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One of my 2026 goals is to revive this newsletter, but results thus far have been mixed. So we’re going to try something new! Because creativity thrives within constraints, I’m attempting a new format for this publication. Here’s what you can expect moving forward1:

The Materials

We’ll begin each month with a curated list of everything feeding my creativity. This can include books, films, meals, adventures, explorations, events, articles, and fixations. My hope is that this will be more than a media round up or a recommendation machine; it will be an opportunity to share what’s shaping me and uncover hidden patterns.

The Making

Mid-month, I’ll share something I made2 from those materials. This is where my carefully structured plan becomes more porous. Some months might be a short essay, like my recent crisis over AI. Others might be a weird short story, a photo essay, the launch of a zine, a personal project like The Artist’s Way, or a guide on how to have more ideas3.

Creativity isn’t a solo endeavor. It requires a conversation and begs you to dig a little deeper. Why this book, at this moment? How does a film fit into a broader narrative? Where can your body take you, and why did it choose that place? How do all these things show up in what you think, try, build, create?

Between these two regular installments—The Materials, and The Making—I hope to create a newsletter worth reading, and worth writing.

Let’s dive in.

The Materials: May 2026

As soon as I started pulling these materials together, I immediately saw a theme. Let’s see if you can find it, too.

FILM: We watched The Bride! and I Love Boosters, two very different films that seemed to be in conversation with each other. The Bride! is about a reanimated corpse who ends up on a Bonnie and Clyde-esque bender with Frankenstein’s monster; I Love Boosters is difficult to sum up in a sentence because it’s packed with so much, but suffice to say a group of professional shoplifters called The Velvet Gang are on a quest to steal high-end clothes and re-sell them to the needy (plus about 87 other plot points). Both films were slightly ridiculous, visually stunning, maximalist romps that still managed to say something profound. Because I’m trying to spend more time with the art I consume, I read reviews after I watched them and learned both directors were taking big swings, committed to their visions even when they knew the critics might disapprove. I didn’t love either movie, but I thoroughly enjoyed them both. I could see the places the directors’ attempts fell short, but also the moments where their risks felt transcendent.

BOOKS. It’s been a great few weeks for reading. On my “recently read” list—Lost Lambs by Madeline Cash, Clutch by Emily Nemens, Brawler by Lauren Groff. Lost Lambs reminded me of the two films, in that the plot toed a line—it felt like reality, but turned up to 11. So much going on, too many plot twists, and yet the heart at its core was tender. Clutch is similarly packed, following the lives of five 40-something millennial women during a particularly tumultuous three-month span, peppered with so many tangents and text messages that it bordered on manic yet felt so real. Brawler, Groff’s new collection, was perfect, obviously. Each story felt like a jewel, and I had to rest before starting the next one. At the end of the book, she included short notes about each story, and they felt like little prose poems tracing the lines of inspiration, the materials that went into each piece. What a gift!

MOVEMENT. Along with two of my strongest friends, I signed up for six weeks of small group training at the YMCA. Together, we’re learning how to lift heavy weights, how to handle a barbell without hurting ourselves, how to move through the weight room with swagger (or maybe that’s just me). I’ve done many extreme sports through the years—run marathons, played roller derby, climbed hundreds of feet outdoors—but the weight room has always been my white whale. I’ve already learned so much, and it feels like a whole new world opening up. The goals of the weight room also speak deeply to me. We’re working on progressive overloads, slowly adding more weight to see what our bodies can handle. More than once I’ve surprised myself, thanks in part to the friend standing over me, ready to catch the barbell in and when my muscles fail.

FRIENDS. The Coven—my friend group, which has gotten witchier over the last few years, much to our collective delight—showed up in big ways. First, inspired by our goal setting club, we held our first barn raising. One hot Sunday morning, we descended on Cassidy’s house to spend a few hours chopping, pruning, cutting, organizing, and weeding. By mid-afternoon, her yard looked amazing and we felt even better. Many hands make light work! The following week, we conjured many extravagant birthday celebrations for Kat’s 40th. The highlight: paddle boating around Greenfield Lake with everyone decked out in overalls (Kat’s signature look), followed by a Victorian-inspired picnic with delicious food, too much cake (also overalls-themed), and just enough lounging in the shade. As regular readers know, I love going big for birthdays. I also love a theme, which gives everyone an excuse to think a little bigger, be a little weirder, and embrace something outside the ordinary. What a privilege and a pleasure to go big on behalf of a dear friend!

WORK. Two job-related things: first, a long conversation with a friend going through a career crisis, which gave me a lot to think about and consider and appreciate. An excellent reminder that jobs are temporary and we are not defined by our careers! Work to fund the life you want, not the other way around. That said, my not-so-new job is still going well. In May, I spent a few days in Austin for my company’s first user conference, which was a great success! It made me realize how far I’ve come in just four months. I can make decisions and be a leader. I can execute ideas with very little oversight. I am trusted and empowered. I have permission to take risks, to swing big, to lift more than I thought I could. I don’t love work, but I do like feeling challenged. I’m glad this job is giving me that opportunity.

MUSIC. And finally: Ani DiFranco came to Greenfield Lake, my favorite local venue, and I obviously got tickets. Ani was one of the artists who influenced me at my most malleable time. It was both exhilarating and slightly disorientating to hear the songs I loved in my youth updated for middle-age, to croon “32 Flavors” along with the audience in the year 2026, our voices drifting over the cypress and the alligators. Getting older is a trip, and I’m here for the journey.

NEXT UP: The Making, in which I’ll share a sneak peek of and the story behind The Coven’s latest collaborative zine. Until then!

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Here are some moments from the last few weeks that brought me real joy and meaning:

• Clearing off the kitchen table and laying out the pages of the group zine we started at this year’s Creative Retreat. Reading through the recipes, how-tos, collages, and comics my dearest friends created by hand and slowly piecing them into a story.

• Completing the Wednesday NYT crossword puzzle with no hints and no Googling—a rare feat!

• Taking Hugo for a morning run before work, his joy and excitement and slight confusion as he learns to stay at my side.

• Book club, the highlight of my month. A lively discussion about witches and magic over a meal with so many favorites, laughing so hard I almost cried.

• Finally sending an overhanging 5.9 at the climbing gym, my forearms screaming as I nearly fell off every move but somehow held on.

Do you know what all these beautiful moments have in common? None of them happened on a screen, and none of them involved the use of AI.

Here are moments from the past few weeks that did involve AI:

• My job.

Only one bullet, but that one bullet takes up quite a bit of space.

At work, Claude is my constant companion. My team is lean—I’m the only full time content person, I’m still new, and my manager is on maternity leave. Because I don’t have a ton of support—above or below—Claude is how I ask questions, process feedback, brainstorm ideas, and actually meet my deadlines.

AI is a necessary part of my job, but that’s because my company—like so many tech companies—have made it necessary. In lieu of more resources, a bigger team, or more reasonable goals, CEOs instead hand out licenses to Claude with the expectation to use it as much as possible.

I have mixed feelings about AI, to put it lightly. It was trained on stolen intellectual property that’s being sold back to us as “innovation.” It requires massive data servers that are taking over the landscape, guzzling up to 5 million gallons of water per day, and poisoning the water left behind. It’s reshaping the economy, fueling wealth for those at the top while sparking massive layoffs in the name of “growth” and “profits.”

And then there’s the existential crisis of it all, the fact that we’re farming out creativity and connection, our most precious and human qualities, to machines that cannot think or feel or form an original idea.

And yet, as I confessed: I use AI. I even enjoy aspects of the tool, mostly how quickly it helps me do mundane tasks, like data analysis and editorial planning.

But that enjoyment isn’t the point. The point is that, if I want to keep my job, I have to use AI. I also have to market and sell it, since all the tech companies (and some shoe companies) have suddenly become AI companies.

Here you might be wondering: why doesn’t she just get a different job, one that doesn’t come with so much existential baggage? A few reasons:

• I don’t see a world in which the richest, most powerful people decide to put the good of humanity ahead of their own self-interest, pull the plug on this whole AI thing, and go back to how things used to be. Once you open Pandora’s box, you can’t close it.

• Everyone is getting laid off! It’s very hard to find any kind of employment! Tangling with the existential crisis of AI is actually a privilege—I could be struggling with the question of how to pay my mortgage and feed my family.

• I’m already 43 years old and I’d like to retire one day. Mathematically, it’s too late to start over.

• AI will continue to become more powerful and more prevalent. I can let it be something that happens to me, or I can learn to use it to my advantage.

For now, I feel like I’ve found a balance, at least existentially:

Use AI to get your job done. Avoid it at all costs when you’re off the clock. AI should never touch your creative work or your relationships. If you have a problem, figure it out yourself. Sometimes you’ll get it wrong, and that’s okay. Let yourself be surprised. Embrace the slow and inefficient. Take the long way, even when it’s inconvenient.

Remember: highways are for robots. Humanity lives down the back roads. AI is programmed to speed single-handedly toward its final destination, but we get to pull over and have a picnic in the grass.

How lucky we are to be human.

🧵 Recent Besties

• Best recent read: Crux, by Gabriel Tallent. A (YA?) novel about two high schoolers obsessed with becoming dirtbag climbers. I love friendship novels, and this one delivered. It also got super technical when it came to describing their climbs, which I enjoyed! Read during a short climbing trip to Rumbling Bald, and I had to pause when I got to the crux of the story (see what I did there?) because I didn’t want to read anything too scary right before we climbed.

• Best date night: We went out for sushi and saw Project Hail Mary last weekend. I only knew the basics going in, and was delighted to realize it is essentially a buddy movie. So fun!

