It's June, and I'm fine with that

Before we get to the newsletter, I’m moved to say something I don’t have time to record, as these are unprecedented times.

Days ago, I thought things were bad. Now, I see a war on our hands. I’m not an alarmist, just a realist.

It’s strange, carrying on with life as Iranian military leaders are killed by Israeli strikes. When Iran is limiting its internet access and canceling its Pride Parades and flights are being suspended, it seems unthinkable to have a tea, go for a walk, hang out with a friend, do anything normal. Finding out that the current administration knew about the attacks is not just gut punching and disgusting, it’s heartbreaking, it’s angering, it’s maddening, it’s words that haven’t been invented yet.

It’s strange, carrying on with life when countries are burning and our democracy is being threatened. When a dictator dangles Marshal Law over a country—a treat for some, the end days for others—to discuss books and creativity and goodness feels frivolous. But we must make it an act of defiance. We must defiantly live our best lives, lift each other up, hold our communities close, get new ones that align with who we want to be, make art and love each other.

At the same time, we can’t not bury our heads in the sand. Avoiding the topic of politics and honestly discussing the state of the world right now is an act of submission to the end of empathy, to the end of living in a pay-to-play first world country. Our government and society has never held the morals it’s claimed to, it’s had an incredibly long way to go since the day we stole the land, but throwing a burning towel on things isn’t the way to fix or patch or heal or make amends.

My heart is with all those suffering from the bombs, from the raids, from the unmarked vehicles, from the backlash, from the strays. I will be celebrating No Kings Day tomorrow, as right now, it’s all I can do. I’m not urging you to do anything or asking you to join any groups. I’m just here saying that our current moment in history is so fucked, so scary, so unjust. And please, for you and everyone you know, stay informed, make decisions with thought and care, don’t hedge or follow or shrug.

Morning darklings,

Happy Friday the 13th!

Depending on how long you’ve been here, you know that this is a lucky day for me. I’ve always had good energy come my way on the dreaded Friday the 13ths. Also, Mr. Midnight, the black furbutt who was obsessed with me (and I him) was my magical rock.

Of course all of that meant I needed to take advantage of another happy day, which means that Claw Machine’s launch party is tonight at 6pm at Up Up Books in Portland, OR (come join us)! It’s pretty surreal how quickly it’s snuck up on me.

May and June have been non-stop this year—and June isn’t even half over, so there is still so much left to do, left to share, left to push my way to the other side with joy and pain and fumes. In truth, though, I feel I’ve lost many more months than just the last few.

It was just October. I was just at the beach. I was just digging into my second draft of my fabulist novella.

Since, though, so much has happened.

When I was younger, I marked my life by seasonal friends or boyfriends, the one girlfriend I didn’t let myself really have, the many jobs I tried, the many jobs I kept, hair colors, movies and shorts and TV shows I worked on, courses I liked in my extended stay in college.

Now, I mark time with extremely important life moments—of which I never know what’ll stick—new illnesses, and projects.

So it’s June, and I’m fine with that.

After all, since I last felt fully grounded, I’ve finished that fabulist novella. The hubs and I made pottery together. I’ve finished a cookbook (more on that soon). New friends have become a staple in my life. I’ve moved to a place I feel safer, I’ve put together an anthology that’s being published and celebrated today. New diagnoses were dropped on me, while some things still have not been understood. A monumental thing with my family happened. The hubs built us a garden. I started a surrealist book and another project in the same week. I’ve fallen in love with clay again. I had pasta and rice and cookies and pie and cake, though I’m still on a 99% blendie diet. And that’s not even everything. Some of these things will be just a blip in a year, others have changed my life forever. But they’ve marked the passage of time; they’ve proved to me that months have happened.

So yeah, it’s June, and I’m fine with that. After all, so much has happened. I’ve done so much. Does a lot of it feel like a dream? Yes. But that’s not inherently bad.

Tonight, I will introduce a collection of authors who entrusted me with their work, entrusted me to put together something lovely and interesting, entrusted me to get the book in the world (whether or not they got paid). Tonight, we will read and play a miniature claw machine my sister bought me months ago that’s now been stocked with amazing prizes. Tonight, I’ll pass out stickers, people will buy books, and my authors will get their presents. I will take a sigh of relief that I did the thing I said I could. Tonight, I will have managed to pull it off.

It’s okay that just yesterday the idea hadn’t even been a twinkle. It’s okay that projects are done and I’m still confused about the month.

Because I know it’s June, and I’m fine with that.

Until next time, harness the Little darknesses and embrace the Little things.