For those of you who don’t know, I’m Rain (hence the tongue-in-cheek title). I'm a sci-fi/fantasy author with way too many worlds (primarily dystopian) chilling in my back pocket, a full cast of characters (all sassy) bopping around in my brain, and high high hopes of getting traditionally published (cross you fingers...and toes plz!!).
In addition to including an abundance of parentheticals, this newsletter will explore the ins, outs, ups, and downs of writing and what it looks like to chase the authorial dream!
Please reach out, ask questions, offer suggestions; I’d love to connect. Thanks for reading, thanks for following along on what’s bound to be a quasi-chaotic journey, and…uh…stay dry out there, folks!
Xoxo,
Rain ☔
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 ☔
Funny story, I meant to kick-off this whole newsletter thing five months ago. It all started when I spent thirty minutes constructing the perfect Instagram caption and thought, “huh, maybe I ought to share some of this stuff not beneath a goofy reel of me dancing around in my pjs.”
I was determined, I had a plan, and then the BER months hit…
In SeptemBER, I signed with my agent, Des Salazar of Metamorphosis! Holy Forking Shirt Balls!😀
In OctoBER, my writing buddy Jen and I launched Pathfinders Writing Collective (PWC)! We’re a fun bunch, come hang!😜
In NovemBER we started #PaWriCo24: PWC’s build-your-own, 3-month NaNoWriMo alternative!🤘
And in DecemBER…I got sick as hell. Womp womp.☹️
But now, I’m healthy and hyped for another year of writing, editing, chasing that publishing dream, and cheering on my favorite community of all time!
Okay, here we go!!
📃Current WIP(s):
📈WIP status(es):
📚Current read(s):
✨Other:
"Share Your 2024 Recap!"
"New Year, New ME!"
"What are your resolutions?!"
Sometimes ✨New Years!!!✨—and all its cheesy sayings—can seem trite asf (<-- easing in my non-spicy language friends). But, I’ve always really liked this time of year. A time to reflect, reset, and refine.
Some of you may know this, some of you may not. My writing journey actually started with a New Year’s resolution. It sounds so lame, but in 2018 after losing my Opa (grandfather) to cancer and my Oma (grandmother) to Alzheimer’s, I had this sort of WHAT THE F*CK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE? moment.
I hated my job, I hated the programs I was applying to, and every cover letter and "statement of purpose" I wrote was a big fat stack of lies. Another year was coming to a close and my brilliant plan was to....drumroll please 🥁🥁🥁…change nothing. How freaking bonkers!?
But…secretly 🤫...for years...I’d thought of myself as a writer. Which makes absolutely no sense because at the time I’d literally written NOTHING, but hey, our brains are good at letting us live in the make believe, especially when doing so feels waaaaayyyyyy better than existing in the real world.
Anyhow, during that last week of the year, I decided to give myself one shot at the writing dream: 1 year to write 1 draft. If I failed, then it was time to axe the dream. If I hated it, then it was time to axe the dream. (Don't even think about coming after me for using e's in the word axe.)
Within a month, I was addicted to writing. My goal had been two 2hr-sessions/week, but by March, a day without writing felt like a day without skin, I was vulnerable, and hurting, and freakishly incomplete. My love for writing blossomed and pushed against every boundary in my life. I was sneaking words in during my lunch break, daydreaming and leaving myself voice memos in the car, and boring my poor partner stiff with character sheets and multiversal timelines. Not gonna lie, it was a total blast! And, surprise, surprise, when the year was up, I didn't axe the writing dream.
Jump forward to a year ago today. At the top of 2024, with draft 11 of *that very book* 👆 done and dusted, I went on a hike with my partner Oats (short for Oatmeal, obviously). Now, when I get walky, I get talky, so with 9 miles ahead of us I had plenty of time to voice my woes about writing. Draft 11 wasn't doing well in the query trenches and I'd all but deemed it and the whole story garbage.
Catching me totally off-guard, Oats turned to me and said, "I'll be so f*cking mad if you quit now."
Those kinds of statements aren't really Oat's M.O. He's usually the "do what makes you happy" type. And yes, he made a caveat that if writing wasn't what I wanted, THEN it was okay to stop. But he knew that wasn't the case, I knew that wasn't the case, and damn it if that statement didn't stick in my brain like a pin.
It was the first time anyone had turned "You got this! Go for it! Follow your dreams!" into "How dare you not go for it? How DARE YOU give up on YOU?"
From January 2024 to April 2024, I did another rewrite, top to bottom. From April to August, I queried over 250 agents. In September, Des reached out. And in about two months from now, that book will be going on submission to publishers (while I work on the next big thing).
"Share Your 2024 Recap!"
"New Year, New ME!"
"What are your resolutions?!"
In other words…
Reflect.
Reset.
Refine.
A little cheesy? Sure. A little trite? Sometimes. But so much can happen in a year, two, three, four, more, if you choose it. But you have to be ready when you’re not. And you have to start even when you're scared. And if all else fails, you gotta go on a nine-mile hike and complain SO MUCH your partner finally tells you to shut up and stop being a little punk. Writing is choosing writing again, and again, and again. Every day, every project, every submission, every new year. This year I choose more books, more short stories, and more submissions.
So, what will your 2025 look like? A repeat of last year or something new?
📘: The Searcher & The Hunter by Tana French — just enjoy, just sink into the townlands of Ireland and soak in all the magic these poetic mysteries have to offer.
🎥: A Real Pain starring Jesse Eisenberg & Keiran Culkin — I cried in the theaters…basically the whole time, so…best of luck.
🎵: “L’enfer” by Stromae — but also the whole Multitude Album, and if you enjoy that, you might as well listen his whole discography.
📺: Arcane — this will likely be my TV rec for all time, thank you, good day.
We did it! First newsletter! Be sure to reach out, ask questions, offer suggestions, and share with all the bookish/writerish/nerdish nerds you know and love! Sharing is caring.
Happy January! Happy New Year!
XOXO,
Rain ☔
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