• Best new project: It’s spring, so obviously I’m working on a new zine. This one is a bit more literary and it’s about AI (surprise, surprise). Listen, I need to work though my existential crisis in multiple formats, those are the rules! I’ll share more soon.

• I Found It: The Best Free Bread in America was the best essay I’ve read since grad school. Low stakes, completely ridiculous, the kind of writing that made me literally laugh out loud. And yet! There were also two moments when I found myself weeping, struck by the woefully inadequate ways we try to express deep love. A perfect reading experience. I loved every crumb.

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Hello! It’s been a while! I’ve been very busy and distracted by my new job (more on that below) but I desperately missed this space. As I’m wont to do, I’ve been thinking about the purpose of this newsletter, and the short answer is: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

There’s no strategy. There’s no niche. There’s no editorial calendar. There’s no grand plan. Which is exactly why I need this kind of writing in my life—because it’s not beholden to goal, there’s an opportunity to find new connections and pockets of understanding, to make something that can only be created by my messy human brain. In the age of AI, there’s value in holding on to that.

So let’s catch up on the last two months. And then, since we’re here, we might as well keep going.

The big news: I got a new job.

After an eight year run at the same company, I started a brand new, fully remote job at the end of January.

The change has been a revelation.

I haven’t become a cheerleader for capitalism—far from it, in fact!—but I also can’t deny how good it feels to be interested in and curious about the thing that takes up the majority of my week.

I work as a content writer specializing in B2B SaaS, and if that means anything to you, I’m sorry. One thing I’ve learned over the last decade is that, in the tech industry, a long tenure can be a liability. There comes a point when you’ve gone through too many pivots, reorgs, layoffs, and leaders. I tried to stay plugged in, but I couldn’t light up—my bulb was obscured by baggage.

And so, last June, after a particularly devastating round of layoffs (ask me what’s it’s like to see your brand new CMO get arrested for embezzlement two days after laying off half your team!) I decided it was time to move on. It took roughly six months, 100 applications, and 10 interviews to find the right role. Those numbers are actually pretty good—when it comes to job searching in this economy, I’m among the lucky ones.

At a new company—even a similar one, in a similar role—my bulb feels brand new, and brighter because of it. New faces, new challenges, a new industry, and most importantly—no baggage. Instead of feeling jaded when an opportunity or challenge arises, I feel experienced. I’ve seen a lot and I can share those lessons. The biggest one: nothing is as urgent or as permanent as it seems.

A new job also comes with a new routine, and you know I love a routine. Most of my team is on the west coast and I’m in North Carolina, so meetings are scheduled in my afternoon, often until 6pm. This means I don’t start work until later in the morning. Suddenly I no longer have to go to sunrise workouts, or rush through a dog walk before my commute. As a lifelong morning person, I now have more space and time during my favorite part of the day. You would not believe the amount of living I get done before 10am—it’s been downright lovely.

One worry I had about my new job was that being fully remote would be isolating, but the opposite has been true. At the end of the day I don’t feel the need to stay home—I’ve been here all day! As soon as I log off, I want to go somewhere, see someone, or do something. I have energy. I feel alive! (At least until 8pm.)

That hasn’t yet translated to creative work, but this newsletter is a start. I’ve been at the new job for a little over two months. While it’s been incredibly busy and hectic, I’m starting to feel more settled, like I can use my brain for other, non-work related things. The fact that this coincides with spring—traditionally my most creatively fertile time of year—is a gift I’m not taking for granted.

More on all that soon. In the meantime, what’s new with you? 💛

🧵 What I Made

MAKE is my word of the year. I’ve made a lot of things we since we last spoke, but they were mostly memories. Now that I’ve primed my literary muscles with this newsletter, I hope to create some new art soon! In the meantime, a short summary of the last two months:

Spent a weekend on my annual craft retreat to Lake Waccamaw with 14 of my best friends—aka, the Coven! Took two friends climbing outdoors for the first time and they loved it! Celebrated Pi Day with many delectable desserts! Traveled to Puerto Rico with Nathan and climbed cliffs in the jungle—such an adventure! Read a ton of books (9 so far this year, tysm vacation!), including two perfect ones: The End of Romance and Sky Daddy (aptly read on the flight home from PR, a perfect experience).

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Quick note: I spent the morning reading the latest horrors coming out of Minneapolis, where ICE agents murdered yet another human being. If you haven’t yet, call your senators and demand that we defund ICE. There’s a senate vote next week and the 5 Calls website makes it really easy. If you hate talking on the phone, call early in the morning and leave a message. ❤

When I shared my goals for 2026, I mentioned embarking on a “Buy Nothing New” year.

It started with a 30-day decluttering challenge I completed in November, which created space for a few epiphanies. The act of physically going through every drawer, closet, and corner proved, unequivocally, that I have everything I need. A whole shelf of candles, never burned. Enough pens to last a lifetime. Endless embroidery thread. Coffee cups, the twist ties from bread bags, empty glass jars. Books I still haven’t ready. Shoes I’ve never even worn, mostly because I forgot they were in my closet! While I did get rid of many things, I also just inventoried and organized what I already have. Which was way more than I thought!

Completing this challenge was like releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding. There was nothing I needed, nothing substantial I lacked—a lesson I’m constantly relearning, especially as someone with a scarcity mindset. This newfound wisdom inspired a new goal: nothing new in 2026.

Now, I’m not the first to embark on such a journey. Just last week, Substack sent me a link to a “No New Things” challenge is leading, which contains a lot of great ideas and support. My particular year-long challenge is a little different, and so of course I made my own loose list of rules:

1. If I need something, I’ll try to find it used.

2. If I can’t find it used, I’ll try to borrow or barter.

3. If I can’t borrow or barter, I’ll attempt to make it myself.

4. If I can’t make it myself, I’ll do my best to go without.

5. If I can’t go without and I absolutely need it, I’ll buy new while making the appropriate sacrifices to the gods of consumerism and doing my best to source the item sustainably.

What has this looked like in practice? I’m glad you asked.

I was walking through Lowe’s last week, on a quest to purchase cactus soil to repot plants I already had, in pots I already owned. (A win!) While there, a discount box of holiday-themed dog sweaters caught my eye. Before I even knew what was happening, I found myself pawing through them, searching for Hugo’s size. When I realized what I was doing, I dropped the sweaters and ran for the register, clutching my soil and nothing else. Close one!

On the other hand, we’ve been slowly redoing our “library.” Nathan is building new bookshelves and we painted the walls a deep, moody blue. We wanted to replace our old Ikea chairs with a leather loveseat, which would absolutely be the cornerstone of the room. For weeks we searched Facebook Marketplace and haunted the aisles of the secondhand stores, but to no avail. The room is small, we needed a very specific size, and loveseats are hard to come by. We decided to buy new and balanced our transgression by purchasing a fat stack of used books at the library’s annual sale.

My hope is that this challenge will help me live a life aligned with my values by focusing on creativity and community and rejecting mindless capitalism. Also that I stop hoarding empty jars. I lack nothing, as it turns out! Whatever needs I have will not be filled by more stuff! If I really need a jar in the future, I will find one! I trust the universe, I trust myself!

I’ll keep y’all updated on my progress and pop in with a few more reflections once the project has been underway for longer than three weeks. Until then, remember: you have everything you need, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!

🧵 What I Made

MAKE is my word of the year. To help me stay on track, I’m going to share a little round up of some things I made each month. Here’s what January looked like:

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In 2025, my guiding word was “RISK.” It turned out to be an ideal choice for a year that challenged and stretched me. My risky endeavors included: persevering through puppy hood and turning Hugo into a Very Good Boy; going on a family cruise to the Bahamas and not jumping overboard; learning to lead climb outdoors and testing our new skills during a trip to the New River Gorge; riding every roller coaster at Busch Gardens; learning to illustrate and publishing a zine about Hugo; and, after 8 years at my company, taking a leap and accepting a new role, which I start at the end of this month (more on this soon!). RISK showed up in small ways, too—asking for more, trying new things, interviewing for jobs, being vulnerable, breaking habits, experimenting with mixed results, and learning fresh lessons. A good word for what was, ultimately, a good year.

Which brings us to 2026. This year, my mantra is “MAKE.”

Make is an active word; it applies to art, but also friendship and community, civic engagement, career and capitalism, health and wellness, and my ongoing desire to be someone who creates more than she consumes.

Makers think differently. They tinker and experiment, choose the long road over shortcuts, and welcome friction over quick fixes. Makers are expansive and thoughtful. They use their hands for more than just typing, their eyes for more than just watching. They find joy in the journey and never settle for less.

This ethos is threaded through many of the goals I set for 2026, which are broken into the usual categories. Here’s how I plan to make my way through a new year:

🌈 Creative Goals

• Make more zines and table at a zine fest (creativity + community!)

• Write one long-form piece and finish it by the end of the year

• Take a workshop or class in a new medium

• Revive this newsletter—send 12 issues, maybe more!

• Make a handmade New Year’s card and send it in December

• Complete a Stitch-a-Day hoop for 2026 (it’s been 4 years!)

🫶 Personal Goals

• Travel intentionally and make better use of my PTO

• Attend more in-person events (especially since I’ll be fully remote)

• Complete every NYT crossword puzzle of 2026 (hints are fine!)

• Apply to be on a local board

• Finally get my first tattoo

• Celebrate the Equinoxes and the Solstices with the coven

• Stand up for my neighbors; love and protect my communities

🧘 Mind & Body Goals

• Read 30 books (I only hit 21 last year)

• Make time for cardio (run or bike once a week)

• Finally try therapy?!

