A list of things I’ve wanted to write about in this newsletter:

—my kid introducing me to songs by Björk I’d never heard before and how she knows that both Post and Debut were my main soundtrack throughout my solo trip to Mexico when I was 24

—an essay about a photo shoot I have yet to do and my conception of the persona I’d inhabit

—working alone and working with others

—thresholds

—the word “flokati” and what it evokes for me

—a still from a scene in an episode of the HBO Max tv series My Brilliant Friend that my kid said reminded her of how she thinks she and I could live

—my bookshelves (in depth/a continuation)

—my love of cooking shows

—bibliomancy with the mini-interviews

—saying no to a thing because it didn’t pay writers

—things I thought of when I was run/walking a marathon

—the appeal of bearing pain alone

—ultramarathons and Marathons Sables in the Moroccan desert

—enduring pain

—Animal Crossing

This is not an exhaustive list. I haven’t mentioned the books I intend to write about (for now: one is a reread, the other is a new book) or some of the other vaguer premises I’ve jotted notes about. Also not included are some of the nuts and bolts posts about writing, which was something I tried to do more of earlier in the history of this newsletter.

It’s an understatement that so much gets in the way of writing. I’m stoked that I have an assignment I’m working on at the moment. And I have to remember to reserve energy to complete it. Just as I have to reserve energy for the transcription of my journals project (almost done with 1996! Five more years to transcribe), and the writing of this newsletter with my self-imposed weekly deadline.

I’m tired. I’m tired of chronic pain and how I need a day between busy days just to recover; of the endless menus and hold times for every phone call I must make for my mother and myself; the way people talk online about the Epstein files; curling; the way the school superintendent never, ever mentions ICE; the way the wall in my backyard is bowed; the sound of sirens and helicopters; and the faces, masked and unmasked, of the people who are trying to shred any semblance of safety, care, and trust anyone has, in anything.

That’s the short list.

I’ve given you two lists here. One, aspirational, the other, my complaints.

In between is space.

It’s space where I locate the energy to keep going, even when it hurts (and some days have felt that desperate lately).

It’s space where the writing happens, finally, thankfully.

Buy Excavation, Hollywood Notebook, and Bruja from Bookshop.org for a little discount, plus support your local independent bookstore at the same time.