Writing / Reading in the Rain

On productivity and letting go of the inessential

I’ve been writing and reading for the past few months. Plus sorting submissions to Forest Avenue Press, reading novels for fun, learning how to play roller derby, onboarding new authors, and working on a nonfiction manuscript I first envisioned in 2016.

Even though I knew having my debut novel published would impact my productivity, I didn’t realize how long it would take to get back to writing regularly again. I started a few essays and did a little revision work on my new novel, but I didn’t amass more than a handful of pages and I didn’t finish anything. For nine whole months.

Until January, when I reshaped my idea and started working on it.

The manuscript has something to do with my newsletter’s new logo, designed by Gigi Little. Isn’t it sweet? It’s exciting to replace my hand-drawn sketch with something more professional. I love how the circle matches the shape of the Forest Avenue logo.

In addition to writing and reading these past few weeks, I’ve been waiting for the sun. I’m dreaming of hammock days, of rainbow picnic-table days, of being too warm on dog walks instead of sloshing around the neighborhood with my dog. I’m writing this indoors, curled up under a blanket. I can’t remember ever being this cold and wet for so many months in a row. Surely soon I’ll be able to put away my winter boots, right?

Maybe my new logo also speaks to this yearning for sun and new blooms. For what’s to come. My daffodils look like an invisible giant stepped on them. Their faces are dirtied, their stems bent. I have high hopes for the tulips on the verge of blooming, though.

Every time I imagine setting a calendar for my newsletter, committing to regular posts, I get busy with real life. The making of books. The walking of the dog. Saying yes to speaking gigs and then coordinating the dates and necessary travel. Communicating with school carpool parents. All the social media advice out there seems to focus on regular practices—what to do, why, and how to incorporate the work as part of a sustainable routine.

But I’m not doing that and I’m giving myself permission to do what I can, as I have the energy. I stop typing when my fingers hurt. I read for pleasure, not just for work. I’m starting to add new vegan recipes to my dinner rotations. I’m practicing transitions and plow stops in my derby class. Getting stronger. And my new manuscript, the one that inspired the logo change, is growing every day. It doesn’t have to be perfect, or finished; we are all, always, in progress. Our work. Our art. Our selves.

My energy has been the interior kind lately—staying at home, putting more words down—but as spring springs (supposedly), my speaking schedule is revving up. Last week I traveled to Eugene, Oregon, where I gave a short talk about a few small press titles at the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association’s spring pop-up. Earlier today, I met with Ariel Gore’s Wayward Writers and tomorrow I’ll have a Portland State class visit with Justin Hocking’s students—both via Zoom.

Then it’s off to Berkeley for sales conference, where I’ll talk about Soul Jar, our SFF anthology by disabled authors and edited by disabled author and bookstore owner Annie Carl. Her store, The Neverending Bookshop in Edmonds, Washington, was just featured in Publishers Weekly. (Go Annie!)

I’m a keynote speaker at the Terroir Writing Conference on Saturday, April 29; if you want to hear me talk about perseverance, surviving rejections, and related lessons I’m learning from roller derby, register here.

On May 15, Zaji Cox’s Plums for Months: Memories of a Wonder-Filled Neurodivergent Childhood launches at Powell’s City of Books. It’s my press’s third-ever memoir; Zaji is an autistic BIPOC artist and dancer and each chapter is full of curiosity and the gorgeousness of growing into her identity as a creative person. Come to the launch if you’re in town or order it from your local bookstore.

Kesha Ajose-Fisher's NO GOD LIKE THE MOTHER, a reissue, is now out from Forest Avenue; Zaji Cox's PLUMS FOR MONTHS comes out in May.

In June I’ll be in residence at the Oregon Writers Colony weekend at the Sylvia Beach Hotel in Newport, Oregon, with Kate Gray, poet and novelist; Carry the Sky came out from Forest Avenue in 2014. Join us if you’d like!

In other news, my debut novel, Singing Lessons for the Stylish Canary, turns one on April 19. I’m still getting emails, texts, and photos from readers—and I can see on Bookscan that copies keep selling. Not as many as last spring, but they’re moving.

And my novel is shortlisted for the Story Circle’s May Sarton Book Award for Historical Fiction!

I think, when we dream about publication, we often focus our wishes on the first few months. The reviews rolling in. The pretty bookstagram posts featuring your cover. Signing a stack of copies at the local bookstore. But it’s also important to imagine later on, when your book is old news. How will you feel? What will you look back and regret? What can you do, going into your search for an agent or publisher, to help minimize those regrets? What can you do in the months leading up to publication, and then the months after publication, to look ahead and stay focused?

I’m still thinking about this—asking more questions than finding answers—so feel free to comment with your ideas and what’s worked for you. I started this newsletter to create an intimate but accessible conversation space about creativity, publishing, and the societal reset that the pandemic has offered creatives like us. I’d love to hear your thoughts. You can reply to this email to have a conversation just with me, or you can comment on the post to connect with other readers too. 

YOUR INVITATION: What’s something you do in your creative life because you’re supposed to but you actually dread it? I keep intending to follow a newsletter publication schedule, but I don’t want to clutter anyone’s inbox. And regular posts feel like one more obligation. It’s more fun to write when I have something to say. So I’ve opted out of that common wisdom of regular posts. I can always change my mind and become consistent in a few months—or a few years—if I feel like it.

Once you identify an obligation that cuts into your creative time, can you let it go and spend that time doing something that fills your creative soul? Even though my writing output has been limited this year, I’m reading more than I have in years, thinking with clarity and joy, and getting stronger and faster on skates. Maybe a twice-monthly newsletter would be good, but I am loving my reading and skating time. And I’ve been focused and emotionally present for every moment of my Singing Lessons experience.