• Get 4 massages (+1 for last year)

• Send a V4 and lead a 5.9 on sport (indoors)

• If it’s bike-able, ride my bike!

💸 Financial Goals

• Have a “Buy Nothing New” year (more on this soon!)

• Excel at my new job!

• Pay off our new-to-us truck

• Make a will (for real this time)

• Max out our various accounts so we can retire early-ish

Last but not least, a gift for you!

My goal setting club met today and it was awe-inspiring, as usual! To help us kick off 2026, I designed a workbook-style zine in Canva and printed a copy for everyone. If you’d like one, you can download it for free! It contains exercises, prompts, and opportunities to reflect. I’m hoping it will help us conjure up some magic as we embark on this new year.

Cheers to 2026! May it offer what we need. 💛

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I usually end the year with a “best books I read” post, but honestly my reading year was sort of ho-hum—not as much reading as usual, and a lot of books that didn’t quite hit. Instead, I’m going to share the best things I did that were new, novel, or noteworthy.

2025 was a trying year. Both broadly (*gestures at the world*) and personally. My professional life felt in flux, my creative projects amounted to a single zine (which I am very proud of, but still!), and my personal goals were mostly focused on turning Hugo into a normal dog. Despite it’s challenges, there were many good moments. Let’s relive a few of them before we throw ourselves into 2026!

I took Instagram off my phone.

Back in March I cleaned up my phone, with the goal to treat it as a tool rather than a toy. Informational apps were fine (banking, maps, work, Duolingo) but anything purely for entertainment (Instagram, mostly) was banished. (The only exception to this rule was the NYT Games app, please see below.) Now, I scroll Instagram once or twice a day from my desktop, which gets the job done without being addictive or causing me undue stress. Life changing!

I joined a coven.

In February, our annual trip to Lake Waccamaw resulted in the formation of a coven—or, at the very least, naming our 14-person group chat “Myrtle’s Coven.” We’ve always been friends, but rebranding ourselves became a kind of alchemy. When I needed something—support, laughter, a few powerful spells—I went to the coven and they delivered. I’m so grateful for this group and these friends, and so proud of all the ways we’ve carried and cared for each other. Can’t wait for Lake Waccamaw Year Four!

I read All Fours by Miranda July.

I’m late to the game (I feel like everyone read this last year) but it was still a memorable experience. I didn’t love the whole book (the first half was better than the second, and also the narrator made some choices I absolutely questioned) but I loved diving into the brain of a woman in her 40s. Maybe it’s the perimenopause speaking, but this book helped me see this decade as a thrilling time of transformation, an adventure full of risk and possibility. Definitely the most noteworthy book I read this year!

I invested in dog training and daycare.

Hugo’s start up costs were substantial, but getting professional help was the best investment. His initial training consisted of 3 months of private sessions, and then he qualified for “structured daycare,” which is run by the trainers. HE LOVES IT. Apparently he is the most social, playful, and popular dog there, which is feedback I never thought I’d hear when he was a terrified, reactive, anxiety-ridden creature who destroyed half our house. He’s not perfect (he still freaks out when he hears a dog behind a fence, and also he ate a sweater last week) but he’s come so far and we love him so much. 2025 was definitely the Year of Hugo!

I added magnesium to my diet.

I’m not big on supplements but my nutritionist recommended I try a daily magnesium pill, and wow, I love it. I take it at night, after dinner, and I feel like I sleep more deeply, my energy levels are more sustained, and I’m overall calmer and more zen. Are these results simply the result of a placebo effect? Maybe, but that’s okay with me. The brain is powerful! If magnesium can help me trick it into behaving, let’s go!

We went on our first real climbing vacation.

We spent one week in West Virginia, climbing in the New River Gorge. It was a thrilling adventure—we’ve been outdoor climbing a bunch, but mostly to one crag. This was brand new terrain, and it was challenging, fun, scary, and exhausting. My word of the year was "risk", and climbing was the area where I took the most risks and made the most progress. I’ll never be a “great” climber, but being “great” isn’t the point. It’s wonderful to have a hobby that challenges me, humbles me, and involves zero screens.

I paid for the NYT Games app.

The NYT paywalled the Mini and it worked—I shelled out $18 for full access to all the games (it was on sale!) and I haven’t looked back since. My current favorite is the full crossword, but I can only do Monday and Tuesday without using Autocheck. I’ve also gotten back into Wordle and Connections. Spelling Bee can bite me. This development has increased my screen time, but I’m also using my brain, so it’s an exception I’m willing to make.

I committed to yoga, for real.

At the beginning of the year, inspired by , I made a chart with 120 squares to track my yoga practice and unless something extremely dramatic happens, I’m going to meet my goal! I’ve practiced yoga for over 20 years, but haven’t had a true “home” since leaving my beloved Morning Glory Yoga Studio in Nacogdoches. Having a studio I love is pivotal to my practice, and I’m so glad I finally found one. If you need a yoga home in 2026 and you’re local, I highly recommend Port City Power Yoga! It will change your life.

Many more things happened, but those are the highlights sticking with me on this late December day. I’m very much looking forward to 2026 and naturally have some big plans; I’ll share more in January.

Until then, I hope the end of your year is peaceful, calm, and full of love. I’ll be casting a spell for all of us. ✨

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We have a large garden in our front yard. An unorthodox choice, but the best one for our situation—big space, lots of sun, grass is dumb. Over the course of two years we tore up the lawn, built raised beds, mulched in between, and planted fruit trees in the empty spaces, including figs, loquats, lemons, and satsumas. The garden requires a lot of weeding and tending and we’re always behind schedule, but after five years we’re starting to get the hang of it. Vegetables grow. Fruits ripen. Herbs flower. And still, there are surprises.

A few weeks ago we noticed a little bit of green poking up through the mulch, right where it borders the driveway. A weed, probably. We ignored it, as there were other, more pressing tasks to tend to. The weed continued to grow. Leaves unfurled. Flowers blossomed. Apparently the bees paid it a visit because one day, as we were walking by, we paused and took a closer look. The weed was not a weed. It was a very small tomato plant, and it was bearing fruit.

This tomato plant is what we call a “volunteer”—the result of an intrepid seed that found its way into the dirt and took hold. Volunteers don’t care if that spot is a sliver of dirt next to the driveway. They don’t mind if it’s definitely not tomato season. They know that when a door cracks open, you waltz in, no questions asked.

In the spirit of this little tomato, here’s a list of doors I’m currently opening, closing, and leaving ajar:

• Schedules! In case you missed it, this newsletter is now on a monthly schedule—maybe for now, maybe forever. I still like writing to you, but I don’t have as much to say, or maybe it just takes me longer to say it. Thanks for sticking around, and for opening these newsletters whenever they arrive. I see you and I appreciate you!

• Routines! I’ve been thinking a lot about routines, and how they shift and change with the seasons. (Hence the move to a monthly newsletter!) As I write this the sun is rising at 6:20am, but it’s really 7:20, because we turned back the clocks and also because time, like money, is an imaginary force that nevertheless controls our lives. Now that it’ll be dark in the evenings, I’m thinking about how I can shift my routine and claw back some control. More evenings at the YMCA and the yoga studio. Craft nights with friends. Puzzles at the kitchen table. Anything to prop open the door so life doesn’t feel like it ends when the sun goes down.

• Mornings! I started seeing a nutritionist last month, which has been fascinating. My insurance covers it (for now, lol) and I figured I’m in my mid-40s, my body is probably going to start ~changing~ soon, and I want to get ahead of things so I can continue gardening and practicing yoga until I’m 103. So far, the biggest revelation is that I should NOT be waking up at 5am, immediately drinking two cups of coffee on an empty stomach, and then going directly to a 6am workout. Something about cortisol levels, adrenaline, etc. So now I wake up at 5am, drink a cup of peppermint tea, eat a piece of toast with peanut butter, and THEN workout. This change was not as difficult as I feared, and I actually do feel calmer and steadier throughout the day. Wild!

• Clutter! For November, I’m doing a 30-day decluttering challenge with my friend April (HI, APRIL!). My house doesn’t look too cluttered or messy, until you open a drawer or closet—then all hell breaks loose. It feels like a good time to do this, because I’m going to be spending more time indoors due to the aforementioned darkness. Plus texting updates to April is super motivating! Highly recommend finding a friend as neurotic as you.

• Books! I read The Dream Hotel last month and can’t stop thinking about it. In it, a woman is accused of planning to commit a violent crime based on data collected from her dreams, and is taken to a retention center where she must prove she’s no longer a risk before she can rejoin society. It’s about surveillance culture, corporate bureaucracy, and how easily we trade freedom for the false promise of less friction. In other words: EXTREMELY MY JAM. I’m not kidding when I say the first thing I did upon finishing the book was to delete a bunch of apps and turn off my location data. That’s one door I do NOT need open.

• Hugo! Finally, I leave you with this—Hugo’s entry into his daycare’s Halloween costume contest. The name tag was designed by April (HI AGAIN, APRIL) and the shirt is mine. I’ve never dressed up a dog for Halloween, but this year it felt vital and necessary, a bit of silly fun to combat the darker days. Leave the door ajar for joy. You never know where it’ll come from, or when it will arrive.

Thanks for reading! I’ll see you again in December. Until then, stay cozy and leave the lights on. 💛

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How silly—especially when no one can stop me from sharing it right here, with the 2,000+ people who subscribe to this newsletter! Therefore, please enjoy this very short story, which is dedicated to all those who spend the majority of their week in a cube. I hope it finds you well.

