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As I flip through my Time-Block Planner and cross-reference my other journals and the camera reel on my phone, I realized something. I do a lot. On some days, the work I’m able to fulfill looks insane. Nearly every hour from 7 am to 9 pm is filled, with dark and aggressive scribbles crossing out one task and substituting it for another or jamming in additional tasks underneath one because I want to do more than what I originally scheduled. Some days? I chill. (Although not really.) Some days feel wasted instead of spent. And yes, I tend to think of everything in a frame of capitalism because I don’t quite know how to escape that.

So what does this look like, exactly? Well, the part I like about being an obsessive person is that I tend to plan my days by the hour and plan an entire week’s worth of tasks. This helps me manage a clean home (usually) and writing for myself, as well as doing the job I’m paid to do. I’m happy to announce that I have more workshops upcoming the fall of this year, so planning those feels like a whimsical and dreamy affair.

But honestly? Sometimes I schedule too much. I can’t finish it all. Sure, I have ambitious tasks that even appall myself, and I’m the one who wrote them down. Sometimes I snort and other times I’m offended. Truly—why am I this way? Why am I expecting so much of me, when things don’t have to be this way?

According to an article I read recently from The Economist, residing in high costs of living (HCOL) cities equate time with value. “The problem, then, is less how much time people have than how they see it. Ever since a clock was first used to synchronize labour in the 18^th century, time has been understood in relation to money. Once hours are financially quantified, people worry more about wasting, saving, or using time profitably. When economies grow and incomes rise, everyone’s time becomes more valuable. And the more valuable something becomes, the scarcer it seems.”

“There is a distinct correlation between privilege and pressure. In part, this is a conundrum of wealth: though people may be earning more money to spend, they are not simultaneously earning more time to spend it in. This makes time—that frustratingly finite, unrenewable resource—far more precious.”

“Though professionals everywhere complain about lacking time, the gripes are loudest in America. This makes some sense: American workers toil some of the longest hours in the industrial world. Employers are not required to offer their employees proper holidays, but even when they do, their workers barely use the lot. The average employee takes only half what is allotted, at 15% don’t take any holiday at all, according to a survey from Glassdoor, a consultancy. Nowhere is the value of work higher and the value of leisure lower. This is the country that invented take-away coffee, after all.”

“Alas time, ultimately, is a strange and slippery resource, easily traded, visible only when it passes and often most highly valued when it is gone.” –“Why Is Everyone So Busy?” -The Economist, 2014

___

I live in the District of Columbia and feel that I will be eternally scarred by DOGE. (That was Elon Musk’s terrible doings in the US government where the department fired literally tens of thousands of people). I don’t even work for the government— however, I did experience the ‘what happens after’.

I remember walking through my eerily quiet apartment complex with a stream of eviction notices taped to the doors. When they were fired, thousands of people left. They couldn’t afford rent, or their mortgages. There were days when I was the only one in my train car. The city was practically empty. There was a solemn feeling, like a belly that feels hungry but you’re unable to eat. You want to, but you can’t.

So do I think I’m too productive? Not really. I think I’m just living in a timeline that requires that you do so much work at once if you want to pay your bills, live in a decent environment, and still do what you love. You want to get everything in there? You can. You just might have to do it in smaller chunks.

I’ve resolved this issue by scheduling most tasks I want to complete by the smallest intervals that will allow me to get things done at a more effective pace. No more panic of, “oh god there’s so much to do and I don’t have enough time.” Now, my tasks look as small as 15 minutes. They might also seem crazy, but they help.

I’ll literally schedule ‘one load of laundry: 15 minutes’ in my agenda. This lets me know that I have 15 minutes to load the washer with the assorted clothes and add laundry detergent and press ‘start’. I feel silly writing this down, but it’s true. For some reason this eases my mind from thinking this is a burden, to something completely manageable and easy to tick off my list.

Same with surfaces in my home. I can be cluttered with my things—there’s papers everywhere, and books that are flipped face-down with their spines flexed—but that’s just kind of how I am. I have a tendency to not see disorganization until I wake up the next morning and my home looks like a distressing lecture took place with the teacher abandoning her thoughts—and her class—halfway. (There’s also usually a Diet Dr. Pepper somewhere but I tend to rinse the bottles of those out at least.)

If you’re a person who likes big bites of deliciousness, I get it. I’m the same. I love big bites of food and I love big bites of life. But I’ve had to learn not to bite off more than I can chew. And I’m still learning how. Positives include feeling more optimistic about my days and less like I’ll burn out or become easily overwhelmed. Negatives include feeling as though the day will come when I’ll feel like I didn’t do enough with the one life that I’ve been fortunate enough to live.

Maybe I’m just hard on myself. Probably. I’d rather be this way, though, and see what I can make of this life. I’d prefer to make it myself, instead of just seeing what happens. Agency is more thrilling and exciting. My tendencies (and enjoyment) for writing everything down have always led me to adventurous surprises and prefaces for amazing things to come.

The same is in store for you; I can feel it. Cheers on fulfilling your next big thing by starting small, and starting at all. You’ve got this.

It sounds silly to write, but it’s true. People say that life passes in the blink of an eye and I believe them. As an attempt of preserving the details that make my life special, I keep several journals for a variety of reasons.

Here’s what they are, and here’s what’s inside.

1. Language Notebook (lessons and study)

This was advice from tutors of mine over the years and YouTube videos who recommended the most efficient ways to study a language: writing down sentences that you’d use in conversation, or repeatedly on a daily basis. My Turkish is still terrible but that’s largely because I’m inconsistent with my practice.

(years of writing: 3 and counting)

2. Quote Book (strongly recommend!)

I have one that’s full, and another that I use on a biweekly/monthly basis. I write/highlight in most, if not all books I purchase (beautiful prose I’ve read, lessons I’ve learned, or other things that touched me or made me feel something deep and impactful). Quotes are important; what speaks to you is more than likely a reflection of what matters for you at this particular moment in your life. I’ve looked back on my quote books and recall what I’ve read, or how I felt, or what I lived. It feels incredible to remember. (Usually. Not always. More on that in #3.)

(years of writing: 12 (!!!))

3. Daily Journal (One Line a Day; not for the weak of heart)

This is probably the most appalling journal I own. It’s scared me on numerous occasions. It’s not that I write horrible things within them, but my entries have reflected the ways in which my memory recounts things far differently than how they happened, usually to reflect how I wish to view myself as a person and not how I actually experienced the situation.

Here’s a few small examples:

a. -being upset that a friend hadn’t contacted me for several months, when in fact she had written me a letter and I stored it away to read later and forgot about it. In my journal I wrote something along the lines of, [x] reached out to me but I’ve saving it for when I can garner the proper attention to read it and write back, and realized that I never went back. (This is a recurring theme in my work and my life, but I’ll share more about that later.)

b. -being sad about several rejections for grants/fellowships/opportunities, but continuously applying for them; one year later, reading about how I was writing the following entry from a flat in a foreign country because I landed a job at a university that sponsored me to teach there

c. memories that I have in my head that were actually different when they happened: me remembering a friend and I eating French fries on the curb after an Alabama Shakes concert, but we actually headed to IHOP afterwards; things that I remember happening at night, that actually occurred during the day; a friend’s apartment having blood orange walls, when they were actually royal blue. Small things I wrote because I wanted to remember. Small things I wrote because I didn’t want to forget.

I don’t think any of this is done on purpose; when you’re writing about your days as they unfold, you have no idea where they’re leading. But they’re leading somewhere, or to something, or to someone. Whether I made decisions that changed my life or thought that my days were fairly uneventful, my daily life served as an invitation for everything that would come.

This also works as a pretty fruitful writing exercise. Instead of asking myself, “What did I care about?”, I asked myself, “What was I writing down?”

(years of writing: 1 in current one, 11 years in total (I have two other completed books))

4. Leather-Bound Journal (for ideas pertaining to Oklahoma only)

Ironically enough, I purchased the journal when I visited a friend in London. It’s from a craftsman in Bath, England, and one of his handmade journals was one of the first gifts I bought myself when I left the USA for the first time to study in Oxford, UK. This is where I jot down scenes and ideas for narrative for my manuscript titled An Oklahoma Story. (Wish me luck; I hope you’ll see it in bookstores someday.)

(years of writing: 1 in current one, 1 in previous one that is now filled)

5. Saint Laurent Moleskine

My dreams are forever large and, I like to think, attainable if I stay focused enough. I write ideas in this notebook of how I can expand my literary workshops and teach around the world. I’m so proud of the following events for the rest of the year: a letter-writing workshop in August at a stationery company in Virginia, monthly workshops resuming at the Hillwood Museum in September, and a lecture at Georgetown Library in October. Stay tuned; I’ll post more details in the coming weeks. 

(years of writing: 1)

6. Letters to Myself (red notebook)

This is where I’ll write musings to myself in letter form. These entries oftentimes begin with: “For You—”

I think one of the most beautiful lessons my mother has taught me, among many, is to speak kindly to myself. I write here on a monthly basis. Sometimes less.

(years of writing: 1)

7. Travel Journal

My favorite! It’s literally bursting at the seams, but it’s so fun to keep. I wrote in this newsletter about how I’m usually a very private traveler, but I’ll take business cards or stickers of places I’ve visited (restaurants, museums) and come home and scrapbook. I’ll put on some sweet music and have a delightful time.

(years of writing: 4 in current one; 5 in previous one that is now full)

8. The Book of Studies

When I take online classes, or when I’m studying a book for something, I’ll write my notes here. Occasionally I’ll use my laptop but I prefer the old-fashioned way of taking notes. I retain more information this way because I usually have to work harder to keep it.

(years of writing: 5)

9. Food Diary

Food holds memories. I like writing them down.

(years of writing: at least 7 consistently, written in over 4 journals, 3 of which are full)

10. Work Log (digital journal)

… along with my obsession of writing down what I’ve done and what I’ve eaten, I also keep a record of what I’ve written, what I’ve read, and what I’ve watched. So if you were to ask me which films I saw in 2021, I could weirdly tell you every single one, and on which dates.

(years of writing: 5)

11. Digital Diary

I have many, usually sorted by year and/or place. (I have documents labeled ‘Philly’ and ‘The Netherlands’ and ‘Washington DC,’ which are places I lived for at least 1.5 years.) This I’ve been doing since 2014, and I’ll probably keep one until I die. I just feel better when I write and I feel strange when I don’t. I type really fast on a computer, and while this is the medium where I write my manuscript(s) and work logs, I still oftentimes prefer putting thoughts to pen and paper. That’s just the original, you know? Something about it feels more tangible and real. (I also have an inkling that Microsoft/Google have access to my Word documents, which concerns me; I still don’t know what ‘the cloud’ is, but it saves my documents so that I can always find them but I need to check to make sure that they don’t use private documents to train AI.) Overall, I have many renditions on my computer of diary entries and enjoy stumbling across them and reading the cringe and the chaos and the love.

It’s sweet to see what’s in store for you, even when you have no idea what you’re doing. Just keep doing what you love and what will make you better at it. What’s coming for you is more than what you think, and probably more than you can imagine.

