Some times are quiet

a brief hello and update

my fluffy dog snuggled beside me

Hello friends,

Letters have been piling up in my inbox on Substack and I haven’t had much to say. I’ve been here and there on Notes and I loved participating in Beth Kempton’s tiny autumn poem challenge but, beyond that, I haven’t felt much urge to share.

Behind the scenes I've been working through an 8 week short story course with Huma Quereshi during which I wrote a draft of my first short story. That has kept me busy. I don’t know when (or even if) I will be ready to share it. I feel so self-conscious about it and have even been afraid to have friends read over it. What if it sucks? Maybe it does, I know I have to start somewhere!

I've also been fairly introspective. This time last year my Dad fell sick and went into the hospital where he would spend his last days. The anniversary of his death is fast approaching and I have been walking on egg shells, afraid of how my body and mind might respond. I am grateful to have returned to our Thanksgiving weekend traditions this year, last year having been just plain awful, though a part of me feels guilty for enjoying it instead of somehow torturing myself with reliving last year. Those are not the days of my Dad’s life that I want to remember, so why do they cling to me? Grief is a funny thing. It has helped a bit to write about that time, just to place it somewhere outside of my body.

On top of that, I also had the flu for a week earlier this month and recovery has been slow. I’ve only recently felt back to my usual energy levels and I am still a bit stuffy and coughing. A long walk with my son the other day had my lungs tickling with the cold air. I hadn’t been that sick since I had Covid in 2022 and I can’t recall the last time I was sick before that.

I suppose all of this to say a brief hello and let you know where I’ve been. The holidays get busy and I tend to turn both deeply inward as well as present to my family. This leaves less space for me to be turned outward publicly. If I continue to be quiet, this is why.

I also find myself in another place of inquiry about my writing. Unsure of where it wants to go next. Things don’t feel as right when I’m sharing personal essays. Poetry has felt good this month. Vignettes feel good. Yet always the lingering doubt that anyone will understand or care about what I'm sharing. When my truest writing comes, I feel like a hermit on the edge of the wood spinning fables. I wonder who could possibly want to hear them. So I leave them tucked away in my notebook or inside me. Maybe someday.

This has been a bit of a ramble and so I will close now. I hope this letter finds you well as those of us in the Northern Hemisphere slide into winter. To the time of darkness and stories. Perhaps that’s exactly where my self longs to go.

As a side note: I am 2 people away from 100 subscribers! This is exciting and I am grateful to every one of you who has allowed me into your inbox. I hope you enjoy my letters. You can peruse my archive in my quiet times. May I suggest checking out my 39 podcast episodes (they can also be found on your favorite podcast service if you prefer listening that way)?

Until I return to your inbox again…