5 Reasons Angela is Not a Culture Fit

One: She refuses to embrace our core values.

Our values are the foundation on which this company was built, embedded from the very beginning. During panel interviews, we watched perspiration pool in the armpits of prospective colleagues and inquired how they would, if hired, “Respect Our Differences” and “Win for the Team.” That’s how important our values are.

Angela isn’t like us. Once, at the end of a meeting, Brian told her to “Make Work Fun!” in regard to a deliverable. Instead of nodding or chirping, “How could I not?” she cocked her head in mock confusion. “Fun?” she asked. Even our remote attendees could feel the energy shift. We half expected Angela to slap Brian, but instead she began to laugh. She kept laughing, even as she snapped her laptop shut and left the room; it echoed down the hall as she returned to her cube. The rest of us sat in shocked silence until Madeline finally said, “Well, I guess I’ll give everyone three minutes back,” and the meeting finally ended.

Two: She will not upload a profile picture to our video conferencing software.

When Angela works remotely, she keeps her camera off. Which is fine! Colleagues are encouraged to bring their whole selves to work, and sometimes your whole self doesn’t include an image. But because she hasn’t uploaded a photo to her account, her name floats in blocky white letters on the black screen during meetings, as mysterious as a midnight ocean. What is she doing behind her camera?

It’s not like we’re demanding a professional headshot. Not everyone has the means or talent. Others, like Lauren in Legal, are simply not photogenic. We’re sympathetic. In those cases, it’s absolutely fine to substitute the photo of a beloved pet, and we know Angela has a cat. Last year, during QBRs, we heard its plaintive mew in the background while she answered a question; the fact that she’s never even mentioned its existence is alarming.

Once we asked IT to switch Angela’s camera on while she was in presentation mode, just for a second, just so we could finally see and know. But when the camera icon lit up, her screen was still black, still blank, still empty. Then we remembered she has one of those covers over her webcam, and always keeps it shut. We slumped slightly in disappointment, but not enough for her to notice.

Three: She never refers to her colleagues as family.

We know, we know. “Family” isn’t kosher anymore. Something about work-life balance, about the fact that your actual family can’t fire you. Except they can, if you think about it. Judy in Sales has two children who won’t speak to her, and she didn’t even get severance.

So yes, we’re a family, and if that’s a red flag then perhaps you’re not a culture fit, either. Angela certainly isn’t. Not only does she avoid all mention of family, work or otherwise, she also refuses to connect with us on LinkedIn despite our many polite digital requests. She doesn’t even have a work wife!

If you think about it (and we have), we spend more time with our colleagues than anyone outside this building. Our intimacies are real, even if we’re only here due to the timing of a job opening. (On occasion, they can become too real. Three years ago, Joanna and Maurice, both in Marketing, were caught in the Wellness Room, and it was a whole thing.) For Angela to turn away from our sacred bonds, to deny herself such connections, is more than mere betrayal. It puts all of us at risk.

Four: She doesn’t aspire to a leadership role.

During mid-year reviews, Angela told her manager that she didn’t need a promotion and had no desire to be a people leader. She wanted only to complete her tasks to the best of her ability and go home to do—what, exactly? We never found out.

(Learning all this was an HR violation, of course, but exceptions must be made for the good of the company.)

What does Angela do with her time? What does she think about, if not our noble work, our cross-departmental duties, our workplace politics and inside jokes? Does she have outside jokes? Does she have a life beyond these walls? When she receives an Outlook notification, is her body compelled to open each new message even when she’s sitting at the dinner table with her children, or laughing at the bar with her friends, or making love to her partner, one hand furtively reaching for her phone between thrusts?

If we aren’t constantly striving to advance our careers, to reach the next milestone, to traverse the lattice of opportunity and become subject matter experts, what is the meaning of all this?

No really, we’re asking: what is the point?

Five: She quit.

It was a revelation, to be completely frank. If Angela could quit—if she could untether herself from this company, find a new job, never think about her team again—does that mean we could, too?

But if we all quit at once, who would hunch with our work wives over reheated leftovers in the office kitchen? Who would order Panera on anniversaries and at the end of each quarter? What about our Outlook calendars, our performance reviews, our KPIs, our core values?

And so we stay right where we are. Eventually a new hire takes Angela’s place. She decorates her cube with family photos, the cat included, and has already expressed an interest in management. Good for her.

As for the rest of us, we never admit to thinking about Angela, not while driving back and forth to headquarters, not while waiting for others to join the meeting. During sex, we’re never distracted by the memory of her mouth twisting with laughter that day in the conference room, how the flash of her teeth told us something we never asked to hear. We thrust again and again until there’s nothing left.

We quit.

🌻 Relatable Recs

• Reading: This McSweeney’s piece, co-written by dear friend and viral sensation Lucy Huber. You’ll laugh until you cry, and then you’ll just cry: The Trump Administration’s Recommendations for Managing Pregnancy Discomfort

• Also reading: This essay by my friend Kat, who got caught in the path of Hurricane Helene last year and found 36 hours of salvation and community: Memories of a Gas Station Parking Lot

• Watching: We just finished Escape at Dannemora, which is leaving Netflix at the end of the month. It’s a limited series, slow burn prison break drama, based on a true story. I couldn’t stop watching, even though I felt deeply uncomfortable the entire time!

• Reading: Just finished The God of the Woods for book club, about a girl who disappears at a summer camp and was an absolute page turner—a great fall read. Now I’m reading Liquid, in which a 33 year old underemployed Iranian-Indian woman decides to give up a career in academia and marry rich instead. It’s funny and biting and extremely intelligent, and so far I love it.

• Eating: I keep telling myself it’s soup season, even though it’s still 85 and humid in North Carolina. And yet, every Sunday, we load up the Instant Pot and we persevere! Soup season will not be stopped!

• Climbing: I finally passed the lead climbing test at the fancy gym in Raleigh, thank you, thank you. It only took 4 tries. But now I can practice climbing even more dangerous and scary things, which. Yay? Yay. Yay!

• Solving: So many crossword puzzles, thanks to a subscription to the NYTimes Games app. They paywalled the Mini and I was left with no choice. As a result, my screen time has gone up but my risk of dementia has gone down, so it feels like a fair trade.

• Looking forward to: seeing my nephews in October, actual fall weather, mid-term elections, a few camping trips, more books, more writing, more dog walks, more soup!

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I recently learned about a new TikTok trend via a LinkedIn article—here’s an explainer I found on the NYT, because I don’t know how to use TikTok. (Yes, I am in my 40s! Why do you ask?)

The trend is called “The Great Lock In.” From September until the end of the year, you “lock in” and rally your motivation, stay focused on your goals, and finally accomplish all the things you said you were going to do back in January.

I immediately made this my entire personality.

Last week I was a new person—ambitious, energetic, creative, and ready to stand on business. Inbox: zero. Kitchen: clean. Workouts: crushed. Lunches: packed. Work-life: balanced. By Friday I was pretty tired and mayyyyy have gotten takeout for dinner, but that’s okay. Tomorrow’s another Monday, another chance to lock in.

This end-of-year burst of energy may have a new name, but for me it’s an annual occurrence—proof that nothing is actually new. Longtime readers of this newsletter may recognize it as Big September Energy with updated branding. Summer is over, my month-long birthday celebration has finally ended, and it’s time to get shit done.

This past summer was particularly unproductive, for boring reasons I will not get into here. Let’s just say parts of my life were in limbo, and it kept me rooted to one spot. But I’m tired of giving so much power to other people, sick of outsourcing my destiny. It’s time to wrest back the reins and turn this ship around.

I’m making steady progress on my goals for 2025 (made a new zine! spent so much time with friends! paid off some serious student loans! survived an outdoor climbing trip to the New River Gorge!) and I will continue to tick things off my list. But now I am also LOCKING IN when it comes to a few key areas:

• CAREER! I got a new role at work and I’m going to crush it.

• BOOKS! Reading fell by the wayside these last few months, which is a shame. I’m going to read at least 10 pages a day, which will inevitably turn into more.

• MORNING PAGES! These will be skipped ONLY if I’m using the morning to do something else creative, like write this newsletter.

• ART! My creative work always comes last, which means it’s the thing most often skipped. I don’t have to make art every day—weekly will suffice.

• THIS NEWSLETTER! I’ve been inconsistent, despite the fact that I love this space and all of you. So, I’ll write more! Letters like this one, but also fiction and illustrated essays. It might get weird, prepare yourself.

• COMMUNITY! I will continue to devote myself to friendship and love, which become more and more important as the world around us falls apart. I will make plans and not flake. I will be thoughtful and intentional about who gets my time and energy. I will deepen my current friendships, but stay open to new ones, too.

For me, the Great Lock In is about being present, engaged, and active. Not necessarily about being productive, but about paying attention. Each moment I will ask myself: is what I’m doing right now grounding me in this moment, or taking me away? Am I here, or somewhere else? What is in my power to control, and how can I use that power for good—for myself, my community, my peace, my art?

When it comes to locking in, these questions are key. 💛

🐕 Hugo Pupdate

We took Hugo on a week-long climbing trip to the New River Gorge two weeks ago and he was a champion crag dog. It’s hard to believe that this sweet and slightly anxious boy is the same dog that whose reactivity inspired a whole zine. Proof that we are all capable of growth, of change, of overcoming our fears and embracing the wild spectrum of life. Good boy, Hugo!