I’m proud of you. If you need a push to get started on a project or something else, consider this it.

Big plans are ahead and they’re calling your name.

The person described it as ‘debased,’ and called it mindless junk that has creeped into millions of households and polluted our brains. I thought about it, and I remembered not thinking if he was right or not; I was primarily thinking of the chronology of events that led to reality tv growing more popular than it was before. (Think: ‘Love is Blind,’ ‘The Ultimatum,’ ‘Real Housewives,’ etc.) There are reality shows that have always been popular, but when many of them started occupying the ‘Top 10’ lists on streaming platforms, a conversation needed to be had about what, exactly, was promoting this.

And yes—something was promoting this. Not just people who love drama and gold drinking cups.

The most recent writer’s strike was fully blown in 2023. Lots of shows halted production and seasons of popular shows were shortened or cancelled. Documentaries increased, but reality tv was put on at the forefront because scripts weren’t really needed. Writers weren’t really needed.

* * *

I think reality tv is a great indicator of something that people see but that’s really a substitute for something else. I mean, are people falling in love with drama and blasé stories because it’s what they want to see? Or because it’s what is being promoted to them? This summer has been amazing for independent filmmakers and for original ideas as a whole. One of my favorite films was Boots Riley’s I Love Boosters, alongside Backrooms and Obsession. Movie industries were floored by their successes, and scrambled to figure out why these low-budget films were doing so well when their blockbusters were not. (For reference: Backrooms generated $81.4 million in the US and $118 globally its opening weekend, and grossed over $300 million worldwide. The film itself cost $10 million to make.

Obsession was produced on a micro-budget of $1 million, and earned over $440 million worldwide. The biggest box office hits that flopped were from Marvel and DC Studios.

Masters of the Universe: budget of $186 million; earnings of $121 million

Supergirl: budget of $200 million; earnings of $54 million

The Mandalorian and Grogu: budget of $166 million; earnings of $300 million (which is more than what it cost to make, but sales sharply decreased after opening weekend and did not earn as much as what was expected))

So what made Backrooms and Obsession such hits? More than likely: their originality. The world is yearning for more of that, even if mainstream industries are trying to kill it to cut costs. It’s cheaper to produce tv and movies that are meant to be viewed during laundry and multitasking. Yes, you read that right; streaming platforms like Netflix actually create a surprising percentage of media not with the priority of being good or interesting, but to have you half-invested in what’s going on: invested enough not to change the show, but not invested enough to want to completely pay attention, either.

Pretty much: streaming execs know that you’ll probably be scrolling on your phone or doing something else while having the television on in the background. (This is what they’re hoping for, at least; that way, they’re still earning revenue, despite whether you’re paying attention or not.) Believe it or not, this is actually accounted for. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck have discussed how these platforms request films and shows to explicitly state and remind viewers what is going on to cater to viewers who are scrolling on their phones.

Now, is any of this an inherent problem? I’d say not. However, the biggest issue is what lies underneath: the normalizing of half-investment. These behaviors are not compartmentalized, and they are being encouraged in everyday life as well. These execs know it. These lobbyists know it. If they can keep you hooked half-invested in what’s going on in front of you, chances are you’ll be less tempted to look away. Or to shut it off. They’re breeding consent in a way that feels like an innocent and harmless tv show that’s holding a place in a Top 10 spot for your country. But is what you’re watching making you feel good? Or capable? Is it encouraging you to take a deep look into why many people are feeling defeated, depressed, and discouraged in this country? Or is it encouraging you to stay put while the hours, days, months pass by? It’s all pretty effortless and easy, and that’s the concern. We weren’t meant to live lives this way. I’ve been invited to give a talk on this at the Georgetown Library in October, and I’ll include in a separate newsletter the research that’s premiering about people doing less than they’ve ever done before. For young people, the results are most alarming; they aren’t yearning for independence, they aren’t developing friendships, they aren’t dating. They’re preferring to be alone, but not really alone; they’re opting to spend their lives in front of a screen.

There’s a reason why most YouTube videos that have gained the most popularity within the past decade or so are the ones where someone is sitting in front of the screen and talking. It’s because people are lonely and they feel like someone’s talking to them. They feel as though they’re having a conversation. They feel related to, and they feel included.

Of course, reality tv and people doing less reflects a much greater issue that people are definitely familiar with, and influenced by: the economy. A group of friends and I went to an aquarium a couple of years ago and were shocked to learn the tickets were $47. What young person can afford that? Groceries are higher than ever, people are working more jobs just to make ends meet, and a lot of people are physically exhausted. (I forgot which tech guy said this—I watch too many of their TED talks—but he said that essentially your phone is nothing but a marketing tool now, and that we pretty much only use it to place online orders, get food delivery, scroll on social media and send text messages. I gasped when he said that; those are *exactly* the top reasons I use mine!)

Reality tv isn’t inherently bad. If you’re like the guy who was criticizing it, more than likely you’re close to the real layer of concern, which is the loss of a lot of creative talent in the media and within ourselves. Additionally, there is a lack of prioritizing media that is not only well-made, but encouraging positive behaviors and inspiration in life. (Part of my country’s current Netflix Top 10: WORST NEIGHBOR EVER, I WILL FIND YOU, and THE ULTIMATUM.) Additionally, if you’re watching television and feel as though you’re distracted from doing something else that requires your attention— for me, it probably involves getting up and putting the clothes from the washer into the dryer— perhaps do the other thing instead. The television isn’t going anywhere, but our time is.

Let’s cherish it, shall we?

And so perhaps one of the beauties of this weather is getting into air conditioning and sitting down and eating something cold and delicious. I’ve been consuming fruit like crazy—not only is it tasty, but it’s also sweet and hydrating. My skincare this summer has essentially been watermelon and peaches. (Also skin serum and a vitamin-C moisturizer from Laneige, but the fruit is really working its magic.) Then I realized: staying hydrated isn’t just about water. It’s also about food!

SUMMERTIME FAVORITES

-massive salads with diced apples, cucumbers, and tomatoes (if you’re feeling zesty, make one with peaches and goat cheese)

-all melon!

-fruit bowls my boyfriend makes for me (he adds lemon juice and salt, which might sound odd but tastes wonderful)

When I come home from the hot hot heat and indulge in fruit, I’m grateful to eat what I have. (I always am, but feeling as though you’ve achieved something beforehand really makes the food taste even better.) I don’t think of saving it; fruit that’s really sweet and delicious usually needs to be consumed in a few days tops, or else it’ll go bad.

This got me thinking—what else am I delaying in hopes that I can keep it in good shape, when in reality it’s probably turning to rot?

Probably the first on the list is time. I love that it’s summer, and the days feel longer and brighter, but sometimes I’m caught up in distractions that feel like a spider web that’s hard to get out of. I’m terrible with self-control when it comes to being online and the internet; I’ll hop on, thinking I’ll look at stuff for 15 minutes or so, and then an hour’s flown by and I still need to take my clothes out of the washer. Something I’ve started doing to keep me on track for things I need/want to get done (mainly household chores and writing 1,000 words a day for my manuscript) is this $45 social media blocker called Cold Turkey. It’s for a desktop computer/laptop and won’t let you get on any platforms that you block for yourself. I’ve caught myself trying to access YouTube or Reddit while doing other things like answering emails, and it doesn’t grant me access.

It’s actually been a godsend.

I also purchased a Brick device for my phone. I’ve had it for about two weeks, and to be honest with you, I haven’t used it yet. A toxic part of me swears that I enjoy reading all of the juicy, stupid, insane and unhinged things on the internet and don’t want to block myself out completely. I’ll try it out today—it’s written in my agenda to do it—and I’ll see how it goes!

The reason I write ‘time’ as being something that I can’t save for later in hopes of it still being good for things I procrastinated is because time can’t be saved. My delays in whatever I do, or don’t do, come at a cost. The older I get the more I see how easy it is to let your interests fall by the wayside or to lose commitments of creativity. The only way I’ve found that I’ve been able to keep doing the things I love is by prioritizing them with chunks of time that I’ve reserved most days to complete the tasks at hand.

I’ve also become a pretty big advocate for saving pretty much nothing like really nice perfume or candles. I used to do that—and then a woman I admire told me I shouldn’t do it. “Light the damn candle!” were her words, actually. “Stop saving things for a special occasion! Your life is a special occasion!”

I never considered it that way.

The world feels more darling when indulgences are both healthy and aesthetically pleasing. In fact, the concept of ‘living the life to the fullest’ comes to mind. Sure, vacations and big life events are nice, but isn’t also making a nice coffee in the morning also a pleasantry? I think I tend to downplay the fact that I exist and that I am safe and that I get to do things with my life that I want without being stopped. For instance, if I want to practice drawing right now I can pick up a pen and try my luck. If I want to break out into a dance I can, if I want to build a website I can try. So much is accessible in this very moment. There are many opportunities and possibilities to indulge.

Cheers to building a life that’s full of hydration and glowing existence. And cheers to living the lives we want.

In case you aren’t familiar with the term, a ‘pitch’ is essentially a short, enthralling summary of your book. Most people are common with elevator pitches, and it’s similar to that; it’s a means of describing your book within 60 seconds. Probably even less.

The reason I attended this workshop is because I’ve been feeling a bit stuck with my writing process, and even a bit more disappointed in myself. At the age of 21, I told myself that I’d land a book deal by 30. I’m 31 now, and that hasn’t happened. I attended because I wanted to see for myself: Am I even close?

The answer is no. No, I wasn’t.

… but not for the reasons I originally thought.

* * *

Firstly, I do want to say that I understand that landing book deals in one’s 20s and early 30s isn’t necessarily normal, but it is possible. You’ll see it most common with graduates from MFA powerhouses like the University of Iowa and NYU, or attendees of literary programs like the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference in Vermont. When I saw author Zadie Smith in person at a writer’s event in D.C., an audience member asked her for advice.

“You published your first book at 24,” she said. “As someone who is in her late 20s, and with zero book deals, do you have any suggestions?”

Zadie Smith responded with a soft tone of empathy: “I hate that I am this depressing fact for young people.” (Laughter from audience.) “But I’m from the UK, and for many of us, we were published young. Jeanette Winterson—” gasps from the well-read and literarily keen audience— “and Geoffrey Chaucer—” more loud, struggling gasps— “all started fairly young.”

This felt discouraging. No one happens to be as strikingly brilliant as powerhouses like Winterson or Smith; even when I was recently browsing the internet for something that I’m sure I didn’t need, I saw an advertisement with Zadie Smith for Bottega Veneta. (!!!) What? Their bags are like the price a fraction of my salary!

