Hello Loves, I hope this message finds you well. I hope it finds you ready to spend some time outside or with loved ones or about to read a book you love. I hope this message finds you comforted. Things are okay over here. I'm headed out this weekend to my first Norwescon , and tomorrow I'm participating in their writing workshop. I'm excited and nervous, the way I always feel before meeting new people and hearing what they think of my work. But I know it'll be good for me. I always learn something from these types of experiences, and I couldn't hope for more. After the conference, I'm flying to Cleveland to say goodbye to an old friend. I'm sure it will be hard, but I know it will also be a time of great love and support with his beloved family and community. I'm grateful I can take the time to go. Otherwise, I'm doing okay. Working hard at my volunteer job, spending lots of quality time with my kids, digging away at a novel draft, a
I probably shouldn’t attempt to write something coherent right now. I know better. I’m emotionally drained, physically tired, and psychically overstimulated. The world, my version of it anyway, is a dire place. I could laundry list my problems, those personal, familial, creative, and professional, but honestly that all seems weak sauce compared to the national and global crises of the past few weeks and years. Since 2016. Wait, since before that. Since, I don’t know, always. It’s oh-so-tempting to throw my hands up and declare nearly everything Doomed and Horrifying. I mean, unless you’re a rich white cis het man. Then I guess you can still worry about the global climate crisis. If you feel like it. Anyway, I’m tired and a bit snarky, but I’m here. I’m still here. I haven’t posted to this blog in a while, but I’m here. I’m guessing if we’re close enough for you to be reading this, that you’re tired too. And I want to say, very clearly: I’m with you. I am. This is not meant to be a ch
(Posted this first on social media, but I'd like to keep it here too.) One year ago was the last day of school for our kids and the first real day of isolation for our family. It's hard to measure what's been lost in a year. Countless gatherings with friends and family. Trips. Hugs. Music and theater and restaurants and festivals and conferences. Celebrations. Jobs. Relationships. Ability to focus. And more than any of this, lives. Real lives of real people who we lost during this global tragedy. My heart truly aches for everyone who endured grief, illness, or other sorrow. Here in Seattle, I'm slowly beginning to feel some change for the better. I know more than a few folks who are already vaccinated (though it seems like it might be months before members of my household qualify). Our schools are also reopening (with massive modifications and precautions in place). But before we rush ahead, I'm counting the gifts of this past year too. More time with my family and
Comments