Before we get started, let's check in. We breathing? We remembering to drink water? When's the last time you made yourself a cup of tea to simply enjoy a cup of tea? Maybe have a sit. Grab something hydrating. And cozy up with a sweater (or a fan if it's warm where you are). Then take a deep breath and a moment just for you.
Ah. Okay. We feeling a bit better? Good. Good.
So, this month's musing is a bit of a doozy. If you don't have space for it, that's okay. You don't have to read it. If you just want the updates and the recs, scroll to the bottom. And if you ever want to go back and read old newsletters, "last month's letter" will be posted here shortly after "this month's letter" is sent out. 😊
I'm not going to sugarcoat. January was both a giant shitstorm here in the U.S. (and beyond really, we share this planet after all), and an anomaly in the space-time continuum, clocking in at an egregious 75 days despite only being allotted 31. Rude. And non-binary kiddo, oh non-binary kiddo (because I'm done saying boy, oh boy), did my mental/physical/spiritual/emotional/everything-al health take a hit.
One day I was all #fuckthepatriarchy and the next I was sobbing into a tub of Ben and Jerry's, Googling how the heck to legally leave this country. But planes aren't safe anymore. And my passport expires next year. And... And... And...
Needless to say, but I'm gonna say it anyway, January (aka the state of the world) hardcore effected my writing.
I literally had one character tell another, "We don't feed the beast" — referring to an entirely fictional oligarchy [insert major side eye here] — "We feast on the beast." Not so slowly and very surely, all my projects are becoming femme-rage, queer-rage, discrimination-rage, "How America Wasn't Made Great Again" dystopian hellscapes. Oopsie.
But gosh, how selfish am I? To worry about my writing, and my barely existent authorial career, and my access to birth control when people are losing their jobs, and being pulled form their homes, and marching for their rights, and speaking out, and standing up, and digging their heels in...
I should be digging my heels in.
I can dig my heels in.
But how? I'm so privileged, but how do I wield that privilege? And I'm scared. But I don't deserve to be scared...
But I am...
Because this is scary.
On Martin Luther King Jr. Day — a day so muddled with emotions I still can't wrap my head around it — posts upon posts filled my feed. People hating one another. People calling for action. People begging for help. People offering reminders of love, hope, and togetherness. It was good, and it was bad, and after checking in with loved ones, I quickly put my phone down. I needed the noise to stop.
I went for a hike (again, such a privilege), then on the drive home talked through all the shoulds, and coulds, and woulds with my partner. I couldn't silence the fear, the guilty, and the panic, but all of a sudden there was room for a new, more manageable thought: What can I, a rando, writer-chick who knows jack about politics, actually do?
Because I'm not powerless, even if I alone do not hold as much power as our oppressors.
When I got home and peeled off my muddy rain gear, I sat with my fears, and my frustration, and did what we writers do best: stared a blank screen for forty-five minutes.
After that however, I made a list. A few days later, I shared it beneath one of my reels. Then one of you lovely humans requested that I share it here (and yes, I speak to myself in 2nd person):
Reminders:
The list doesn't make the fear miraculously vanish. Nor does it stitch the world back together. But it reminds me that even when I'm scared, and freaked out, and overwhelmed, I care. And I can be helpful. Because I can be all the things, all at once.
We know the from our stories that internal (and external) conflict is the stuff of radical change. We write reluctant heroes and villains who show mercy, we build hateful worlds then craft characters who desperately need love. The writer's toolbox is stocked with contradiction and complication. If we can face these things on the page, force our characters to do hard work and overcome, we ourselves can do the same, all the while feeling ALL the feels.
📃Current WIP(s):
📈WIP status(es):
📚Current read(s):
✨ Other:
📘: Sister, Maiden, Monster by Lucy A. Snyder — def check out the trigger warnings, but holy smokes! What a wild, rage-filled, creepy, kinky ride. Expect goosebumps and trippy, brain-swirly goodness.
🎥: Touch with Egill Ólafsson, Kôki, Palmi Kormákur, and Masahiro Motoki — I know, I gave y'all a weeper last month, and now I'm doing it again. But this time, I'm offsetting it with a 2nd film rec: My Old Ass with Aubrey Plaza and Maisy Stella — okay, did I cry? Technically, yes. But was I also in stitches? Yes.
🎵: TBH, I've just been listening to Doechii and emo classics from my youth. So...Doechii. But also like...Three Days Grace.
Okay, my loves. That's way more than enough from me. Have a great weekend! Feel all the feels. Don't blame or shame yourself for feeling all the feels. Write. Read. And stand up for what you give a damn about.
Happy February! If you want to read January's newsletter, you can do so here.
XOXO,
Rain ☔
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