I kept Zadie Smith’s insight close to heart and kept writing, everyday, in hopes of what I believed would result in a finished, polished manuscript that would then land a literary agent. I took my manuscript with me to New York, checked into my hotel, and went out sight-seeing for a span of ten miles until I was tired and full of bread. I went to my hotel room and turned on The Closer. I was still so tired; less than a week previously I was in Europe, working as part of a faculty team leading a group of students across London, Paris, and Amsterdam. I passed out with my laptop in front of me, and when I woke, I got myself ready for the first day of the workshop. I showed up and was told to pull out my pitch, which I did not have. Everyone else did. I wanted to snort, or laugh stupidly, and told the instructor and cohort upfront that I didn’t have a pitch, and apologized for that. Of course, this hurt no one but me. I produced something during my lunch break, and at the end of the day I presented what I had.

Writing the pitch was excruciating. I had an abstract already, but it wasn’t in the suggested format of a successful pitch, so I reconfigured what I had and ended up hating the story altogether. This is where I learned my first lesson:

1. Have comps. They matter more than you might think.

So when you’re watching Netflix, or other streaming services, they’ll show ‘Similar Titles’ or “Bridget Jones meets Breaking Bad in Phoebe Wallers-Bridge hit series, Fleabag.” Do that in your pitch. Better yet, use it for the title of your email when you’re pitching your work; it catches agents’ attention.

This workshop was taught by a literary agent who is also an actively publishing writer. Her advice was stellar. It showed me what I was doing wrong, which was either not doing enough or completely missing the mark in terms of the market. Several years ago, while reading works of James Baldwin in the archives of the Beinecke Library at Yale, I remember flagging a segment in which he detailed wanting to get paid to write. He outlined his frustrations with the publishing market and how catering to it would be his only means of reaching a financial stability through his work.

… so this leads me here: comps are important because they show that you’re aware of the market and are writing to enter it. I learned they shouldn’t be more than 3-5 years old.

When I finally thought of two comps for my manuscript—MY YEAR OF REST AND RELAXATION by Otessa Moshfegh and THE OUTSIDERS by S.E. Hinton—I was told with a frown that they were too old. Surprised, I asked, “But people still read Otessa Moshfegh, right? She isn’t old, right?”

I looked around the room and felt a plummeting sadness in my stomach. I realized that my reading lists that I oftentimes assigned myself (details about them here) were more than likely not read by majority of people. They’d more than likely be considered boring. Outdated. Slow.

I oftentimes tell students that books written before the 1960s were more dense, and took more time and effort to read, because reading was seen as a leisurely activity and books were less accessible than they are now. The Industrial Revolution (1860s) made books more widely available to the public, and the rise of the ‘Dime Novel’ (cheap paperbacks) was born. But I oftentimes enjoy reading works written in between this century—Willa Cather comes to mind, as well as Virginia Woolf—but the market doesn’t reflect a drive for the titles of My Ántonia or To The Lighthouse. I recently clicked on the ‘WeirdGirlLiterature’ forum on Reddit and saw rave reviews of a book about a woman sexually attracted to planes. (Sky Daddy by Kate Folk.)

So while I’m hoping to excel as a literary fiction novelist, I’m pretty much out of touch with the expectations of publishing if I thought that my manuscript would land an interested agent. It might have?, but so far it hasn’t, and I was certain that I could reflect bigger gems about where I’m from than just what I’d written in my story.

Exhibit A: I read my pitch to the class. Interest peaked about 30% in, and at the mentioning of a rising action that was only maybe one-third of the book. In the individual pitch speed-dating styles with agents, he stopped me and pointed to the writing on the page. “Your story starts here,” he said.

Exhibit B: My workshop teacher said to us, “I stop reading when I can’t sell your book.” This got me thinking heavily of what I’d written on the page. Most of my work is meticulously crafted in the best prose I can write, and is oftentimes revised to meet a standard that I try to hold high for myself. But I never thought of marketing. This threw me for a loop—and it was keeping me unpublished.

A really beautifully written Substack article arrived in my inbox at seemingly the most perfect time. Vicky Weber details here how writing a pitch first can actually help with the writing process and structure later. As someone who’s had to cut roughly 70% of her manuscript that she’s been working on for over 6 years, I couldn’t agree with her more. Pitching your work seems really hard when you can’t describe it in under 60 seconds. It’s even harder when you realize that you might need closer to five minutes to fully explain your concept.

At that point, the pitch is long over.

That leads me to my next lesson learned:

2. Have a manuscript that’s closer to 70,000-100,000 words long. My manuscript was closer to the size of a novella (50,000 words). My instructor flagged this and said, “but the spine will be very small in a bookstore. People will hardly be able to see it.”

This was yet another thing I hadn’t thought about!

Perhaps the only thing that really bothered me during these five days is the prioritization of selling a book rather than crafting it. The instructor corrected this:

3. “The pitch is what will get the agent interested in your pages,” she said. “But if the writing’s bad, it more than likely won’t get represented.”

   Now, there are books that are written poorly but the story/concept about them is great. These shouldn’t be overlooked, either—although I most certainly would overlook them. (I’m a snot when it comes to literature; what can I say?) But writing a book is hard. It’s really, really hard. I majored in English, and then got an MFA in fiction writing. It’s one thing to study good writing, and it’s another to write it. It takes practice. It takes time.

As I shared more about my story that takes place in Oklahoma, classmates opened up about how there’s not much written that takes place there and that there’s lots of curiosity surrounding it. This gave me hope. My favorite writers from where I come from are Joy Harjo, S.E. Hinton, and Ralph Ellison. Their works are notable, memorable, and inspiring.

I hope to add my name to that list one day, and will keep working in hopes that I will.

I follow a similar recommendation, but not for eating—for reading. Instead of a protein, a vegetable, and a carb, I follow the diet of ‘a classic’ (protein), ‘a leisure read’ (carb), and ‘a non-fiction/philosophy’ (vegetable) read. Because of this, I usually am reading about three titles at once. I knock them out at different times, and usually show a preference for one over others, but I still read from a relatively balanced menu.

* * *

Please note that trends of society also reflect trends in literacy. Notice how there’s a massive push and advertisement of GLP-1’s? Those aggravate me to my core. According to the media, the cure to obesity and prevention of diabetes is not removing harmful chemicals and additives from the food supply but simply distributing and promoting drugs to stave off hunger.

The nerve.

Of course, I wouldn’t judge anyone on these life-changing medications. I just wish that the root of the issue was taken care of first. Or at all. There is a similar occurrence with media; the negative stuff that leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a feeling of defeat and division is usually what gets promoted, and fed to you. The news is a prime example. I always hear people say, “You need to know what’s going on in the world.” Sure, they’re dishing out important information—but how is it affecting you? Of course yes, it’s beneficial to know what’s going on in the world, but not if it leaves you feeling as though there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s got to be something there for you that’s going to fuel you. If not, your consumption might leave you feeling empty.

* * *

Since I’m on summer break from my full-time job at the university, I’m stuffing my face with all of the book titles that I previously reserved for ‘later’. Within the past two weeks, I’ve finished When God Was a Woman by Merlin Stone (a fun and pop-historical read), Stoner by Roger Williams (a classic), and Train Dreams by Denis Johnson (a novella). The first book felt like a gigantic steak that I had to gnaw on in some parts and that had a huge bone in the middle. Some remnants of meat were even stuck in my teeth. Overall, it was thoroughly researched and equally enraging to read. Stoner by Roger Williams is a book I’d recommend to anyone without pause; it’s about a man who grew up dirt-poor in the Midwest and lived a life that the narrator insinuates will soon be forgotten, but that was notably lived. Train Dreams felt filthy at times, and was full of an entanglement of nature and supernatural forces regarding settlers entering previously untamed regions of the American frontier. I hated reading parts of it—I don’t believe in trigger warnings, but this book solicited one—and finished it up as quickly as I could. It was like a very healthy wheatgrass shot that had dirt still in it. If it was nutritious, I couldn’t quite tell, but the taste was disgusting. (But the prose was beautiful.)

This nutritional balance of literature was not a suggestion, but an insistence that I’ve heard over the years. What you read is incredibly important; not only does it shape your worldview, but it also shows you what’s missing from it. About 5 years ago I attended an online decolonization workshop based in Barcelona, Spain. The instructor opened the class with a sigh, and stated: “If you studied philosophy, congratulations. You have learned the ways of thinking of five white men from five different countries.”

I snorted. In a way—he’s right. But also: this doesn’t have to be this way. Zadie Smith, who I’m sure I’ve mentioned in this Substack before (such a powerhouse of a writer!), mentioned that you need to have a balanced reading list. In fact, she says that to be a good writer is to be an even better reader.

Here’s an example: if you read anything regarding American History, you should also be sure to include works of James Baldwin (black American), and Russell Means (Native American). I was so angry when I came across Russell Means earlier this summer—how had I never heard of him before?—because I’m from Oklahoma, which is pretty much entirely Native land, and I felt that I should have been introduced to his writings much sooner. His cultural heritage emphasizes importance of a female-male balance, and what is representative in a matriarchal society.

(the following quote has been paraphrased)

“Today’s modern man comes from a society that is fear-based. In nature, there is female-male balance. Just as there’s female-male balance in the universe, there is female-male balance in all of this life.”

https://youtube.com/shorts/GJh8Sm79WeI?si=0-ubK1IH4QCblDkW

The Problem with (And Importance of) Required Reading

I can say quite honestly that a lot of required reading that I’ve done over the years is incredibly poor writing. If anything, it might be reflective of a particular time or place, and perhaps of political uprisings that reflected a desire to read or perform in a specific fashion. But I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been traumatized by certain things I’ve read, and by some of the audacity to put into words some of the sickest and most disturbing thoughts known to man.

So, you might ask—why do writers do it? And why are they praised and nominated when they do so? When they ‘show the reality of human nature’? I actually think it’s a trick. I think they want you to think that these are options and this is all that there is.

However, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Perhaps one of the biggest incentives (and successes) of media is how effective it is in leading people to believe, accept, and promote certain ideologies and behave in particular ways. (Example: classic Hollywood films that show women being stalked by a man—him seeing her at a retail storefront, and then showing up at her house—and her being delighted by this. When women tell these men no, the men take this to mean nothing, or to mean the opposite; her voice, and her decisions, are voided based on what he wishes to do.) For both sexes watching films like these, two messages will be visible: 1. that it is alright if a man shows up at a woman’s residence unannounced at night with intentions of seeing her again, and 2., women who say that they are not interested, actually do not mean it. If there were healthier variations that were reflected in media and popular literature, there would more than likely be more compassion and success in modern dating. If there was more appreciation and acknowledgement of the opposite sex instead of conflict and dishonor, there would be more unity.

Another important aspect of a well-balanced literary diet is recognizing these tricks. Even if you read something really indulgent that seems sweet or wicked, there’s usually something to mitigate its nutritional profile once you’ve consumed it. Think of fruit; although its flavor contains sugar, the water and fiber mitigate it so that it doesn’t spike your blood sugar or cause a sugar rush. Ultimately, there’s an agenda of media to get you hooked and addicted to the ultra-processed syrupy stuff that makes you crash and inflamed and tired, and probably defeated. The problem isn’t media itself, or your desire and love for eating! No, we don’t want to cut that. We want to embrace that.

There’s good stuff, too. We just have to load up on those parts as well.

