Collecting bees and hammers
I don’t know how to drive this thing properly, but here goes.
I have an essay up over at New Verse Review, and another over at Tar River Poetry. Both owe a lot to my friends. Matthew got me the Tar River gig, and encouraged me to respond to Elijah’s piece. Elijah was immediately on board with what I wrote, and encouraged me to send it on to Steve, who was also immediately on board. (Steve’s the kind of editor who will make sure your spelling of “Gordon Gecko” is corrected to “Gordon Gekko” and not even need to mention it.)
I’d forgotten how much I love writing essays, and how much I wanted that to be a part of what I did. At a certain point, it all felt too difficult, and I thought it’d be easier to stop trying. Now, I feel like I have better skills, and more support.
The support really matters. I wish I could tell myself 10 years ago that what I’m actually missing is the people. I need the people. Fuck the voice that interprets that need as “needy”.
Which brings me to: I also recorded an episode of Sleerickets with Jonathan, taking on the eternal question of art monsters. If you’ve listened to both halves of the show, you’ll know how much I mean it when I say that all this encouragement, space, generosity, and enthusiasm is healing.
Other stuff:
I’ve been writing more, reading more, and doing both without thinking about how whatever I’m doing might translate into a podcast episode.
A friend told me about a library where it’s actually quiet, and I’ve been walking over there most days.
I started reading The Varieties of Religious Experience.
I started going to a Dante reading group.
I finally figured out how to play an F chord on guitar. (It sounds awful.)
I remembered that it’s possible—and important—to do things for fun. Not because they can be mADe IntO cOnTent or are supposedly leading towards something that could “advance” “my” “career”.
On Friday night, Thom and I watched this unhinged talk in which today’s internet is described as a “digital Skinner box”. God knows, I’m susceptible as hell to little love hearts showing up around my name and the things I’ve written, and probably it’d be good not to hang out near all that for too long. In other words, I’m conflicted about Substack. But obviously not yet conflicted enough not to try it out.
I hope you’re doing ok. And I hope there are moments when it’s better than ok.
<3