“The morning star always gets wonderful bright the minute before it has to go, doesn’t it?” — Our Town, Thornton Wilder

My first novel, The Beach Club, came out in the summer of 2000. This was the era before e-readers and audiobooks, back when the easiest place to grab your summer reading was the Borders near the mall. My publisher had printed 2,500 copies of my book; the advertising and marketing budget was nonexistent. Miraculously, People magazine chose The Beach Club as their Beach Book of the Week—and my publisher immediately ran out of copies. For two weeks in the middle of the summer while my publisher went back to press, my book wasn’t available…and potential readers were on to the next.

With such an inauspicious start, I could never have predicted what was in front of me: a career that has spanned 24 years, 30 novels, one book of short stories, and (at least one) television adaptation. Sold-out signings across the country. A number one spot on the New York Times Best Seller list. Over 10 years of “Elin Hilderbrand Bucket List Weekends” on Nantucket with bus tours, cocktail parties, and a visit to the legendary dive bar the Chicken Box. Legions of devoted readers with their own nickname: the Hilderbabes.

The most difficult part of my job is to deliver exactly the same thing each year, completely differently.

It’s been a wild ride, and I’m proud of what I’ve built—but my success also comes with a distinct kind of pressure. I have long said the most difficult part of my job is to deliver exactly the same thing each year, completely differently. For 23 of the past 25 summers (I took 2001 and 2004 off, back when my children were babies), I have delivered a Nantucket-based summer novel. For seven years in the middle of my career, I published two books— four novels in my Winter Street holiday series and three set on the winter paradise of St. John USVI. I covered every part of the island of Nantucket, every holiday and festival; I wrote about every possible drama and scandal appropriate to a beach book. I did historical fiction and a murder mystery, I wrote about hotels (twice), restaurants (twice), and weddings (twice). I even wrote about “rival” island Martha’s Vineyard (twice!).

I left no cobblestone unturned.

Then, in 2021, I announced my retirement. I still had three Nantucket novels to write, but I wanted to give my readers plenty of time to get used to the idea. My departure wouldn’t be abrupt or come as a surprise; it would be, in the parlance of our times, intentional.

As you can imagine, there was some pushback from both my agents and my publisher. I didn’t warn them of my announcement beforehand, so it came as a total shock. My decision about this was, again, deliberate. I didn’t want to be faced with the offer of a lucrative contract because I worried that I might succumb to the power of the almighty dollar and agree to keep going.

I was determined to follow my instincts because I live in fear of repeating myself, and of the quality of my books slipping. I never want anyone to pick up my latest novel and say, “She’s lost it.” Or “She phoned it in.” Or even “This just wasn’t as good as the last one.” My currency has been my consistency: My readers trust that each Elin Hilderbrand novel they pick up will maintain a certain standard, and it is important to me that I not let the Hilderbabes down! I am retiring for my readers’ sake.

I have called my decision to retire the ‘purest’ decision I have ever made.

I am also, of course, retiring for my own sake. While my children were growing up, I was not only writing; I was doing 40 signing and speaking events a year. I missed things: my sons’ basketball games, school choir concerts, the day my daughter won the sportsmanship award in softball. (Working mothers everywhere will recognize this sinking feeling.) I now find myself with kids in their early 20s and late teens who still (thank goodness) want to hang out with me, and I want nothing more than to be a full-time parent to them in these precious years before they move out and start their own families. I’m collaborating with them, too. My daughter, Shelby, and I are writing two novels set at an elite New England boarding school. (She just graduated from St. George’s School in Rhode Island.) Our first, The Academy, will come out in September 2025.

I have called my decision to retire the “purest” decision I have ever made. Yes, I can see the allure of fame and relevancy, not to mention more money. But the standards I keep for my body of work are more important. These books are my legacy, they will outlast me, they will provide a look at Nantucket—and at the notion of an “American summer”—in the first quarter of the 21st century. I can put an endcap on these books knowing each and every one is my finest effort, written in good faith.

I’ve had the kind of career aspiring writers dream about, one that has gotten better with each passing year. I made real and lasting connections with my readers, and I have been able to pay homage to the place I love most in the world. I have achieved enough financial autonomy and security that I can pick and choose future projects. In my final novel, Swan Song, one of my recurring characters, Police Chief Ed Kapenash, is retiring—the story details one last case for Ed (a fire and a missing person!) and one last hurrah for me. I used the Thornton Wilder quote above as my inspiration. I want to be the morning star, brightest at the end of my career, right before I “disappear”—or (wink, wink) move to a different part of the sky.