***

I’m proud to say, after decades of being an avid reader, and always feeling as though I’m behind on some invisible ‘Must Read’ list, I’ve stopped reading so many depressing titles just for the sake of knowing them. I can’t do it anymore. Same with films; I can’t watch ones with explicit scenes that include sexual abuse and/or trauma, and firmly believe that there is no need to display any of it. Regrettably it shows a loss of dignity and integrity for anyone being portrayed. It’s also incredibly difficult to watch, and I don’t think it serves any benefit—only a welcoming of shame.

In addition to fruits being a healthy addition to your diet, vegetables are great as well. They are good for you, colorful, and you can probably eat as much as you want without feeling as though you’re overconsuming. (Have you ever been craving something sweet and tried to eat two apples? Usually you’ll be satisfied with one.) I’ve found a really lovely medium where I incorporate fun titles into my reading queue (I read a couple of romance novels last month!) and still study the ‘acclaimed’ stuff for my own writing. A few days ago I finished The Handmaid’s Tale, and made it halfway through The Testaments before my copy of Cimarron by Edna Ferber arrived in the mail and I ditched it. (After a writer’s workshop in New York City pretty much slashed my previous manuscript, I’m now working on a murder mystery about the killing of a healthcare CEO in a billionaire’s ballroom built in Oklahoma. This writing workshop was the most intense I’ve attended, and I’ll dedicate an entire newsletter to it—but just know that I’ve thought about it nearly every day for the past eight weeks. Currently, I’m upping my literary queue to pretty much reflect the era in which I’m writing.)

There is so much polarization happening in the world today, and I know it’s easy to get sucked into. There’s so much that we can’t change about the world, but we can control what we put on our plate. If things that you’re consuming feel too heavy, reach for something light. If what you’re viewing is too divisive, select something more unifying. I’m not the biggest fan of healthy eating, but I’ve grown to love it. I love how I feel in my body once I’ve nourished it.

Don’t forget that literature can have the same powerful effect.

LITERARY COCKTAILS

Ditch the booze and go heavy on the books this summer! Here’s a few titles to really kick up your boots:

A FAREWELL TO ARMS AND A HELLO TO OLD-FASHIONEDS

Hemingway with a zest of lemon—

1. Stoner by John Williams pairs exceptionally well with Hubert Selby Jr.’s Requiem for a Dream. The psychedelic literary hit strikes one’s veins with descriptions of heroin use and overdoses of unrequited love. Not for the weak of heart—but most suitable for people with interests in opium dens, the 1920s, and bottles of vintage absinthe. For a chaser, finish with Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, because it always has, and it always will.

VIBRANT DANCE WITH ME

for fans of David Lynch, blood orange moons, and nostalgic cinematic dreams—

2. You’re gonna need a shaker for this one. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison and Crazy Heart by Joy Harjo are fantastic reads and feel like friendship that’s found each other in another world. Includes sparkling grapefruit juice and a loving gaze into your heart. That gaze belongs to the book, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

DECEPTION IN TECHNICOLOR

Sharply written, diamonds reflecting in your glass—

3. You Should Have Known by Jean Hanff Korelitz will keep you in prestigious spirits as a relationship therapist grapples with a murder that’s close to home; polish it off with the summer-melancholic-blue novel Run River by Joan Didion. Definitely one of my favorite books of all time. If you’re still a bit on edge, My Antonia by Willa Cather will be exactly what you’re looking for.

DARK ACADEMIA

Classic and stylish in nature, and all of the women are portrayed beautifully—

1. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

2. The Bostonians by Henry James

3. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

PINK POWER

Big Voices, Big Hair, and Big Hearts

1. Your Silence Will Not Protect You by Audre Lorde

2. Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susan

3. A Room With A View by E.M. Forester

If you were a younger child, it was a bit of an annoyance; your clothes weren’t necessarily yours, but your brother’s before he outgrew them and transitioned his interests from Crash Bandicoot to rap music. I’m currently working on a thriller based in Oklahoma, featuring a Bohemian Grove-esque retreat built by the nation’s billionaires to ‘escape’ and ‘entertain’ themselves privately. One of the funnest aspects of writing the book is recalling some fond memories of my childhood; biking around the suburbs and spotting other children on their skateboards, or hanging out on the patios with jewelry kits, or playing basketball in the driveways. (Creative Examples: Little Misty walking around barefoot in an oversized Metallica shirt that was her brother’s, and draping like a blanket over her body. Young Frank wearing a forest green polo that he’s outgrown but that his mom won’t let go of; his three older brothers wore the shirt, and although Frank likes eating saltine crackers by the sleeve-full and spending summer days watching movie rentals instead of hanging outside, the mother insists that he, too, will wear that green shirt.)

Hand-me-downs weren’t just for kids, but were for adults too. They were good quality things you could keep for awhile, and that wouldn’t fall apart on you. If they did, they could be repaired and remain suitable for wear.

Now, unfortunately, majority of clothes won’t last more than a few seasons. While browsing a clothing rack at a retail store, a pair of running pants boasted that the $100+ price tag would last ‘the suggested life span of a garment: 71 washes.’ I stared at the advertisement and thought of clothes that have literally outlasted war. This felt tongue-and-cheek: a joke that was somehow darkened by a reality reflecting that, actually, not much good is lasting for more than a little while, and many people aren’t actually looking forward to anything much as they are just holding their breaths and hoping that things don’t get worse.

It’s not that people want to go back—in fact, I’d argue that many people would just like for things to remain stable for awhile. No more recession for no reason. No more rising healthcare costs, or skyrocketing grocery bills. Just, stability; the ability to find work that pays a living wage and the continuation (or the start) of a decent quality of life.

Of course, there’s a possibility that my reality is amplified by politics because I live in the capitol of the United States. Sometimes, I forget it’s not average life to encounter corporate lawyers and senior level employers of the government. Or, at times, foreign service workers. And at other times, a former president waving from a tinted-black Escalade to you while you’re having a macchiato at Dolcezza in a window seat. (Yes, Joe Biden did wave at me.)

This amplification is enhanced by the reality that the quality of life in the United States has tanked, and everyone feels it. The people who had some of the most competitive and compelling jobs are feeling it. The service workers who already had to put up with lots of manual labor are feeling it. When people pause on the streets to check out menu pricing at restaurants and physically deflate, they’re feeling it. I’m witnessing people who formerly made quite abundant livings struggle, and it’s been depressing and a reality check to watch. I’ve always enjoyed going out to eat every now and then, but now I don’t like it at all. I feel like the food can be hit or miss, or the qualities in ingredients have disintegrated. My hobbies now revolve around free and creative activities (which I love!) and spending more time reading books and writing. Both are very economical choices and great for growing critical thinking skills and intellect.

Here’s a list of my favorite things to do in my city, and ideas you can have fun in yours:

1. Embassy Events!

-This is probably my favorite event of the year in D.C., and that’s because a) I’ve always been intrigued by international cultures and contexts, and b) you get to meet ambassadors and learn about other countries. I try to arrive 15-20 minutes prior to the embassies opening, but I arrived later this year. I waited in line for probably 2.5 hours total (definitely always carry a book with you; I was actually able to finish mine), and visited 3 different embassies.

2. Beauty Schools

-I’ve never actually had facials before, but this is something I’ve tried recently and really enjoyed it! There’s great beauty schools in the DMV that offer a variety of services, and I’ve booked a facial for $45. Not bad; most spas here have pricing that starts at $149, and I’ve seen services that cost $400+. There’s a teacher/professionally licensed aesthetician who oversees treatments, so you don’t have to worry too much about receiving a botched service. (I think.)

3. Ball Games

-I’ve been to a Nats Game for $15. They have discounted days and I attended one of them. It was great; I wandered around the stadium and pulled out my book and felt insane and then went home. Incredible way to spend 2 hours.

4. Book Stores and Libraries

-Shoutout to Second Story Books in D.C.! They’ve got a system where you can bring in used books and get store credit. When I moved from my old apartment in Shaw to my new apartment in Southwest, I took a Lyft with probably 30 pounds’ worth of books and received enough store credit that’s lasted me for over 10 months. It’s a great place to explore when you’re happy, or tired, or looking for an obscure title and don’t want to spend retail price for a paperback.

-My heart will forever be a lover of libraries. My mother practically raised me in them. I sat through story time, lounged on lollipop-colored bean bags and fell in love with surroundings of books. You can also rent materials like sewing machines and DVD players, and have you ever met anyone nicer or more helpful than a librarian?

5. Ramen Bars (but not ordering ramen)

When I lived in my old neighborhood, I’d buy broth from the ramen place around the corner from my house for $5 and add shirataki noodles of my own. I’d also cook runny eggs and chop up green onions to add. It was a meal that’d last me at least two servings, and having their broth felt like a real treat.

6. Discount Movie Days & Matinee Showings

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are usually when you can see a film for a discounted rate. (At AMC, tickets are 50% off.) The first showtimes at movie houses are also usually cheaper.

7. Pizza Parlor Specials

-This one I enjoy because it feels reminiscent of the late 90s and early 2000s for me. (Most specifically: yanking the door open as a kid and being flooded with the heavenly smell of cheese and grease and pepperoni while ordering a $5 Hot-N-Ready Little Ceasars pizza with my mom.) Carryout’s ideal if you can manage it; that way, you don’t have to pay a delivery fee.

8. After Hours Museum Days

-Usually it’s on Thursdays. I’ve been a few times at the Library of Congress (however, most museums have something similar to this) and enjoyed it.

9. Author Readings

-I can’t tell if I’m not fun anymore and just prefer being in my house by 5 pm, but author readings are great, especially if you live close to a bookstore. When I got hired at Howard University, a colleague told me that Politics and Prose is one of the top 20 bookstores in the USA. “If your book does well there, it’ll hit the New York Times Bestseller list,” she told me. (She would know; she’s been on it.) I’ve had the pleasure of reading there once, and hope I’ll have the pleasure of reading there again. I’ve attended readings by Myriam Gurba and also Zadie Smith here.

10. Exercise!

-Ironically, I started running because it’s free. Previously I attended yoga classes and loved them, but, to be honest, after attending a cramped hot yoga class in the afternoon and smelling the absolute foulest body odor of my life, I never returned to a studio class again. Now I practice online and exercise using a Swedish Ladder Bar my boyfriend built for me, and go outside to run in the mornings. I live by the Wharf and love the pier so much; I usually listen to a House Music playlist and stay outside for an hour or so. It’s a dopamine hit that keeps me feeling satisfied for the remainder of the day.

***Things are crazy and almost sinister in the country right now, but even if it feels like there isn’t much to look forward to anymore, there’s a lot to recognize about what we have right now. And it’s an even better feeling to know that you aren’t experiencing this alone. If there’s a friend that is always pretty good about checking in on you, check in on them. Do it now. Ask how they are. Ask to see them. If you’re the one who’s usually the one who reaches out, I’d urge you to take a minute and ask yourself how you’re doing. Truly. It might sound ridiculous, but write it down. Talk to your heart for a little while. We’re doing that less and less nowadays, but that interiority is oftentimes the most powerful aspect that we have of ourselves. Let’s not lose it. Let’s not abandon it.