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Last week was my birthday—I turned 43. 🎉

For the last six years I’ve marked the occasion of my birth with a literary time capsule. This year I feel like changing it up. That’s the thing about birthdays, and about life—it’s never too late to try something new. So today, in honor of 43 trips around the sun, I want to share my beliefs around birthdays and why I love them so much.

A Grand Unified Theory of Birthdays

🥳 Belief #1: Every birthday is worth celebrating.

Without this basic understanding, the whole theory of birthdays falls apart. A person’s birthday is singular and personal, each year an achievement and a milestone. Every year is a gift, and there’s only one finish line.

I’m not big on holidays, but a birthday is different; it’s a holiday that belongs to one person. When it’s someone’s birthday, you get to focus your love and attention solely on them.

While every birthday is worth celebrating, how each person chooses to recognize it is different. For example, I always throw myself a party; others may prefer quieter rituals. The point is to do whatever makes you happy, to be open about your dreams so others can help make them come true, and to listen when your loved ones share how they want to observe their day. Birthdays are unique holidays that evolve over time, and learning how to celebrate each one, each year, is half the fun.

🎂 Belief #2: Birthdays are a joyride, not a job review.

I love to set goals, make plans, and write extremely long and ambitious to-do lists. I shouldn’t be surprised, then, by everyone who’s asked me if I set goals on my birthday. Friends, I do not! In my youth, I mistakenly thought I had to accomplish certain things by a certain age, but getting older has taught me that there’s no timeline. So, no: I don’t treat my birthday as an opportunity to account or measure. It’s simply a day to pause, celebrate, and be grateful that I’m here. Save the goals for January, please. I’m busy eating cake.

Also: you should have a birthday party. I know I said people can celebrate however they want, but honestly: you should have a birthday party! We don’t have enough parties, holidays come with baggage and expectations, and birthdays usually fall on a random Tuesday when no one has much going on anyway. You are a gift and your people want to celebrate you—let them!

💗 Belief #3: Growing older is good, actually.

I suspect many people don’t embrace their birthday because it forces them to confront their mortality and the fact that each year brings us closer to death. To that I say: of course you’re going to die! We all are! It’s the one thing every single person on this planet has in common! Please don’t let this completely natural and inevitable conclusion keep you from celebrating the fact that today, you are alive!

That said, there are some downsides to aging. Now that I’m solidly in my 40s, these downsides have been thrown into starker relief. My face is changing. My body is often sore. I can no longer drink more than two glasses of wine without suffering deeply the next day.

But the benefits of aging far outweigh a few wrinkles, some gray hairs, a little stiffness in the morning. Sometimes I look at my younger friends and think, Wow, you have no idea how much is waiting for you! Sometimes I look at my older friends and think, Wow, I can’t wait to know the things you know! Sometimes I wonder about all the friends still waiting for me, all the adventures I have yet to experience, and I feel grateful that each year brings me closer to them. Age is an expander: it creates more space for love, friendship, community, adventure, wisdom, and growth. What a gift!

💝 In Conclusion:

Don’t view your birthday as a burden. Focus on the gifts of aging. Throw a damn party! I can’t wait to celebrate you.

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Last year, I made a zine—my first in over two decades. Aptly titled So Relatable, it taught me how to create something tangible with my hands and heart, and how to be brave enough to share it with the world. After an experience like that, I wanted more. I was full of creative passion, primed for the next project.

Then we adopted Hugo and all my energy, creative and otherwise, went to him. Helping our new dog transform from a scared, anxious, reactive stranger into a (mostly) functioning member of our family was a journey. Halfway through it, I had an epiphany: this was my next zine. Four months later, Reactive is here.

If So Relatable was about creativity, then Reactive is about connection. While these two zines stand alone, they’re in conversation with each other. Both are about trying to be a better human, whether that’s through art, friendship, facing your fears, or taking risks.

As a creative experiment, this zine breaks new ground for me—it’s equal parts comic and confessional. Although I’ve written novels, short stories, essays, poems, newsletters, freelance articles, marketing copy, and more, it forced me to flex different creative muscles. During the four months I worked on this project, I read two graphic novels (Gender Queer and Murder Book) and a book about the art of graphic storytelling. Each time I sat down to work, I had to think about narrative in a new way and ask myself new questions.

Slowly but surely, I learned how to fill a page, how to arrange panels, how to develop a personal style, how to slow down time, how to maintain momentum, and how to draw hands. (I’m still working on that last one—please do not judge my hands!)

When it comes to this kind of storytelling, this form of art, I still have so much to learn. Despite my numerous shortcomings, I’m proud of the progress I made and I’m really proud of this zine.

Copies are $7 and you can order one a few different ways:

🐕 Venmo me!
🐕 Paypal Me!
🐕 Shop on Etsy!

As always, thank you for reading, supporting, sharing, and buying! Anytime someone orders a zine or even just hits the “like” button on one of these letters, I feel an actual thrill and a burst of good will. Connection is precious, and this is one way I’m reaching across the void. Thank you for reaching back! 💛

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I took an unintentional break from this space—my last issue was back in May, oops! The beauty of a personal newsletter is that when you disappear for a few weeks, few people actually notice. There aren’t any KPIs to hit, there’s no pipeline to drive, hardly anyone even unsubscribes! There’s only me, sitting on the other side of the screen, thinking about writing something to you and then thinking better of it, and doing something else instead.

So what have I been doing? Let’s see…

I’ve been consumed by work, but not in a good way. It’s been a rough few weeks for reasons I shouldn’t elaborate on too much right now, because I am a True Professional. But the whole work-life balance thing I usually pride myself on has been distinctly out of balance. I’m hoping to remedy that moving forward! Actually sending a newsletter, even a scattershot, catch-up one like this, is a good first step.

I’ve been slowly working on my new zine, which has been “almost finished” for about 4 weeks. Is it just me, or does the last 10% of a project always takes the longest? The initial bust of enthusiasm you felt at the beginning has worn off, and you’ve finished enough of the project to realize that it will not, in fact, live up to the vision you had in your head. The trick is to let go of the idea and appreciate the reality, which is easy to say and hard to do. So I’ll say it, and then I’ll do it: new zine dropping next Sunday, July 13! There’s nothing we love more than a deadline!

I’ve been trying to pass the lead climbing test at the fancy gym in Raleigh. I have gone lead climbing outdoors multiple times. I have caught Nathan on a big fall. I have led 5.7 routes, some of them nearly 100 feet tall. And yet when I’m being tested in a gym and someone is asking me very simple and reasonable questions, it’s like I’ve never seen a rope in my life. Yesterday I almost passed, but skipped a clip near the top and was automatically failed for my error. We’re going to try again in a few weeks. Fourth time’s a charm?

I’ve been taking Hugo on many adventures as a form of exposure therapy. Our little deranged rescue dog has come a long way in the last six months and we’ve been taking him pretty much everywhere we go. In the past, he would have shrieked like a banshee or bucked wildly out of fear or excitement. (Often both.) Now we can tell he’s having feelings, but he mostly controls them. He’s been to multiple breweries, a few restaurants, a disc golf course, our friends’ backyard, and the hardware store, in addition a weekly drop-in at doggie daycare. The thing about a puppy, even a deranged one, is that seeing the world through their eyes makes every familiar experience feel new. Is this what it’s like to be a parent?!

That pretty much catches you up on the last two months. I hope to write here more regularly moving forward. In addition to a new zine, I have some fun trips coming up, my birthday is right around the corner (a national holiday, as you know), my friend’s campaign for City Council is ramping up, I’m reading a lot of good books and eating a lot of good food, I’m trying to balance self-preservation with political action, and I’m looking for ways to use art and writing to examine the world and stay connected to you. Thanks for being here—truly, you’re a gift.

And now, a little flashback to previous Julys…

• July 2024: We saw The Flaming Lips and it was transcendent.

• July 2023: How to have 155 ideas in 31 days.

• July 2022: My brief foray into advice columnist.

• July 2021: Why quitting can be a good thing. I stand by this!

• July 2020: I’ve been taking social media breaks for a long time, lol.

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A few weeks ago, wrote a newsletter about forgetting, a beautiful meditation I read at exactly the right time. Forgetting, she muses, isn’t always irresponsible or tragic. Sometimes it can be “an intentional and respectful loosening of one’s grip on the past in favor of embracing the present.”

Forgetting—and her sister, memory—have been on my mind lately. I’m in my 40s now, but instead of fretting over gray hair and wrinkles, I’m worried about dementia and Alzheimer’s. To protect myself, I’ve started doing crossword puzzles and eating hemp seeds by the fistful, hoping to ward off the most insidious part of aging: losing myself.

I wonder if it’s too late; I’ve forgotten so much already. I have only a handful of clear memories from undergrad, and that’s not just because of the cheap wine and other activities. My 20s in Texas have sunk into a haze of red brick roads, bike riding, and roller derby. I thought memories—camping in Big Bend National Park, reading my work at open mics, crossing the finish line of my first marathon, meditating at a Buddhist monastery, my brief career as an academic librarian, my wedding day, our first dog Seamus—would be like a beloved television show you could replay on demand. Instead, they’re an echo at best, a dream I feel rather than recall upon waking.

*

Until a few years ago, my entire adult life was oriented toward a singular artistic goal—write and sell a novel to a major publisher.

For a while, it felt like I was close to achieving this goal. I published lots of short stories and essays. I won a few fellowships and awards. I got an agent and went out on submission. I had conversations with editors who wanted to buy my books.

But “almost” is a deep chasm, and I fell into it. My lifelong dream, my singular goal, remained out of reach.

