Flying Faster

March 2024 || Spring has sprung, and with it, all of life's demands.

My Pen in the Air is a newsletter from the desk of an unexpected novelist filled with essays, poems, short stories, and monthly updates on life, writing, and more. Every post goes out entirely free to all readers (though you may opt to further support my writing through a paid subscription). // Sign up here:

“Wow, you really come down the stairs fast for your age!” he says.

I stop moving. A look of incredulousness at his statement passes between us, mirrored. I blink and blink again. His freshly-minted, ten year-old, freckled face breaks into a grin, and blueberry, birthday donut crumbles out of it onto the counter.

“At my age!” I exclaim. His mini-me, besides him, belly laughs, showering the counter in powdered sugar. “And what is that supposed to mean?!”

“It’s just — that’s how fast I come down the stairs!” he says, unsure whether he’s poked the bear or if I’ve taken it in good sport. I can already see the wheels turning in his mind: putting us both to the test with his beloved Timex.

I feign a stooped hobble around the island to grab the spray and paper towels. Always going behind. In a creaking voice, I say, “It’s a wonder I’m even still alive.” They both erupt in laughter with which I quickly join in.

Besides love, I think laughter may be the deepest medicine in the chaos of life.

And chaos has been a bit on the uptick, lately. Not full-bore, exactly, but more.

That’s not abnormal for an emerging spring. Historically, March through early May is a little haywire on our schedule. As our month took shape, though, there’s been more than normal sprung on our days: a visit to see extended family, a visit from extended family, expenses, medical procedures, heck, even time itself.

I may fly down the stairs (which feels like a miracle given where I was just six months ago), but life seems to be flying yet faster — no stopwatch needed to tell. I’m of the age that the events of the day and the days themselves move at such rapid pace I can’t believe the first quarter of the year is all but over.

Tell me, does it feel the same for you?

This month, the harried pace of life was remedied largely by our continued digital reprieve. Margins have felt like true margins, though smaller than I’d prefer. We found our moments of calm in quiet walks, playing outside, art made at the dining room table, and lots of reading. More than maybe ever, our stories — in books and carefully selected shows — have been shared.

Even still, I’m pruning at time spent on my phone or the computer. Part of the end of this fast has been the workings of creating a Digital Rule of Life. A set of guidelines, for myself and for our family, for device use in this season of our lives.

On my list, if you can believe it, is still unsubscribing from e-mails.

“We miss you,” Chanel says, just today, and I laugh again.

Little does Chanel know, by the time I actually own an item stamped with Coco’s namesake, my children will wonder that I can even make it up the stairs, at all.

I celebrated six months of writing this newsletter on March 8th and penned a spontaneous reflection called the Six Things I’ve Lost on Substack Notes. Click through if you’re interested to read back-end thoughts on what this platform has helped me to lose.

Revisions on The Other Side of Hope have been on pause this month with not much time for long-form writing, but still the project moves along. I’m learning to stay in touch with the work, most days, even if I can’t write much: reading what I’ve already reworked, keeping a book of research open at all times, and character study while on walks and, oddly, writing bits of poetry.

Which, if I can say anything about this month, it’s that poetry has come back to me as a practice, and it’s thrilling. Just in time for National Poetry Month in April! I’ve got more to share about that next week.

In case you missed it, I sent a little poem inspired by my spring obsession with birds and what they teach me. And if you did read it, already, I’ve since attached an audio recording of me reciting the poem. (I might be “cringe,” but I loved doing it.)

There’s a new pen (or a few) in town!

This month, I finally took the leap and purchased my first (second, third, and fourth — gulp) fountain pen(s). The kids, too, each have their own starter pens, now (Platinum Preppy Mediums in Black for two and a Kakuno Medium in Black, for those curious), and I’m on the hunt for the perfect one for Cliff.

When I tell you I’m a convert, I mean it. I researched for months (anyone surprised?) and finally dove in, starting with my own Preppy and what is now a small (but thrilling) collection of LAMYs (Al-Stars, again, for the curious) in varied nib sizes along with convertors and inks.

I’ve learned and played a lot with them, doodling and writing simply because it feels novel and then it always turns into something more, like magic.

It’s been fun to see the kids experiment and create with them, too (like this fantastic piece of promotional material I discovered our youngest had made):

A gallery of March's made things.

Each night this Holy Week, we’ve sat in the soft glow of our living room lamps while I read aloud from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis.

I was the same age our middle child turned today when my grandparents gave me the boxed set for Christmas. Nearly thirty years, I’ve treasured these stories, but never more than when they’re shared (again and again) with the people who mean the most to me. We know this story, and yet every night, the pleas for “just one more chapter” do my heart a world of good.

It’s been a hefty reading month, so for brevity’s sake, here’s the lineup of what I’ve finished* (and any attached thoughts in italics, beside):

*Read-alongs:

These aren’t finished, of course, but it’s time for a brief Q1 update on my read-alongs with

Simon Haisell

of Footnotes and Tangents (who’s done an absolute bang-up job of guiding and enriching these reading experiences with daily chats and weekly, comprehensive summaries and expositions of events, themes, and more. It genuinely makes me feel like I’m in a class WHICH I LOVE).

War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy — 393 pages down, 915 to go. This month’s readings were filled with the kind of shock and longing that made me so thankful the story’s never been spoiled for me. Tolstoy, I think, would be a bit more difficult for me to digest and really understand at a more rapid pace. The characters feel as though they’re changing at a pace that is far more believable as a result of reading this slow.

Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel — Mantel is, unequivocally, one of the best writers I have ever read. I’m not even done with this book (finishes in April) or the remaining two in the Cromwell trilogy, but this may end up being one of my favorites of the year. The Henry Tudor era of England has always fascinated me, but Mantel has taken one of my least-appreciated characters of that time and made him — well — dear to me? I still have no idea how.

Read-alouds:

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, Kate DiCamillo — I definitely had to stop reading to collect myself a few times, both in tears and laughter.

My Father’s Dragon, Elmer and the Dragon, The Dragons of Blueland, Ruth Stiles Gannett — the boys loved these books about a resourceful and clever young boy’s outlandish involving a dragon and I loved them solely for that reason.

The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame — I’m not sure I’ve ever read the unabridged version of this book because it’s honestly blowing my mind. It’s felt, in a way, as though I’m reading this story for the first time ever.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis — enough said.

Poetry:

How to Fly in Ten Thousand Easy Lessons, Barbara Kingsolver — there’s something about Barbara’s writing, even in poetry, that feels so earthy and human, with just a whisper of so much more.

Life:

Digital Minimalism, Cal Newport — To be honest, my first read of this was a skim because I was interested in a quick fix without really being ready to put in effort. With much more practiced digital minimalism under my belt, ironically, I was much more receptive to its message. The upstream swim, I think, requires reequipping oneself with respite in the work that’s already come out (and still coming out) on why and how to stay the course.

I recognize this was a lot, and if you’ve made it this far, I’d give you a piece of my favorite carrot cake I’ll be making for our Sunday celebrations, this weekend. Alas, you instead have my deepest gratitude.

I promise you nothing less.

Thank you (again and again and again) for reading,