Today’s going to be a good day because I’ll make it that way, and so will you. All of the days are good because you’re in them. And thanks for being here, and reading this.

I never forgot this concept of addiction engineers, and I was really disturbed that I only heard about it from a TED Talk (I think?) that I no longer can find, but that I’ve been searching for for years. There hasn’t been much information about this concept, specifically—that this addiction to our phones has drained much of our energy for other things, and ironically, sped up the time we have in a day. ‘Social media minutes’ are similar to laundry minutes; however, whereas laundry minutes are typically much longer than normal minutes, social media minutes make 60 feel like 10. Many of the posts we see online are meant to stir ‘engagement,’ but most of what we see doesn’t make us feel good—much of it makes us feel torn, or defensive, or unsafe. The existence of social media has greatly shifted the perception of time.

* * *

Recently, I’ve adapted a Time-Block calendar to schedule my weeks.

This is a result of feeling (always feeling this way, actually) that there wasn’t a possible way for me to get done everything I wanted; there wasn’t enough time to cook and to clean and to email places about writing and to answer emails from students and practice Turkish, and also work on my manuscript, and also feel relatively, well, sane. Having a Time-Block template has saved me quite a lot; when everything that I need to do is only in my head, or squished together on a calendar I usually end up procrastinating or not getting much done. That’s changed quite a bit, for two reasons: 1. I’ve started shutting off my phone for considerable amounts of time, and 2. I make sure to have everything written down. (Even tedious things get scribbled onto the page: ‘remove clothes from washer to dryer’, ‘wipe dustboards at 9:30 am on Thursday,’ etc.)

Am I successful in executing these things? Not quite. However, I’m shocked at how much of a difference this makes. I’m no longer overwhelmed by the list of things to do—as long as I know that there’s a nice scheduled time to do them. It feels like having storage containers that fit nicely on your shelves, and you can find everything you need. You don’t have to worry about something being lost or misplaced when you need it in a hurry, or when you need it, period. There’s something really incredible about making your life as reliable as you can, especially when that means that you’ll inevitably feel supported in the process.

I’ve also become more of a stickler about scheduling everything I need to do because of this recent video I watched about David Lynch. I’m not the biggest fan of his movies, but I am a huge fan of his discipline. For some reason, you remember the things you’ve seen by David Lynch. There’s something really potent about his artistry, and I think a large aspect of that is attributed to how seriously he dedicated his time to producing his work.

* * *

As much as I previously craved spontaneity, I’ve realized that, as an adult, having a planned and almost automated routine for my days guarantees more results. I really dislike comparing my life to a machine—however, there are aspects of my life that I really wish to prioritize and give my time, and if I don’t do that to some degree, these skillsets will be lost. I just know they will. I like knowing when I’m going to wake up the following day and what I will do—how long I will run for, what scene I will try to write, what dinner I will cook. If I don’t have things prepared, that’s alright—but something I’m realizing, or something that I’m learning, is that time is what I make of it. I can make it work for me, but when I feel like it’s working against me, I feel defeated. Far too many times I’ve gotten online to browse ‘for a while’ and so much time has passed. Not only that, but I feel as though I don’t want to do anything else.

It costs me more than I want it to, and because of this, I’ve got to engage with it less.

* * *

Recently, I watched a video with Tristan Harris (director and producer of the critically acclaimed Social Dilemma documentary on Netflix) about media that has ‘stop ends.’ He described this including newspapers (you read it until it’s finished), books (same—they eventually come to an end), and previously, television (usually one episode would premiere and you’d have to wait until the following week for the next one).

But in today’s society, you can essentially have anything you want at any time you want it. At 2 in the morning I can order a pizza that will be delivered to me in an hour. And most recently, I’ve caught how advertisements have become so fierce and common in everyday life that even my thoughts have commercial breaks; for instance, I’ll be doing something without my phone– perhaps reading, or finishing up a lecture plan– and then, I’ll have a sudden urge for something else. Perhaps to look at yellow sweaters on the internet. This doesn’t satisfy a need that I have; it’s a want that feels like an itch, but it’s really distracting. Ironically enough, the itch doesn’t go away the more I browse. In fact, it continues right up until I catch something else that aggravates it, and causes me to continue scrolling and feeling a crescendo of longing, annoyance, and fatigue.

All of this has led me to believe that I’m searching for something, but can find something better, and even if it isn’t better I can keep going until eventually I do, but then I realize that I never even knew what I was looking for in the first place—and what I was actually doing was avoiding the things that I had to do, or looked forward to doing, in the day.

* * *

The Internet has transitioned from a place only accessible from one computer in the home to an endless realm of possibility and doom. It’s succeeded at making me feel insignificant while simultaneously like a triumphant consumer: as though I can have anything. But if that’s the case, how come I oftentimes feel overwhelmed at completing small tasks throughout the day? Why is it so difficult for me to stop scrolling at times, and do the things that seem a bit harder, but worth it? I know that social media minutes count for a lot more than what they seem. This is why I’m challenging myself to pick up my phone less, reserve time for doing and practicing the things I love, and feel more at ease and grateful for a beautiful life that I get to write about, dream about, and live.

This was my first return since I lived there. (I taught at two universities in the country for about 18 months before returning to USA and moving to Washington, D.C.) The Netherlands will always have a special place in my heart: it’s an incredibly safe country, and I liked the little life I formed there.

While I was teaching in Breda, a Dutch friend of mine invited me to her university in Leiden to explore the city together and eat apple cake. She showed me her university library and went inside to pick up a book. I couldn’t enter because I didn’t have a library card, but when she came back to the lobby she handed me hers. “Check it out,” she encouraged me.

I took the card and was sweating as I browsed the Asian Studies section of books and couldn’t really focus while I aimlessly roamed around. I picked up speed and met my friend back outside in the cold and cloudy weather.

She smiled at me with concern and asked if I was alright. Then, something dawned on me.

“I forgot they don’t shoot you here,” I said. She looked shocked, stunned, terrified, hurt, and enlightened all at once. I, personally, felt a way I had never felt in my entire life.

So this is what it’s like to feel safe in a country.

* * *

Quite a few years ago, an American friend of mine brought up in conversation that she always aims to get the third stall in a public toilet just in case a shooting happens. She giggled when she said it, and I told her that I’ve experienced the exact same thing: you’re subconsciously looking for escape routes in places where there have been mass shootings, like movie theaters or schools or malls or, actually? Anywhere in the USA. It isn’t an uncommon thing to do. It might sound insane, but if you’re American, it’s quite normal? And can bring comfort. (As though you can escape something like that.)

Essentially, this moment in Leiden defined the rest of my time in the Netherlands. I never really felt unsafe. This was actually a large reason why I so passionately wanted to stay— but there were also quite a few reasons why I questioned whether that was the right choice.

* * *

I was teaching in the Netherlands when George Floyd’s murderer was convicted and sentenced to prison. But before we get to that point, let’s back up a bit: his murder was the reason I deleted my Facebook page. The situation was entirely too jarring, and showed me the perils of social media:

I’d be scrolling through my feed, witnessing someone’s family vacation photos, and then maybe a cute cat, and then a black man being violently murdered by police, and then two avocado halves hugging each other. My mind was so numb to what I was seeing—all of took up the same frame on my phone—and the fact that I could so easily scroll past atrocity bothered me so much that I gave up on the platform altogether.

My decision to move to the Netherlands in particular was ignited by a similar backstory. I gave up on my country altogether in my 20s, a decision most prominently decided by much of the literature I was reading and watching at the time: lots of radical feminists and decolonial thinkers, and lots of films that were inspired by French existentialism and Frantz Fanon. I studied Sontag and wished I studied literature at the Sorbonne in France, which is where Baldwin lived, which is where Dumas came from, and which is where I would inevitably visit at some point to write something that would hopefully matter to someone one day. The Netherlands factored into all of this because it’s a European country with the highest level of English proficiency, so my shot as an English major increased my chances of landing a fellowship/teaching position.

I explain all of this to exemplify the conclusion that America disturbed me so much and made me feel insane. I wasn’t alone in this, though; the entire country feels like a simulator for many of us. It simply doesn’t seem real. You flip on your television set and sit through a stream of pharmaceutical commercials before your show returns. The food tastes faintly like food—like something close to a fruit, or a vegetable, or meat. The friends I met in the Netherlands would oftentimes clutch my arm when I reminisced about my country, and were nervous about a place like this. “Europe has its problems,” they shared, “but you don’t get killed here.”

And wow, how lovely that felt!

* * *

This recent trip back to Holland was enlightening. I got to see old friends of mine and eat some of my favorite foods. (All fried, by the way.) I rented a bike and lost it, of course, but eventually found it and had the perfect cycle back to my hotel before departing back to the USA. As wonderful as it was to be back, something else dawned me: how perfectly aligned my life feels in Washington, D.C. For a long time I wasn’t sure how I felt about the city—it’s pretentious, incredibly well-read, entitled, pretentious, and full of Happy Hours. However, being back in Holland reminded me of how lonely I got being so far from so many people I know and love. By the grace of God I was able to form meaningful and powerful relationships with people that I keep in contact with, but in terms of establishing something for myself that felt communal and inspired felt really difficult to do in another country. Outside of my full-time work at the university, I enjoy teaching writing classes and designing stationery that encourages people to write their dreams to life.

Since I’ve been back, I’m glad to say that I’m no longer yearning to leave the country in the similar way I was before. When I lived in the Netherlands, a few people commented on my work ethic. “You are very ambitious,” they said. I found this interesting, because it was something of note. A thing I learned from a few of my colleagues at the university was the perception of failing students. ‘It’s not that big of a deal,’ was a general consensus: universities are largely affordable, and students who didn’t pass would simply pay a couple hundred euros to repeat the course. This was unfathomable to me—in a good way, mind you—but it got me thinking. I’m grateful to be ambitious and think a large part of that is because I’m American. Many of us tend to try to perform our best at all times because there might not be a safety net if we don’t, but we don’t prioritize that—we prioritize, what if we do?

What if we make it? What if we try, and keep trying, and keep trying again until it all works out? What if we actually become the thing we dream about? It’s something I love most about where I’m from: our ability to dream big, and to shoot our shot.

People can say what they want about Americans, but at least we’re warm, incredibly optimistic, and deeply innovative. Of course, I wish the grind wasn’t such a necessity to live a halfway decent life in this country, but growing up in a country full of dreams is pretty sweet. American media still is pretty dominant around the world and tends to be globally loved. As for the particular place I live right now, the District of Columbia has offered me so many opportunities and chances to do exactly what my heart yearns for, and meet amazing people along the way.

Because of this, I’m really grateful for the years I spent abroad. And because of this, I’m really grateful for the chance to continue pursuing my dreams in a country and a city that supports me so much. xoxo

Based in DMV area, or visiting for a trip? Come and write with me at the Hillwood Museum and Gardens this spring!

Here’s a list of upcoming letter-writing workshops, curated by yours truly.