Over the last two years, I haven’t written much. I needed time and space to figure out if the dream I’d been clinging to for over 20 years was still possible, still relevant. And if it wasn’t, I needed to figure out what could take its place.

This was not a great time for me, artistically speaking.

But slowly, I found a way forward. I read The Artist’s Way (and finished it!) and it had a profound effect on how I think about creativity. I decided to capture and express those feelings in a zine, a throwback to my earliest creative endeavors. These projects helped me see the myriad ways there are to live a creative life, to pursue art and self-expression, to connect with others, to make things with your brain and hands and heart. I accepted that my creative life could be more than writing and selling a novel to a major publisher, and it felt so much bigger, rife with possibility and potential.

But that old goal still hung heavy over my head, and it made every step toward something new feel like failure. I was ready to loosen my grip on the past so I could reach for something else.

Because we love a symbol, I decided to mark this transition by deleting my personal website (designed to look like the digital home of a novelist with a major publisher) for one that better reflects the artist I am and the one I'm becoming.

I’m a human who writes stories and essays, who makes comics and zines. I’m scrappy and self-published, and you can buy my work on Etsy or read it for free in this newsletter. I don’t believe art needs capitalism’s stamp of approval; traditional publishing requires too many compromises and I already make enough of those. I'm learning and experimenting and trying new things and sharing as I go, because the whole point of art is human expression, human connection.

Artists aren't made by book deals. Artists are made by making art. It's a lesson I keep learning and forgetting and learning again. But at least I’m still learning. 💛

🌻 Relatable Recs

• Reading: I’m on a graphic memoir kick right now, because I’m working on a new zine that’s turning into more of a graphic essay (VERY EXCITING). I just finished Gender Queer and now I’m reading Murder Book. Both are excellent in very different ways. I’m learning so much!

• Watching: We just started The Studio and besides being fast, funny, and kind of slapstick, it’s also a great little commentary on the struggle between making art and getting paid. Seth Rogen is an absolute doll.

• Exploring: We took Hugo on his first climbing and camping trip at Pilot Mountain two weeks ago, and he did so well! He’s come so far from the untrained, unsocialized, utterly reactive dog we adopted in December, and it felt so good to know he will be able to fully take part in our adventures!

• Growing: The spring garden is in full swing! We’re finally getting blueberries, the peas and carrots are almost ready to harvest, the cucumbers are perfect, and our cherry tomatoes are starting to explode. Spring is the best!

• Working: I’m sending this on a Tuesday from Charlotte, because I’m at my company’s annual user conference and time is meaningless. So far it’s been busy but a little more chill than years past, which is nice. Last night I explained the difference between “work friends” and “friends I met at work” and it wasn’t just the prosecco talking! I’m lucky to love so many people.

💛 Coffee Club

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For the last few months, I’ve been trying to find a way to streamline and simplify a daily chore—dinner.

Lured by the promise of a quick and easy meal with little prep and zero thinking, I tried a few different meal kit services. Dinner was indeed faster and easier, and required very little brain power. But something was missing. The flavors were subpar, the portions were too small, and the vegetarian options were not terribly creative. Plus there was so much waste! I couldn’t handle the prepackaged portions of parsley, the single parsnip wrapped in plastic. In the end, it was easier to accept my fate as a person who must feed herself every day. Planning and shopping and cooking and cleaning can be a drag, but it also means I get to eat exactly what I crave. As it turns out, doing dinner the hard way is much more satisfying.

My obsession with meal kit services was short lived, but the impulse that sparked it is pervasive. We live in a society obsessed with making things easy and convenient, full of shiny products and new services that promise to erase all friction from our lives. The proliferation of AI has only made things worse—how else do you explain the ability to receive a text message on your vacuum? One click this, automated that, just think of all the time and energy you’ll save!

But what, exactly, are we saving it for?

This is a sincere question. What are we doing with the precious hours these dazzling advancements have gifted us? Most of the time, we’re working longer hours, watching more Netflix, and spending more money on things we don’t need. Which, I suspect, is the point.

I’m tired of it. I don’t want to spend my time optimizing my existence until there's nothing left but a smooth, undisturbed surface. I want ripples and splashes, tidal pools teeming with life, a dark undertow. Life is in the mess, the annoyances, the moments where you have to slow down and do things the hard way. Humanity isn’t neat and tidy. People aren’t convenient. Easy isn't always the best.

Which is why I'm adopting a new mantra, a fresh manifesto, whenever and however I can: intentional inefficiency. It looks like this:

Taking the long way home, just because. Cooking an elaborate meal for no reason, including dessert. Growing your own asparagus and tomatoes. Adopting a shelter dog with a checkered past, and spending months painstakingly rehabilitating him. Making zines with crooked lines and amateur drawings. Searching for the perfect secondhand jacket, especially if it takes months to find. Reading long books and making peace with your library fines. Spending a full lunch break gossiping with your coworkers. Fighting for justice, even when the bend of the arc feels flat. Lying in the grass with your eyes closed and the sun on your face, even though the sink is full of dishes. Running and climbing with your friends after work, even though you’re tired and the couch is calling. Throwing a party just because. Asking deeply personal questions and oversharing in return. Wasting time as an act of resistance.

Remember: friction is how you make a fire, and fire helps us see in the dark.

✂️ Zine Update

My Hugo zine is coming along, slowly but surely! I'm hoping to finish it in the next few weeks. It's a big step for me, in terms of narrative and form, and I can’t wait to share the finished project with y'all.

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In February, my friends and I attended our third annual trip to Lake Waccamaw, during which we rent a huge lake house for “a long weekend of crafting, cooking, laughing, hiking, eating, napping, and following our whims wherever they lead.”

One of this year’s whims was to make a collaborative zine! I’m biased, of course, but I think the result is a beautiful, chaotic, sentimental, inspiring, irreverent, and creative souvenir from a perfect weekend. I hope it becomes a yearly tradition.

While making it, I realized the collaborative route is a great introduction for first-time zinesters—making one together is much less intimidating than going it alone. It’s also a fun way to invite others into your creative process. Instead of cutting and pasting alone at my desk, I get to share the experience with people I adore and get inspired by the unique ways they approach our group assignment. What could be better?!

If you want to make your own collaborative zine, my instructions (and warnings!) are below. If you want to buy a copy of our zine, Venmo $15 to @Christine-Hennessey or PayPal Me, and include your mailing address. These full-color beauties will be printed to order, so please allow two weeks for delivery! 💛

✂️ How to Make a Collaborative Zine In 5 Easy-ish Steps

1. Gather your collaborators

This step was easy, since I had a captive audience of creative people willing to humor me, but it’s important to remember that your collaborators don’t need to be writers or artists. Anyone can (and should!) make a zine! The barrier to entry is low, and that’s what makes it so fun. Start by sending an invite, texting the group chat, or taking advantage of an existing event, like a book club or a birthday party.

2. Pick a loose theme

The first night of our weekend, I gave a short presentation to explain what a zine is and spark some inspiration. (You can view my presentation here!) For our collaborative zine, I offered a few guardrails—I often find that working within limitations makes me more creative. Here were my very loose instructions:

• Create 1-3 pages inspired by this weekend. Some ideas:

  • Imagined lore from Myrtle’s life and legacy.

  • A made up history of parrots, fatmuckets, found whale skulls, or Lake Waccamaw.

  • A graphic representation of your favorite moment from this trip.

  • A list of everything you’ve eaten this weekend. Bonus: include a recipe.

  • A conspiracy theory about what is going on with Dale’s flounder.

  • Amazing facts about the longleaf pine.

Your theme can be as specific or vague as you like. Last year, a friend of mine made a collaborative zine about sandwiches; in college, I did a series on obsessions. Niche does not mean boring—passion can make anything interesting.

3. Set parameters and expectations

I told everyone I would photocopy and bind the zine the following week, then promptly deliver their commemorative copies. Any subsequent sales would go toward next year’s Waccamaw fund. What I did NOT realize is that printing in full color is WAY more expensive than black and white. Color was necessary for this zine, however (we’re a bright and bold bunch!) which is why it's a bit more expensive than my solo work. Keep printing costs in mind if you choose to make a collaborative zine and decide ahead of time if your project will be in color or black and white. To keep things simple, our format was a simple 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper, folded in half—a classic size and easy to copy.

Finally, a week turn-around was overly ambitious. It took me over a month to put the zine together. Luckily my friends are very patient!

4. Choose a deadline and collect submissions

If you’re in-person for a weekend, like we were, pages are simply due before checkout. If this is a long distance zine, you can create a shared Google folder or (my favorite) hand out your mailing address. Just find a way to get those beautiful pages to the person responsible for putting it all together, preferably in a timely fashion.

5. Choose an editor and assemble!

Since this was my idea and since zines are my ✨thing✨ right now, I was the natural editor for this project. I took all the pages home, laid them out on my guest bed (an essential part of my process) and got to assembling.

I suppose you could use a digital program, like Canva or InDesign, to put your zine together. I prefer scissors and glue. Everyone gave me their blessing to edit as needed, so I took a few liberties—adding color to a black and white page, combining two pages into one, straight up collaging the cover, etc.

Since each page was made by a different person (14 of us!) it took a while to find a narrative thread and figure out the flow and order of things. I moved things around, grouped pages by theme, and eventually an arc began to emerge. Once I was satisfied, I headed to Office Depot, spent approximately one zillion dollars, and made 15 copies as a first run.

These annual weekends in Lake Waccamaw give me many intangible gifts—connection, inspiration, deeper friendships—but it’s so nice to complement those things with something tangible, too. I love zines, and getting to share that love with some of the raddest people I know is the best gift of all. 💛

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Thursday was the first day of spring. I know because every pine tree in Wilmington chose to engage in a coordinated attack, the results of which are currently coating the city in a fine yellow sheen.

