meal kit. Our son has gotten into the habit of turning off the oven while I’m cooking. This cracks him up. It also adds at least 15 minutes to the process. My husband changes him and puts him to sleep around 8 and we eat dinner. We watch some TV (usually some combination of “True Detective” and “Bachelor in Paradise”). We talk a little and stare at our phones a lot. Around 10 p.m. I’ll take a CBD gummy bear. People say it’s a placebo or snake oil, but don’t knock those little suckers until you’ve tried them.

Do you have any writing rituals?

Pre-baby, when I was writing my book, I had this whole ritual that involved an iced red eye (cold brew with a shot of espresso), leggings and some real ergonomic jujitsu at my dining room table. That’s impossible now, so I come to the office and listen to jazz. I still need to be heavily caffeinated, but sadly can’t wear leggings. I wish I could write more in the mornings because that’s when I’m the most creative and productive, but, well, “Baby Shark.” The great thing about being a beat reporter for so many years is that you can’t have writer’s block or be picky about creating the perfect environment. You have to just do it … writing on my lap on a campaign bus in rural Iowa really helped me realize that.

In moments of self-doubt, how do you build yourself back up?

I am constantly doubting myself. We learn as journalists that we’re only as good as our last byline so now that I write features that can take months, I have these long periods when I feel like I have disappeared and will never write another story. I am a failure, a nobody, I will die alone under a pile of tawny newspaper clippings. This is when my editor, Ellen Pollock, says, “Amy, you had a story last week.”

Your book documents your time covering Hillary Clinton, and you recently wrote a piece for Vogue about the current cohort of women candidates. What difference do you see in how this new generation of women are rolling out their campaigns?

I don’t think we can underestimate how meaningful it is that so many women of so many different backgrounds and beliefs are competing for the Democratic nomination. Think about it — before 2020, we’d never seen multiple women on the presidential debate stage. They have permanently changed our perception of what a presidential campaign looks like and taught us (hopefully once and for all) that women can disagree with each other without it being a catfight. Amy Klobuchar and Elizabeth Warren and Kamala Harris and Tulsi Gabbard all have vastly different visions for the country and guess what? That is fine. Healthy, even. We don’t all have to be sorority sisters or wear pink on Wednesdays. Women can be large and contain multitudes, too.

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