1. GRATITUDE (Saturday, 18 April 2026)

There is always an option to keep or to give away the letters you write, but this workshop will be dedicated to writing letters to people who have enriched your life. Trust me: they’ll love to have them.

Sign up here for GRATITUDE.

2. MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS (Saturday, 9 May 2026; the day before Mother’s Day!)

This was a beautiful recommendation by an attendee! Please bring your mother/daughter along with you; these letters will consist of addressing each other. (2 tickets must be purchased at the time of checkout.)

Sign up here for MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS.

3. BELIEVER (Saturday, 13 June 2026)

“Walk by faith, not by sight.”

This workshop will delve into the health and healing powers of belief. Although one does not have to be religious to participate, this workshop encourages attendees with religious backgrounds and/or affiliations to attend. All are welcome.

Sign up here for BELIEVER.

I’m writing this at the tail-end of a few days spent in the Latin Quarter. It’s been divine. I’ve eaten lots of bread, written lots of things. However, something that I’ve been wrestling with is the French perception of race, and how it’s a blasphemous thing to point out and preposterous to suggest that there’s a difference between people.

“Here, we’re all French,” is a common perception, or a common reaction. (This has been explained to us in a variety of circumstances: white French tour guides, professors, students; black tour guides, professors, students.) I like that perception—however, I understand how nice language usually blankets something else.

* * *

I come from the Midwest—specifically Oklahoma, which is one of the friendliest places in the United States. (smiles proudly)

However, being a minority in a homogenous place was confusing. I didn’t realize it until I got older, but many people who I gravitated to and who gravitated to me were usually perceived as different, while I perceived them as cool.*

*(It’s also probably very important to note that, in the United States, we obsess over labels. It’s insane but there’s a reason for it. For many minorities, especially Black Americans, there’s a devastation regarding origin. While many other people can respond where they are from—they are French, or Nigerian, or Senegalese—black Americans cannot. We are American, but specifically for us, that means that our heritage began with slavery. Our roots are nearly impossible to trace outside of the enslavement of our ancestors. Their languages, their cultures, and their intelligences have been replaced with the English language and the colonized circumstances of a capitalist country. As a result, many of us feel a severance from a very important and vital essence of identity.)

However, they were cool because they stood out. You know how this can be seen as a bad thing, or distasteful? This wasn’t the case. I oftentimes found people who were left out of perceptions of what is normal or acceptable to be some of the most intriguing.

But was this bad? And was this misleading?

* * *

As someone who was oftentimes among the few black people in her neighborhood, or her school classrooms, I realized that I wasn’t alone in curiosity of different people. Once, my mother said that she was in a retail store and saw a girl with a lot of piercings and colorful hair. “You look like my daughter would be friends with you,” she told the girl. Apparently she was delighted; she asked my name.

It turns out, we knew each other. And yes, we were friends.

But specifically, in terms of race, this curiosity was also a bit alarming. I had people who wanted to get to know me to learn the ways in which they were above me. There was a curiosity for the sake of justification of stereotypes or discrimination. As for myself, that competition was also reciprocated. “This person thinks black people are terrible? Let me show them just how much better I’ll perform than them.” It was somewhat ridiculous, but it was also necessary.

When you’re a child, you’re navigating perceptions of the world and what you’ve inherited from it. I inherited this indebted perception that I would need to prove myself to others who would otherwise be irrelevant for my life. And for others, they inherited a perception about themselves that they probably wanted to experiment with conflicting bodies of people to see what was true or not, or what they could disregard.

* * *

Racial curiosity is something that I understand in particular because of the American obsession with labels. The irony is that labels rarely ever check out in the ways that we believe they can be effective.

In high school, I had a biracial classmate who sometimes took digs at me for being black. (Yes, it’s as strange as it sounds, but hear me out.) He’d share with whoever would listen that he was hurt and felt betrayed by his father who left, and developed a disgust towards blackness because of this. For him: blackness represented abandonment, shame, and a burden placed upon a white woman who was his mother. I’d heard him lament about this more than once—so imagine the shock when he turned around in class and asked loudly, “Patience, you’re black—what’s it like to be on food stamps?”

Here was that test. I was so embarrassed and angry that he’d asked me that but I felt so good that I couldn’t justify his negative and degrading perception of blackness. I mentioned how upset I was to a friend, and she ended up telling him about it. He found me in the hallway and apologized for it.

“You’re black-- what’s it like not to have a dad?” I asked.

No, I didn’t ask that. But a part of me wanted to. The question alone would probably have made him mad and frustrated him in a similar way that his question frustrated me. However, this frustration reflects a reality: his father leaving had nothing to do with his being black. And being on food stamps is not a reflection of being black. Neither of these situations has anything to do with race, no matter how much stereotypes want to insist that this is the case.

* * *

I hate racial stereotypes because they’re so limiting and damaging. If I could, I’d probably abandon most discussions about race because they’re really hard and conflicting.

However.

I am definitely intrigued by people with different racial backgrounds than mine. I love hearing about where someone is from and how they were raised. This includes white people as well.

Overall, I love hearing about people’s lives. And the parts that are difficult are good, too.

* * *

In terms of curiosity, I’m probably most fortunate that nothing detrimental came out of my inquisitions regarding others and their inquisitions about me. I’ve definitely built friendships with people that I didn’t particularly like and who didn’t particularly like me either, but we knew that there were things about ourselves that we wanted (or needed) to debunk and that required another person in some capacity.

Here’s an excerpt from my novella manuscript titled AN OKLAHOMA STORY detailing this:

Something happens and Hunter is bawling in front of the gymnasium because his dad is a white supremacist and no one is helping him deal with that. Should they? I walk past and give him a hug. No, I won’t hang out with him, but I will give him a hug. He wears his sadness and boys punch it out of him like their mothers promised pizza dinner and never showed up. Ethan walks past carrying a football because he’s on varsity and has a thrifted letterman’s jacket. He thinks I’m weird because I read a lot and carry calligraphy pens to every class. I think he’s annoying because he’s dealing with homelessness that I don’t know about and he keeps asking me if I’ll come to a game. For what? The bad hasn’t come yet, but then it does and I show up to Grace’s funeral wearing a veil. I feel guilt— not about Brody, but about how I feel about everything. In the midst of what seems to be going terribly wrong, there will be people who die.

I’ve befriended people who would say insane things that left me feeling ashamed and guilty. I didn’t know how to intervene or correct them, but a mood would change and it could be equally felt.

The interesting and insightful parts of moments like these is how people communicate how they feel about what they’ve done. This has happened on both ends. Once, a friend hurt my feelings pretty badly and came back with a large meal of all of my favorite food. Another time, I said something really disingenuous and realized how it affected that person. I planned an outing as a surprise so that we could laugh together.

There’s something scary and teachable in moments when you realize that people are actually just people. It shouldn’t be scary, but it is—because so many of us have been conditioned to think differently, and no one has really been taught how to deal with that. The result? You realize that you know this person in a capacity deeper than their label, and you’ve seen their heart exposed to you.

This is something really compassionate that many of us have been striving to do and to be since we were children—to be considerate, and to be considered, no matter what the circumstance.

* * *

I don’t think that friendships like this last very long—sometimes, they’re too intense and they’re meant to be brief—but they’re significant. The conflicting relationships I had with people in my youth matter a lot to me because I recognized how identities are formed in complication. I love a complicated identity; the better are the chances to acknowledge the humanity within us all.

I don’t care how I’ve come off in France—my labeling of people’s nationalities and my interactions with them— yes, my friends from Germany, or my Kurdish boyfriend—because I think people’s distinctions are beautiful. (It’s very American of me, I know.) However, as much as I used to really dislike how I was unintentionally teaching people things about my identity, I was reaping the benefits in the ways in which they were unintentionally teaching me things about theirs.

You can think a label fits until something changes and you prefer another, or not one at all. You’re just you.

You’re incredibly you.

I anticipated that I might not be accepted, but I most certainly wanted to try. (If you’ve been reading this newsletter for a while, then you know how much I’ll try for anything if I want it badly enough.)

Many of the rejection letters detailed budget and funding cuts that resulted in premier programs offering 2-4 slots at most for their English programs. In addition, many programs received over a 30% increase in applications. This process was really reminiscent of when I was younger and applying obsessively to funding opportunities abroad and in the USA. Essentially: I’d apply so much for things that I’d forget where I’d applied, and then all of a sudden in the midst of an afternoon, a slew of rejections would hit my inbox.

However, two new feelings came over me when I received my final rejection. The first was gratitude for the teachers and professionals who wrote my letters of recommendation. The second was actually a wash of relief—I would no longer have to contemplate ‘what if.’

* * *

At first, I only applied for PhD opportunities overseas.

Pursuing a PhD in Europe looks like this: you look for a ‘vacancy’ in a particular country in a particular discipline that matches your background. ‘Vacancies’ are titled that because you’re employed as a worker of the university. You have a salary and you have an advisor, and studies usually last 3-4 years. This is different than an American university model that requires 4-6 years of study: the first two years are dedicated to classwork, and the rest of the time is dedicated to writing your dissertation.

When I lived abroad, a Lebanese colleague was studying for his PhD in Germany. “I met a professor at a conference and he invited me to work with him,” he said. “He created the job posting and I got hired for it.”

This is something that isn’t uncommon, I found— ‘vacancies’ posted with recipients already in mind, or solidified. I knew someone else who said something similar: either they knew their advisor already or made acquaintances earlier on. I thought I might have a shot at a literature PhD position overseas, but that truly didn’t make much sense; I came from the USA. There were plenty of prominent and amazing English degrees in my home country. I also wasn’t sure of that idea, because I still wanted to pursue literary fiction. This remains the biggest dream of mine: to be a full-time novelist.

Overall, I had gotten really tired of trying so hard. The next hurdle felt like a hundred obstacles. I was tired of training myself for my next path while simultaneously hoping that I’d pulled it off.

There came a time when I couldn’t justify my efforts. I had two conflicting desires: 1. living outside of the USA, and 2. solidifying a manuscript that will (hopefully) land a book deal. I was spending lots of energy in polarizing directions.

Eventually, I stopped trying for overseas positions. The problem wasn’t just that they were competitive, but that this process could take years, and it wasn’t something that I wanted enough to invest that time. One of the downsides of when I was living in Europe was feeling like I was possibly missing out on big opportunities in the States. Sure, it’s kind of in a crummy place right now, but it’s still amazing for innovation and passion. I doubt those attributes will ever not be part of the sparkle of America.

* * *

I didn’t realize that becoming an adult means dedicating an obscene amount of time staying sane. For instance: spending time going to work, doing your best, doing your other work, checking your finances, doing a little bit of your hobbies each day to feel good, cleaning your house, cooking food that’s sometimes tasty and sometimes not, and occasionally dozing off on the couch. I realize (sadly? haphazardly?) that the reason I might have wanted to pursue studying again is because it might have allowed me the avoidance of many things. If I could really focus on one specific subject and research, maybe I’d feel less terrible about not fully committing to other commitments.

But is this true?