Thursday also marked three full months with Hugo, the rescue dog who has tested our limits, won our hearts, and taught me enough lessons to fill a zine. (Coming soon, stay tuned!)

The metaphors are clear: winter is over, and not a minute too soon. Between adopting a new dog saddled with trauma and inaugurating a new president intent on inflicting it, the last few months have been intense.

But spring is here. Hugo is rounding a corner, learning and growing every day. The president continues to wreak havoc, but I’m learning and growing, too—finding a balance between staying informed and staying sane, living my values and then logging the hell off, because I don’t want to give those terrible men one extra bit of my time, attention, or money.

Recently I read that the average American spends 2.5 hours a day on their phone. I was horrified, but not surprised. I feel like I’m always rushing from one thing to the next, that I never have quite enough time to make art, read books, cook delicious meals, see my friends, or write this newsletter. But it turns out I do have enough time—I just waste it on addictive apps owned by yet more terrible men. They grow fat on my attention while I struggle to live in the sliver that’s left.

And so, two weeks ago, I took the last remaining apps off my phone. I still check in via my desktop, but those versions aren’t nearly as absorbing. Scrolling with a mouse doesn’t hit the same, and that’s the point.

I don’t want to scroll while standing in lines or watching my shows or sitting in waiting rooms or walking my dog. I don’t want to stare at my dumb little screen when I could be people watching, flower hunting, or simply thinking my own thoughts instead of skimming the optimized opinions of strangers.

Once, I thought the way to tame social media was to focus on creating instead of consuming. As long as I was posting—sharing photos, writing stories, actively engaging with an audience—I could control the narrative.

But that was an illusion. I wasn’t controlling anything. I was simply giving my best ideas, my best stories, my best energy to an insatiable algorithm. When I finally sat down to make my actual art, there was nothing left to share.

Every morning on our dog walk, Hugo and I pass a retention pond. Every morning, as we approach, a great blue heron rises from the banks and flies into the copse of trees behind the pond. At first, Hugo was terrified of this bird. He flinched when it took flight and emitted a screeching cry as it arced toward the clouds.

Now, we pause and watch the bird together. His ears are alert, but he stays calm and composed. Once the heron is gone, he looks at me and gets a treat, and we continue our journey.

I’ve never taken a photo of the bird, never recorded this moment of growth, never posted it on Instagram with a devastatingly clever caption. Even describing it here feels a bit sacrilegious, but I need an image to end on, a metaphor so you can see what I mean. For every heron I write about, there are a hundred small moments that remain intimate and mysterious, shared only with my friends, my dog, myself. Things I might have missed if I was looking at my phone, framing it for an imaginary audience, or measuring its success by likes.

The heron knows better, and now I do, too. 💛

🌻 Relatable Recs

• CLICKING: The internet is temporary, the algorithm will never love you back, and you can’t trust capitalism with your art. That’s why I loved this piece from about making your art and writing analog-first (and why it inspired this essay):“We have more to gain as organizers, stewards, and archivists if we push ourselves to create community resources with staying power.”

• READING: I just finished All Fours by Miranda July, which the entire world read last summer—better late than never. It was surprising and sexy and I think I loved it? Now I’m reading James, a retelling of Huckleberry Finn from the POV of Jim, the runaway slave. Huck Finn was a foundational text for me, so I’m absolutely loving this layered and inventive version.

• EATING: I’m back on my protein bullshit, except this time I’m also obsessed with Omega-3s. Can a handful of hemp seeds a day ward off dementia, improve my vision, and renew my skin? We’ll find out!

• MAKING: Finally assembling our collaborative zine about Lake Waccamaw. Sketching a new zine about dog training. Drafting a short story about birds. Writing a list of goals for the spring. Assembling plans for a summer visit. Sending this newsletter.

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I’m still buzzing from our third annual Creative Retreat to Lake Waccamaw, which unfolded last weekend. I wrote about this cherished tradition last year, and the bones remain the same. Each February a group of friends—some old, some new—descend upon a large lake house an hour outside Wilmington for a long weekend of crafting, cooking, laughing, hiking, eating, napping, and following our whims wherever they lead. One woman, who joined us for the first time, described it as utopia, and I have to agree.

My favorite moments from Year Three:

• PowerPoint Presentations! Some of this year’s topics included: Smash or Pass: Sci-Fi Edition (with live voting); the history of witches (ending with a group spell); Emma’s 2024 Dating Unwrapped (with charts and graphs—mustaches are on the rise!); an exploration of the plot holes in Reba McEntire’s “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia” (how had I never heard this song before?!); 7 Reasons You Should Watch Women’s Basketball (a slam dunk); Weightlifting and Mortality (die strong!); and A Short History of Zines (my presentation, which leads us to:)
  

• A Zine Making Station! After sharing my presentation and some prompts, I set up an area where we could all create pages for a collaborative zine, based on our weekend at Lake Waccamaw (colloquially referred to as Myrtle’s Mansion). I’ve spent most of this weekend editing and assembling the zine, and I can’t wait to send everyone a copy.
  

• The Fatmucket 10K Trail Run! Kat and Abby are training for a half marathon, so we last-minute signed up for a 10K on Saturday morning at the nearby state park. It was a small race, and we had so much fun running along the misty trails and under the longleaf pines. As we approached the finish line, Abby yelled for us to sprint. Somehow I pulled ahead at the literal last second and ended up as the first female finisher. I was both elated by the attention and ashamed by my utter ruthlessness. Sorry, Abby and Kat!
  

• Our Meal Planning Spreadsheet! Before the trip we circulated a healthy number of spreadsheets, the most important one being meal planning. Each person claims a meal to shop for and prepare, with additional spots for helpers. This means that even though we’re there for eight or so meals, each person is only responsible for ONE. As the resident meal planner in my house, it’s such a gift to be fed a delicious, lovingly prepared meal without any effort or thought on my part. True luxury.
  

• Stab and Gab! Kevina brought needle felting materials and even though no one had ever felted in their lives, we were all able to stab loose bits of wool until an assortment of adorable animals emerged. Watching my small parrot take shape one stab a time made me understand how Michaelangelo must have felt when he was sculpting David. The body knows what to do!
  

• The Spirit of Myrtle! The house we stay at was once owned by a woman named Myrtle, whose family photos and personal portraits still cover the walls and shelves. Over the last three years, we have elevated Myrtle to saintly status, a powerful and benign spirit who watches over us, smiles down on us, and bestows miracles upon us. Let’s just say the zine includes many, many homages to Myrtle, and we may be planning a Myrtle-themed photoshoot for year four.

Looking back at this list, there is one common thread: a sense of play, made possible by the gift of unstructured time. Listen: I love a color-coded calendar as much as the next Type A girlie, but a weekend with no plans, no rules, no responsibilities, no meetings, no schedule? Three days with nowhere to be and no one to answer to? Where your only job is to hang out with your friends, experiment with arts and crafts, and maybe wash a few dishes?

It’s a gift, a revelation, a joy. The kind of utopia we all deserve. Proof that a different life is possible, at least for one weekend a year.

A true Myrtle Miracle. 💛

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When our beloved dog Calvin passed away, we knew it wasn’t a matter of if we’d get another dog, but when. “In the new year,” we declared. “After a few more trips, a little more freedom,” we said. “When we’re both absolutely, 100% ready,” we promised. “There’s no rush,” we swore.

Then, a few days before Christmas, things changed.

It wasn’t exactly random. A friend alerted me to a litter of puppies at a nearby shelter, and my heart began to pound. Puppies go quickly, I told Nathan. These were lab mixes—rare out in the country!—and I couldn’t stop looking at the brindle one. We’ll just visit them, I assured him, no pressure to actually bring one home. But it would be good to start meeting some dogs, to see how it feels. That way, when the right one comes along, we’ll know.

Finally, begrudgingly, Nathan agreed. After a long day of work, we drove nearly an hour south to meet the puppies and see how our hearts would respond.

When we arrived, however, the puppies weren’t there. “A respiratory illness,” the woman at the front desk told us. “Just a precaution. They’ll be back in early January.”

I felt bad about dragging Nathan across the county for nothing, so I tried to make the best of the situation. “Let’s just see who else is here,” I said. “We might as well look.”

And thus we began a depressing walk through rows of caged dogs—some eager, some wary, some barking, some crying—all of them desperate for a home. My heart broke as we drifted by, but I didn’t feel compelled to meet any of them. None of them felt like our dog.

And then, at the end of a row, we came upon a little brown dog, huddled in the far corner of his cage. According to the sign on his door, he was five months old, a Doberman/Hound mix, shy but sweet. I bent to make eye contact and he slowly wagged his tail, then slinked forward and presented me with his back side. As I scratched him gently, he leaned against me through the bars of the cage and my heart caught in my throat. Uh oh.

After spending some time with the little brown dog in a small room with concrete walls, we walked him around the perimeter of the shelter, took him to an outdoor pen and played with him, watched him exuberantly chase a ball, rubbed his floppy ears and sleek coat. He seemed nice—sweet and smart, curious about us but a little standoffish—understandable, considering we’d just met. Multiple times during our visit, I became so overwhelmed I burst into tears.

“Are you crying because you already love him?” Nathan asked, slightly concerned.

“No,” I said. “I’m crying because I could love him. Because he’s not Calvin. Because one day he’ll get old and die, and we’re going to be so sad all over again.” Nothing like a lil’ existential crisis at the animal shelter!

