Step by Step

December 2023 || Too many metaphors, too little time.

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My iced mocha, half-sweetened, sits sweating in my sunny spot in the coffeeshop where I’ve come to squeeze in just a couple hours of work. It’s the longest stretch of time I’ve had to write in over a week: my work days filled with seasonal to-do lists a mile deep and now volunteering at the kids’ tutorial.

I’m wearing sunglasses inside to protect my sensitive eyes. Despite the cold, my neck turns pink in the sun’s rays through the south-facing windows. A peaceful piano playlist taps delicately at my tired soul. But beyond the noise-cancelling tech in my ears, I can still pick up the blare of jazzy Christmas tunes overhead.

It’s an apt metaphor for my mind right now: tension between the desire for a careful pause — one candle flickering in the dark to Sinéad O’Connor’s “Silent Night” — and the unavoidable hustle and bustle — a pulsing, neon light show set to Mannheim Steamroller’s “Deck the Halls.”

I may yet write the essay percolating in my brain on the perpetual tug of this season. Not the normal tug, but the kind spent betwixt two and three or four places my entire life, never fully whole or settled or still for Christmastime. I know this splintering of self to the core, and I know I’m not the only one.

It’s good to be here, though, right now, breathing deeper and letting the tension ease as the words flow. It’s a small step in the write right direction. (Yes, I did accidentally use “write” first and decided it was the kind of Freudian slip you simply have to acknowledge.)

Living

Since my last tidings post, I’ve made immense strides in healing from my ankle and midfoot sprain. From the boot, to a brace, and then finally a steel shank in my shoe. I’ve attended physical therapy a dozen times, weathered the possibility of a torn lisfranc tendon, and come full circle to “absolutely no need” for an MRI or surgery. Thank You, Lord.

Today I walked down a long flight of stairs in steel-less shoes, facing each step straight on instead of shuffling down sideways like I have for months. It was all I could do not to cheer when I got to the bottom. PT will carry me through the end of the year, and I’ve got my sights set on the long rambling walks I’ve missed so dearly.

Writing

After posting weekly in November — all those hours spent reflecting, drafting, and whittling away at words that tell my story of writing fiction the last five years — it’s been strange to not be on deadline this week.

I’ve opened four new essay drafts and touched the TOSOH manuscript exactly once in the last week, and that was to move the bound and printed copy of the most recent draft from one bag to another. Baby steps.

The series was an incredible joy to share with you all and took the bulk of my work time in November. I averaged just under seven hours per post last month, most of which was spent in refinement. I don’t know if this is too much or too little time spent on Substack posts, but the editing reps have given me a huge boost of confidence in the revision of TOSOH and a deeper connection to the story.

Reading

On Tuesday, I had the immense pleasure of seeing

Ariel Lawhon

speak at Parnassus Books about her new novel The Frozen River. Beginning it before bed that night was a poor choice, though, because I couldn’t bear to put it down.

That evening, I also reunited with or finally met several writerly friends I’ve known mostly through Instagram over the years, or more recently through Substack. And even real-life friends I haven’t seen in too long (Julie!). It was a joy to see you

Claire Gibson

,

J.T. Ellison

,

Jolina Petersheim

, and

Marybeth Whalen

! Thank you for paving the way and holding space for people like me. It means the world!

It’s been a slower reading season, but I finally started and finished The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes in time to see the movie, braved the steamy dragon world out of curiosity and read Fourth Wing, and have been savoring A Gentleman in Moscow, a book I’ve waited too long to read.

Speaking of —

Simon Haisell

is hosting a slow read-along of War and Peace, and I’m finally going to tackle this tome. I’ve read the entire Bible in three months and Les Miserables in a month, so W&P over the course of a year should be doable, right? I’m almost tempted to join in his read-along of Wolf Hall and the Cromwell trilogy, but still on the fence about that.

Listening

It’s my first Advent season playing vinyl, and it’s such a delight. These four albums have been heavily on rotation, as they are every year, except literally rotating in album form this time around. Who'd have thought?!

Watching

Suleika Jaouad

and Jon Batiste’s documentary “American Symphony” just came out last week on Netflix, and it is absolutely stunning. As individual artists, they are astonishing, but their partnership and display of resilience, together, is divine. You’ll need tissues for this one.

You may have seen this Chevrolet commercial floating around in the ether, but if you haven’t, it’s 1000% worth watching. It so beautifully demonstrates the importance of place in our stories and what we recall. Just grab the whole box, really.

Thank you for pausing your own precious time to share this space with me. Being here with you helps lift the heaviness I’ve felt accumulating: the mounting expectations matched only by the surety of my failure beneath their weight. They live only in my head, though, these expectations, and writing is a grace that works to release the pressure valve in immeasurable ways.

The light through the trees outside casts shadows that dance on the floor of this little nook, and I’m reminded that gratitude — for the candles, the stringed lights, and the sun in all its glory — will carry me, step by step, through this season.

It will carry you, too.

Until next time,