One thing I’ve learned (both from studying people and from writing stories) is that uncertainty wears on the heart faster than almost anything else. Whether it’s 1923 or the present day, not knowing where you stand with someone can drain energy, distort judgment, and make even small choices feel heavy.

Open and honest communication sounds simple, but in practice it’s often the hardest thing to do, especially when dating someone new. There’s always a temptation to soften truth, equivocate, or passively wait to see how things play out. I understand that impulse. Many of the characters I write wrestle with it. But I’ve also noticed, in life and on the page, that clarity brings peace of mind.

First, honesty reduces guesswork. When someone tells you plainly how they feel, what they want, or things they are unsure about, the mind stops spinning stories to fill the silence. Silence invites imagination, and imagination can get things wrong.

Second, openness reveals consistency. Words and actions begin to line up, or they don’t—and either way, you learn something real. That alignment, or lack of it, becomes visible much sooner when people speak directly.

Third, honest conversation builds trust in a steady, almost quiet way. Not the dramatic sort of trust that arrives in grand gestures, but the durable kind that grows from small, truthful exchanges. “This is who I am.” “This is what I can offer.” “This is what I don’t yet know.” There’s dignity in that kind of candor.

Another thing I’ve observed is that clarity prevents projection. We all carry a unique past, shaping the lens of current perception. Without clear communication, it’s easy to assume someone’s intentions based on people who came before. Direct words interrupt that habit. They anchor us in what is actually being said, not what we fear might be meant.

And finally, openness defines boundaries and expectations. That doesn’t make relationships rigid; it makes them navigable. When two people reach an understanding about the pace, hopes, and limits of what they’re building, they can move forward without constantly checking the ground beneath their feet.

I share this as an observation from someone who spends a great deal of time thinking about human motives, loyalty, fear, and courage… themes appearing in my stories because they matter to me in real life. Love (especially between women who have often had to carve out space for themselves) asks for a certain bravery of the steady kind. The bravery to speak plainly. The bravery to listen, and perhaps most of all, the bravery to know where you stand.