Example: I told myself at age 21 that I’d have a book deal by 30. This didn’t happen. I’m 31 now and I’m questioning whether I’ve made suitable choices regarding where I want to be in life. I’m finishing up a final revision of a manuscript that needs to be revised probably four more times minimum, but it’s good. That I can say with confidence, and happiness: it’s really good.

The rejections felt serendipitous because they mean that I’m not done. I’m where I need to be, and I really need to pay attention. How can I align what I want with who I am, and with what I do? These answers have already started developing a bit in D.C., and I’m elated about that. I’m focusing on the book manuscript loads more and spending time each day on my writing. I’m in London because I was invited on a trip with my university’s Department of Literature and Writing to study Black Europe, and also because I previously worked in the Netherlands. Here, I’ve learned that there are other opportunities to pursue affiliations with universities overseas as well.

Previously, my justification for having so many things going at once is because I’m ‘trying for everything.’ Now, I’m doing that a bit less. I’m focusing on a few things so that I can build them up. When I was younger, spontaneity felt whimsical. Now that I’m a bit older, spontaneity feels secondary. Adulting takes a lot of effort and organization. Money, too! Small wins are significant wins.

* * *

Although I still think that trying for absolutely everything you can is important, my reasoning for that has shifted quite a bit. Maybe you aren’t confident or committed that where you are or what you’re doing is meant for you. If you don’t think it is, see if you can belong or experience elsewhere. If a door opens for you, then it’s destiny. If it doesn’t open for you, then it’s also destiny. Don’t be sad when things don’t happen. Be happy that there’s a chance for you, right here and right now, to make things happen.

Those ideas you might have been putting off? They might be calling you. If you’ve been delaying them, I think you should answer. There’s something amazing waiting for you, and all you have to do is let it in.

Young people are doing far less than ever before.

This isn’t just about activities; they’re forming far fewer friendships, aren’t really dating, and they aren’t getting their driving licenses.

They are preferring to be alone. Well, not entirely alone—they are preferring not to be around humans. However, they are confiding in something: their cell phones, video games, and ChatGPT.

* * *

Psychologists and psychiatrists alike have voiced concerns about younger generations: if they’re preferring to spend their time playing video games in their rooms & spending an average of 7-9 hours each day on their smart phones, what are they going to inherit about the world and their place within it? How will they process what’s going on, and does this processing matter if it’s done by themselves instead of AI?

I say, yes. Of course it matters. I’ve been working as a Lecturer of English in universities for over 6 years, and as a Reading & Writing Tutor in K-12 schools for nearly a decade. Maybe what I’m seeing in classrooms is something that other people aren’t: the concern isn’t really the technology. It’s when people are giving up on themselves.

* * *

One of the harshest realities I’ve learned as a teacher is that instilling discipline in kids tends to dictate how well they’ll do in life more than anything else. Now, the discipline doesn’t just pertain to school/studies. However, school is where every child has to attend each weekday, regardless of their socio-economic background, so it tends to matter quite a bit.

Exhibit A: a student of mine, in elementary school, has a meltdown. She’s frustrated that she can’t complete an assignment/activity in the same fashion as her peers, and she’s feeling terrible about herself. Since I usually work in small groups with children, I tend to focus on activities (or just the act of doing things) moreso than feelings; they take up so much time, and they can shift in an instant. The sooner the student practices a skillset that he/she feels like she doesn’t have, the sooner the student can feel better & reassured about themselves.

“Let’s try again,” I suggest softly. Or: “How about we try something else?”

The reason this tends to be hard is because the student sees where she’s having a hard time. If the task seems easy—or it seems like everyone else in the group is capable—she feels left out and embarrassed. If the task seems hard—and it’s taking her longer to do it—she feels like there’s something wrong, or lesser, about herself.

I’ve faced backlash from parents about this, and I always have to figure out how I’ll word or leverage a response. Usually, I’ll ask the main teacher of the classroom to help me because I can be quite frank when it comes to learning for young students; I think they’re coddled way too much and I think it restricts their learning. In fact—I know it does.

“My child may not feel like doing this today,” is oftentimes a response. Or: “They might have an idea instead. I’d just talk to them and see how they’re feeling.”

I understand my position as an educator is not the position of a parent. However, I always get really nervous in situations like these. Far too often a situation comes when a student has a meltdown and the parent won’t be there. They won’t be able to help, or they won’t be able to accommodate, or they won’t be able to excuse their child from this experience. That student will feel so helpless and defeated, and so alone.

I know because I’ve seen this so many times. My response can’t be: If you don’t force your kid to do the things they don’t want to do, life is going to be so much harder for them. Things that kids their age should be able to do will be much harder for them, and they’ll feel terrible about it, and they might give up trying altogether. Please don’t do this; when you do, they might feel better for a while but there will come a time when things will be expected of them and there will be consequences if they don’t do them. Please let your kid feel frustrated so that they can later feel triumphant.

Of course, there can be a plethora of reasons that things like this occur. Some people are naturally quicker at some tasks than others; some people might need more time & practice to understand a subject matter; some people just might have an off-day. All of these things matter, and all of these things are important. However, what tends to be missing is an emphasis on the fact that things can be learned; they just take time. And that’s totally alright! (That’s what time is meant for.)

As an instructor, I believe the main purpose of my job is to instruct. The best result is when a student has gotten frustrated by a reading assignment— or perhaps frustrated by me— and then they finish. It’s over, and they’ve done it. Sometimes the student gets so elated and celebrates; sometimes, their expressions hardly change. However, something that’s amazing is when students see their capacities and know that they have them. When this happens, there’s less second-guessing and self-doubt.

So what happens when students have fewer opportunities to know their capacities, and a generative AI platform is able to feed them information and ideas instead?

Well, the self-doubt tends to settle in. They don’t feel good when they’re with their peers and they actually might prefer to be alone. Making friendships seems high-stakes or like stealthy time-commitments and doing things isn’t fun if they’re not easy.

The result: a lack of confidence that results in less activity, more screen-time, and a feeling like computers are better at things than they are. So why try?

* * *

Of course, there’s one side of the AI debate that’s incredibly positive. Tech companies insist that it will help people save more time in the future to ‘do the things they most enjoy.’ Apparently, these technologies will be trained to be so accurate and sufficient that human lives will significantly improve.

I’d like to provide an analogy to this belief system: ultra-processed foods also have their benefits of being incredibly shelf-stable and last for years, but they are usually formulated with chemicals and harmful ingredients. It’s best to consume far less ultra-processed foods than fresh foods: foods that will spoil within a week in your fridge, and whose peak ripeness you might miss by a day. Fresh foods are annoying; they take more attention and preparation. Sure, they’re best for your body, but what about a Hot Pocket that has a million ingredients but will be ready in your microwave within minutes? Which one should you consume, and which should be a daily staple in your diet?

That’s how these conversations defending AI & generative writing sound to me. What happened in the 60s, when the computer became more accessible? A similar promise was made: You’ll work less, and your life will improve. The reality? People worked more, and salaries lagged. What happened in the 90s, with the rise of the internet and Google? Same thing. People worked more, and their salaries actually became less.

When companies address the benefits of a superpowerful technology, they’re usually talking about the benefits for the wealthy. Have you noticed that air travel & tourism has gotten so much more expensive lately? Ideally, even if you worked quite a bit more, you could still escape every now and then and go on a nice trip. That used to be normal and attainable for the American middle-class. Now? Not so much.

Here’s a school in California where many tech executives are sending their students. Majority of assignments are done with pencil and paper, and reading is done from textbooks—not tablets. Here’s another example of the disparity in learning and outcomes: in the United States, schools supplemented their classrooms with tablets. Learning and comprehension decreased drastically.

“I just don’t think we’ll need to write by hand in the future,” a student recently shared in one of my writing courses. “It takes so much time. Everything is done digitally now.”

Immediately I thought back to the psychology article I read in the coffeeshop and how many young people are doing far less than ever before. Many of them have heightened levels of anxiety, many are on depression medication, and so many of them don’t think highly of themselves. They aren’t engaging in community or experiencing the humble moments of learning that feel uncomfortable and dumb and pointless sometimes. Third spaces are disappearing— like malls, bowling alleys, cinemas—or the cost of admission to activities is at an all-time high. What they’re consuming are ultra-processed realities and ultra-processed beliefs, all formulated through ultra-processed texts.

I grew sad. “Yes,” I said in melancholic agreeance. “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Handwriting is important. It’s a superior form of writing and documentation because it’s produced by you, in your own words, and in your own penmanship. It demonstrates thoughts in a form of translation that began in your mind and ended up on paper.

It’s remarkable.

Additionally, handwriting is a form of archiving your life. Photos are lovely, but there tends to be just as much that ends up outside of the frame than within it. “The problem with photographs is not that people remember through photographs, but that they remember only the photographs,” writes Susan Sontag in her acclaimed collection of essays titled On Photography. People are watching content more than they’re living it, and they’re trusting in screens more than they’re trusting in themselves.

I’m mourning the loss of artists, of lovers, of gardens and harvests that are withering before they ever had a chance. Don’t you remember when that whisper of an idea or a desire suddenly transformed into something grand and memorable in your life? Some experiences we keep with us like a locket around our necks and close to our hearts. Our lives are meant to cross paths with others, and those experiences that we adore are also meant to adore us. Life wants to teach us as much as it wants to love us.

We should allow that.

If I could, I’d gather every single person who feels stuck and inferior to their current place in life and try and help them out of it. We can do what we can, and we can also write about it. Let’s preserve the language of these difficult moments so that we can revisit them when things become good again. That’s when they’ll sound sweet, and that’s when we’ll feel most triumphant.

* * *

Right now, we’re in a massive learning curve: balancing (technical) skills with (human) capacity. The reality: AI can probably do a lot of things better than we can. I personally believe that you’re meant to be frolicking in a meadow and taking a minimum of 2 holidays a year. Not only do you deserve it, but it’d probably be glorious for your mind and your body.

Additionally, humans aren’t meant to be efficient in similar ways that technology can be. We can’t spit out an edited and revised essay within 5 seconds, but we can grow and harvest the life we want based on the skills we have and the creativity we cultivate. That matters quite a lot. We can also help others and listen to them, and support them, and love them. This also matters tremendously.

Overall: we aren’t robots. Learning requires time and effort and failure and bears the sweetest fruit. Don’t let this technology make you give up on doing the hard stuff that’s going to make your life more beautiful and interesting. Our humanity makes us special and makes everything worth it in the end.

I get it. Writing is hard. Although I love it, it’s taken me years to feel comfortable (and confident!) enough to commit to a thought, or a feeling, to paper. There’s something about exposure that can feel shameful to some, and embarrassing for others.

As a lecturer of writing, I usually witness the fear and hesitation that students have when they’re asked to write something—and then turn it in. I ask them their experiences with this—writing for a teacher, or for a class— and they usually answer a myriad of responses. Some of them are great; others, not so much.

“My teacher said I didn’t write how she wanted me to.”

“My teacher said that I need to sound better.”

“My teacher said that I have a good literary voice.”