We didn’t bring the dog home after that first visit, and we didn’t bring him home the next day, after our second. This wasn’t part of the plan—we were supposed to wait until February, we had two upcoming trips, our hearts were still hurting from Calvin. We weren’t ready.

But the little brown dog had a different timeline. Adopting an animal is an exercise in compromise, and so that’s what we did. On the third day, we took him home and named him Hugo. He’s now been part of our family for exactly one month, and we love him so much.

Love, however, doesn’t mean it’s been an easy transition. Hugo is still a puppy, and like every puppy, he’s a nightmare. He’s untrained and unsocialized, has severe separation anxiety, is wary of strangers and terrified of other dogs. He broke out of his crate multiple times (even after we zip tied the corners!), chewed a hole in our bedroom door, ate three pairs of shoes, crunched on the remote, and chased the chickens. Every time I dare leave the house, I brace myself for what I’ll find upon my return. It feels a bit like a hostage situation, except I’m the hostage. (We start working with a trainer next week, and I’ve been counting down the minutes.)

It’s not all bad, of course. Hugo is also sweet and playful. He loves to climb into our laps and cuddle, even though he’s a solid 45 pounds. He’s very smart and learns quickly—when he can focus. He loves to play fetch in the backyard. He sleeps on his back with all four of his long legs in the air, or curled up in his bed like a lightly toasted croissant. He loves when we scratch the underside of his neck, and he has the most expressive ears I’ve ever encountered. He’s no longer standoffish, and his curiosity has transformed into something deeper—we’re his pack now, and he is ours.

When Calvin died, he left a cavernous hole in our hearts. Hugo’s shape is different, and he won’t fill it perfectly—there will always be pockets he can’t reach, spots that will forever belong to the one who came before him. But Hugo will stretch us in different ways. As he burrows into our life, his nose tucked into his feet, his ears flopped over just right, a new space will open up, just for him. He’ll claim his own spot, and together we’ll find our way home.

🌻 Relatable Recs

• Americans Need to Party More, The Atlantic. I love this article so much, and I love the solution the author offers—everyone should commit to throwing two parties a year. (I already do this via my birthday in August and New Year’s Day, with a few smaller soirées sprinkled in.) Hosting a party is more than just snacks and drinks. It’s about creating a space where people can connect, which is vital for community building and friendships. So please, have a party and invite me. Be the hero we need! 🎈

• Minimum and Maximum Creative Time, . As someone who tends to go a bit overboards when it comes to my goals and dreams, this method toward establishing a daily art practice resonated. 5 minutes CAN make a difference! ⏰

• Twin Peaks and the Art of Happy Accidents, . Someone reshared this after David Lynch’s death this week, and I appreciated it so much. Twin Peaks was foundational in my understanding of storytelling—it’s probably the piece of art I think about the most, and understand the least. 🍒

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Happy New Year! It’s time to set some goals!

Every January, I make goals instead resolutions. The difference is small but powerful—it’s not about change, but intention. How do I want to spend the next year of my life? Which projects do I want to focus on, where do I want to make progress, what energy do I want to bring to each month, each week, each day, each moment? I view the new year as a reset, a chance to ask and answer: What now?

When it comes to intention, I also choose a theme to guide my goals, a single word that embodies all my hopes, dreams, and schemes. This year, I’m going with risk. 2025 will be the year I try new things, conduct strange experiments, go out on more limbs, make unexpected pivots, choose novelty over safety, and just generally fuck around and find out.

Taking more risks means I might fail, look silly, get hurt. But I can try again. I can refuse to feel shame. I can heal. I can believe that risks are worth taking.

With that in mind, I kept risk in the back of my mind as I crafted my list of goals for the year. Today I’m sharing the big, overarching goals for each area of my life, and sparing you the long list of smaller actions and activities associated with each one. I may share more in the coming months—it depends on how risky it feels.

🎨 Creative Goals

Last January, my big creative goal was to become a Traditionally Published Author. Then I pivoted and spent the rest of the year exploring what it actually means to be a creative person. With those lessons in mind, I want to continue experimenting with different forms, methods, and materials. I’ll be eager to try new things, I’ll share my works-in-progress (even the terrible ones), and I’ll support other independent artists.

• Get more involved in the zine scene. (Big, scary goal: table at the Wilmington zine festival in August.)

• Experiment with three new-to-me art forms. (Does anyone local want to teach me letterpress?)

• Read outside my comfort zone. (More poetry, more graphic novels, more books from small presses.)

• Take more risks when it comes to personal style and self expression. (It’s finally time to get my first tattoo.)

💛 Personal Goals

In 2024, I said I wanted to “reserve my time for people and experiences that expand my world,” and that still stands. In 2025, I also want to be mindful about how I spend my volunteer time. An example: this past October, I quit the library board two years into my three year term. Even though I felt terribly guilty, it allowed me to devote more time to causes where I could have a bigger impact. Quality is more important than quantity.

• Strengthen my existing relationships and connections. (Don’t forget about long distance friends!)

• Improve my Italian language skills. (I’ll keep my Duolingo streak, but it’s time to find a real, live tutor.)

• Stay involved with the Northside Food Coop. (Consistency is key—be someone others can count on.)

🪜 Financial Goals

I’ve been at my corporate job for over 7 years(!) and it’s time to level up. I’ve always been good about jumping in where I’m needed, but this year I want to be more strategic about what I take on and how I advocate for myself and my team. We also want to finish paying off Nathan’s student loans, which will be HUGE for us. (TBD on when we tackle mine…)

• Level up at work so I can advance in my career. (Actually create a portfolio of my work and experiences.)

• Continue making smart financial moves for the long-term. (Goodbye, debt. Hello, savings!)

🧘🏻‍♀️ Health Goals

I love being active—working out is never a problem for me. This year, I want to be just as focused on my emotional and mental health, while keeping exercise fun, enjoyable, and social.

• Focus on improving my mental and emotional health. (Is this the year I finally try therapy?!)

• Train to become a better, stronger, smarter climber. (Practice lead climbing, outdoors and at the fancy indoor gyms in Raleigh.)

• Make my workouts varied, interesting, and fun. (Run club, BodyPump, yoga, spin, and family dog walks—moving is fun, especially with friends.)

🥂 2025: More and Less

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We’re officially in reflection season! I kicked things off two weeks ago with 5 Things I Learned in 2024, and now we’re keeping the accountability going with my top reads of the year.

Full disclosure: this was my least literary year since I started keeping track—I only read 19 books, when my average is closer to 30. In my defense, this was the year I took a break from writing fiction, which might explain why I slowed down consuming it. I also spent two full months getting through Demon Copperhead, through no fault of its own. (Pro-tip: don’t read a super heavy book while grieving a beloved dog!) I hope to read more books in 2025, and I’m going to push myself to read outside my comfort zone. More on that when we discuss goals.

For now, let’s look back and see who nabbed a coveted top 5 ranking, and what earned an completely arbitrary, made-up-on-the-spot superlative.

The 5 Best Books I Read in 2024

• Margo’s Got Money Troubles, Rufi Thorpe. A young woman gets knocked up by her community college professor and decides to keep the baby. To support herself, she starts an OnlyFans using storytelling tricks learned from her father, an ex-pro wrestler. This is my favorite kind of novel—inventive, literary, funny, unexpected, and full of heart. An incredible exploration of what it means to make a family, craft a narrative, and embrace love, even when it’s a total mess.

• The Husbands, Holly Gramazio. Lauren, a single woman in London, realizes she can summon infinite husbands from her attic, and each one comes complete with an accompanying life. A delightful romp through the multiverse, this book was a funny and clever meditation on how to choose a life and commit to living it.

• Intermezzo, Sally Rooney. Is there any pleasure greater that a new novel from a favorite author? Of cracking that much-anticipated spine and knowing you’re about to fall in love again? This time, we get to know two grieving brothers, Ivan and Peter, and the equally fascinating women they love. Rooney’s mastery of interiority is awe-inspiring—she brings us so close to each character that it feels both beautiful and unsettling. Also the best sex scenes in modern literature, which doesn’t hurt!

• The Great Believers, Rebecca Makkai. Published in 2018, but my first time reading it. Taking place in 1980s Chicago during the AIDS epidemic, and in 2015 in Paris, it follows a cast of unforgettable characters while exploring the lasting impact of the AIDS crisis on their lives. Sad, gorgeous, and deeply human, this was the kind of book I wished would never end.

• White Cat, Black Dog, Kelly Link. I’ll always be a sucker for short stories that reinvent classic fairy tales. Link is the best at this, bar none, and I loved everything about her collection—the prose, the imagery, and the uncanny feeling threaded through it all that everything is perfect and nothing is right.

2024 Superlatives

• Best Dialogue: Come and Get It, Kiley Reid

• Most Likely to Eat the Rich: Poverty, By America, Matthew Desmond

• Slowest Burn (Yet Shortest Book): The Most, Jessica Anthony

• Most Inspiring: The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron

• Best Travel Companion: The Ministry of Time, Kaliane Bradley

• Most Extremely Online: Such a Bad Influence, Olivia Muenter

• Least Interesting Smut: Acts of Service, Lillian Fishman

• Best Depiction of Addiction: Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver

PS: To see every book I’ve read since 2013, check out this spreadsheet. It’s full of great recommendations, if I do say so myself.

🐕 Sneak Peek

We got an early and unexpected Christmas present. I’ll write a whole essay about him soon. For now, it feels good to end a long year with a whole lot of joy. 💛

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Venmo: @Christine-Hennessey or PayPal Me.

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