On December and Joyce's debut

*The timeline is a bit different than predicted in the last newsletter, but in the next few weeks, you’ll get all the deets. <3

Morning darklings,

By now, I should have watched dozens of romance movies about caterers and CEOs and hometowns and found families. But this December hasn’t felt like December. Celebrating the holiday season hasn’t been on the list of Things I Can Do yet—partly because overwhelm, partly because fatigue. 

There are parts of Michigan blanketed with snow right now. I know this because of a zoom call with someone who was all cozed-up in a sweater and tea nearby. He probably has no qualms in saying it feels like December. But here in the PNW, even the weather is behaving badly in that regard. It’s rainy, chilly to cold. But not cold-cold, not I smell snow cold.

So no gingerbread competitions that end in a chaste kiss and promise of forever and no fluffy bits of atmosphere falling to the ground.

It’s more like mid-Autumn with a side of two months.

I’m doing the other things one does in this month, though. I’m wrapping up 2025, planning for the entire year of 2026, including planning friend dates until July or later. I’m shopping for the holidays, checking bank statements every five seconds because stuff is expensive, going through decorations to decide what seems fun to put out and what seems like a nightmare and why did I buy this ever, deciding what to make for desserts, planning the route for the annual Lights Tour the hubs and I go on every year. You know, December things.

Whether my body and mind fully register it, here we are—weeks away from a new year.

I’ll be gasping over the threshold of 2026 with oodles accomplished and no energy. But it’s been worth it—some of my favorite projects to date will be coming out.

The first two are mine alone—one of which you’ve been hearing about for a while now.

After talking about Joyce for so long, it feels like I’ve been working on it for ages. But, in reality, I finished it a months ago. Written, edited, edited again, polished, added chapter heading images. It was all done. I just had to wait for January 30th.

I could have published in July. But then, the connection to saudades would have been lost. And that just wouldn’t do.

It’s a good thing I waited, to be honest. I had the time and space to create a cover that felt right. As with many of my books, I made a ton of them. There was a woman on the cover, then just a face. There were woods on one, a cabin on another. Sometimes I added a celestial element, other times a canoe. Once, it was just colors. But nothing felt right. Until I sat down with a needle and thread and created a moment out of the book itself—a bit meta, really. The image is mentioned as a tapestry and created in a magical realism tableau. It was only fitting, really.

Embroidery isn’t something I do often. It’s hell on my hands. And as I’ve discussed before, they aren’t getting any healthier. Every time I use them for anything, I shorten the lifespan of my physical writing ability and my ability to create certain types of art. Embroidery is worse than most things. But fuck if this wasn’t worth it.

Waiting wasn’t just worth it for the perfect cover, it gave me the space to do something I’ve wanted to for a long time, something I mentioned only a few months ago, something I said then I couldn’t do without oodles of money, but found a way how anyhow.

I will be publishing it under my real name. Also fitting.

What story better to jumpstart a new chapter where my name is featured on books than a magical realism crip fic—a book so in tune with disability that one experiences it, not just reads it? There isn’t one I can think of.

Joyce is it.

It really shows where I’m headed—blending genres, activism through creativity, work that showcases honesty in a world filled with everyone wondering if what we are looking at is AI or real. I want to open doors, pull back the curtains. Books like this are how I can do that.

With that, I present Joyce.

synopsis

This was a place of comfort once.

Enveloped in memories and ghosts, my days feel endless, short, repetitive. Time is slippery until Tuesdays—most Tuesdays, anyways. I’ve been called to the cabin to grieve a mother, a body, an ideal love. I’ve escaped for clarity and the deep breath I can’t take anywhere else.

As I settle in, the unexpected finds me. It sneaks in through shattering glass and rustling leaves. It’s seen and unseen, felt and heard and known.

Though the world is dark from where I am now, healing seems possible. If only I can get out onto the lake. If only I’m able to understand the house witch as much as she did. If only I learn the ways of the woods like Dad. If only.

I will speak with the birds. I will become the sky. I will come undone and remake myself. But who will I be on the other side?

Quiet and evocative, Joyce is an embodied dark crip magical realism novella examining life in a haunted body.

You all know the deal. Paperback and other links coming soon, but for now, at least some of you will be able to pre-order it!🧡

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