What always surprises and delights me is how often some teachers are referenced by students for being reasons why they pursued a specific subject, or developed a particular interest, or considered themselves to be ‘good’ or ‘great’ writers because a teacher told them that. (I think this is fantastic; however, there’s a crushing downside to this, and I’ll get to that later.)

So when I started developing curriculum for writers everywhere, I really wanted to break this emphasis that there should always be an audience for your work.

Don’t write for me. Write for you.

So many people are afraid of being wrong, but what is right for you? Do you know? Can you articulate it, put it in your own words, in your own handwriting? If I asked you to compose a piece of writing regarding the language of your body, how would you respond? (What makes you feel nervous, or feel brilliant?) I understand that screens can show us things that make us happy, or sad, but what is the language you’d use to confront these things, and how would you use language to represent yourself?

I started acknowledging the lack of safety in audience when I realized just how massive some of these literary roadblocks are for some people. They aren’t just worried about being judged, or being wrong; they’re worried that they can’t. This terrifies me—imagine being in a scenario when you need to articulate something deep and vibrant within you before it goes away—or perhaps before it destroys you—and you can’t. Something is missing; either the inability to address a feeling so that it doesn’t have the means to remain unknown and perhaps uncontrolled, or perhaps something that has the means to grow into something bigger and more intimidating. I worry that, in a world that lacks writing for identity, identity simply becomes lost. People can be told, or shown who they might be or what they might experience; however, they might also be losing the ability to do this themselves.

consumption vs. creation: why one is more superior than the other

What are your favorite hobbies?

I like asking this question to people. I enjoy their responses. There’s so many interests in the world: listening to music, watching a movie, listening to a podcast. However, it’s really important that hobbies are a means of creating as well as consuming, and are not just consumption. (And everything I’ve listed is a representation of consumption. They are also among the most popular, and tend to make up the majority of interests for a lot of people.)

The reason why creation is so important is because it exercises wonder, curiosity, and capability. People who get anxious/worried about their capacities more than likely just need to demonstrate to themselves that they have them.

I’ve had so many different interests over the years, and usually hated the beginner phase of eevery single one of them. When I started practicing yoga nearly 15 years ago, I was amazed (and jealous!) at the participants who weren’t trembling in their poses and whose bodies looked much stronger and defined than mine. I got hired at one of the most well-known coffeehouses in Philly without any experience (this is something they told me they never do, and have never done before; however, I wrote them a letter and they said that it won them over), and I dreaded those mornings with a coworker when we’d open the store. I felt bad because I was new and relied on them for everything. They were always nice and accommodating, but ridding myself of that new-ish feeling couldn’t happen in any other capacity besides a compilation of time and a repetition of duty.

In terms of writing—which I love to do, and believe I’m fairly good at—well, the capacity that I’m at now is a result of a lot of things, but I’d say that overall, it’s a result of consistency—and consumption. Creating and consuming is the greatest combo when it’s balanced right; it feels like ordering off a delicious menu without having any regrets afterwards. What I consume helps what I create. I get to leverage what I consume with how it affects me by writing it down, trusting my thoughts, and analyzing them in my own penmanship. The world is so big and is so messed up sometimes while also being so magnanimously beautiful—where are you among it? Who are you among it?

There’s power in reclaiming your identity in your own words, and your own perception. Many of these big tech companies are trying to do that for you so that you feel as though you have no capacity and aren’t inspired to demonstrate the ways in which you do.

Don’t let them win. Create the greatest things that you can, and make them for you.

the lack of safety in audience

“The earliest experience of art must have been that it was incantatory, magical; art was instrument of ritual.”

This quote is the beginning of Susan Sontag’s acclaimed essay, “Against Interpretation.” Art as an instrument insinuates that participation is required; it is not a passive notion, but involving physical contact and integration. I realize that, for some people, this involvement might feel unwanted or unvoluntary. I’m especially thinking of women; addressing and/or involving an audience might result in the cost of feeling safe or heard. The concept of ‘the male gaze’ not only affects us in our living. It also affects us in our writing.

The idea of exposing oneself through the means of expression and selective language might not interest someone to write their thoughts, or trust them; the aspect of writing might still feel like an instrument of performance. There’s a lot of truth and trauma to this—there’s a historical context of women quite literally being buried for their words, and for their work. The idea of writing for identity might seem like something that is hard to do.

However, it’s possible. And it’s incredibly liberating.

I never forget the magnitude of privilege it is to be able to read and to write. I know it’s commonplace now, but in regards to my lineage, the erasure of language and literature were among the highest forms of colonization. In the United States, law deemed it illegal for slaves to read and to write. If they could, there came the risk of them being able to ‘write themselves to freedom.’

This is symbolic in more ways than one.

Historically, this pertains to everyone: the past wants us to believe and to trust certain aspects of our identity, and forget about the rest. But what is it that you enjoy and find beautiful in your life, and isn’t it best for those aspects of reality to be preserved in writing like so many other influential documents? I mean, why can’t writing about yourself and your life be one of them?

I believe that it can. I believe that it will.

There’s so much power in writing for yourself, for your own sake. Here’s something I recently wrote in one of my journals about this:

“I feel like I’ve drifted a little bit away from myself. That’s how I feel when I haven’t addressed myself in awhile— in letter form, like this—but when I return, I feel nice, like I touch my own shoulder and sit down next to myself and look at her, look at her deeply, kindly, with a fervent kind of concern. I love her, truly; I love this girl I’m writing for, who I’m writing about, who is building and shaping this life for us. And sometimes, she loses sight of the fact that she’s doing it at all.” -3 February 2026

Let’s never lose sight of ourselves. Instead, let’s write down who we are and who we wish to be. These versions deserve attention and they don’t deserve to be forgotten.

They are wishing the best for us along the way.

I always have been. This adoration began with my mother, who would oftentimes take me to matinee showings at local theaters and Tuesday showings that cost $1.00. I loved it; sometimes she’d pop our own popcorn at home and I’d fish out the little plastic bags in the dark, eager and happy for the movie to begin.

Here’s a list of films that have influenced me, and changed my life. I’m not exaggerating, either. Tom Ford’s A Single Man nearly sent me into a coma when I watched the scene of the man offering Colin Firth a cigarette, and A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night remains an iconic piece of aspiration for me.

Books, films, and soundtracks are part of a wardrobe; they don’t just brandish how I feel or how I perceive the world, but they also influence my writing. I’d consider watching films a form of research—not historical perse, but in terms of ideology, execution, and aesthetics. Films demonstrate the possibilities of art.

I’m really excited to share this list with you, and am open to any suggestions that you might have on films that are your favorite. And as always: thanks for reading!

(this list is in no particular order; I have loved them all)

1. Aftersun (Scotland & Türkiye, 2022)

This film was a slow burn. I remember munching on popcorn in the cinema and being a little bored at first, but Paul Mescal is phenomenal and Turkey is a beautiful country. When the movie finished, I felt like I had just witnessed a breathtaking account of the growth and feeling of coming of age. As the credits rolled, I saw Barry Jenkins’ name as one of the Executive Producers and thought to myself: “Of course!”

written in my journal, circa 2024: “[This film] I remember from time to time like a literal sun in the corner of my sky~”

2. Fremont (California; featuring Afghan refugees); *TRAUMA-FREE SELECTION

I feel the need to include this asterisk of ‘TRAUMA-FREE’ because frankly, I can’t handle any more trauma-filled films at the moment. But the film is aesthetically pleasing, the pace is great, and it just makes you feel… invited. Watch it and see what I mean, or tell me what you think.

This was actually my first introduction to Jeremy Allen White. I had no idea who he was. If you’re a fan of his work, you’ll probably also be a fan of this film.

3. Last Black Man in San Francisco *TRAUMA-FREE SELECTION

Such a great one! Classic! I smiled so much; I fell in love!

So will you!

4. Portrait of a Young Woman on Fire (France) *LGBT SELECTION

A perfect film.

5. Little Woods (USA)

I watched this in theaters and couldn’t get over how familiar it felt. Nia DeCosta did a phenomenal job writing the script, and pinpointing the environment of ‘black-girl-exists-in-a -white-environment-that-is-probably-racist-but-accepting-of-her’ that I’ve seen. It isn’t tense; the undercurrent of possible racial tension is never shown but felt. I don’t know how she did that. It’s executed all so well.

Tessa Thompson also stars in the film, and she’s excellent (as always).

6. Mermaid Legend (Japan, 1984)

I read about Mermaid Legend on some obscure blog on the internet and searched for it for months. I came across a website called dvdlady.com that I worried would give a virus to my computer or flood my screen with porn, but I took a risk and bought the digital version of the film. It was worth it. The film’s difficult to sit through, but the last 10 minutes were exactly what I was looking for.

Ironically, this film was the most difficult one for me to find and had aspects of rage that I’d never seen: a woman who is able to endlessly fight, and unconditionally kill. After I watched it, I realized: I’ve never seen anything like that before.

7. A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (California, Iran)

Probably my #1 favorite movie of all time.

8. Tangerines (Georgia, Estonia, Chechnya)

This film gives ‘war movie’ a different identity. I learned a lot from watching.

“During the war in Abkhazia, an Estonian man stays behind to wait for his lucrative crop of tangerines. After a firefight he must care for two soldiers, each from opposing sides, who each vow to kill the other once they recover.” -excerpt from Google

9. L.A. Confidential

-taken from my journal, circa 2025: “This is one of the greatest films I’ve ever seen. The casting seemed perfect and I loved the setting of the Nite Owl diner; it reminded me of that amazing movie theater in Miami called the Nite Owl theater. But anyways, I just think that it exhibited all of the intricate manners of capitalism and looped in race, trauma, sexuality, coercion… the whole bit. I feel like I can’t even adequately explain why I loved it so much, but it was a film that I had to sit down and do absolutely nothing while viewing it. That’s rare nowadays; it seems like some blockbusters or streaming services only want you to pay half attention to what’s going on on the screen, because it’s only half interesting or insightful. This wasn’t the case. I find myself viewing films less and less—they just don’t allure me anymore, and I worry they might scathe me with senseless violence or brutality. So many films make me flinch or anxious, and I know that it’s intentional. They want to normalize what would usually be disquiet or harmful. Devils.”

10. Happy Together *LGBT SELECTION

Another classic! Wong Kar-wai films are some of my favorites, and this film is easily one that’s referenced all the time. I don’t feel as though people watch his films; they experience them. (Also: the nostalgia for the 90s is immense.)

11. Capernaum *TRAUMA SELECTION

I’ve never cried so much in a film before. Weeping, actually; an older white gentleman on the same row as me cried just as hard. We met eyes once while bawled our eyes out. Something about this film is too striking, too intense.

Under no circumstances will I ever watch this film again. However, if I were to give a list of films to watch for empathy, alliance, and international relations, this would be on it.

12. Phoenix (Germany)

Shoutout to the film chair of my undergraduate university! There was a community showing of this film and I woke up from a nap in the middle of a Saturday afternoon and crawled myself to this showing. There’s few films that have affected me as much as this one has. Even the synopsis is chilling:

“1945: Singer Nelly Lenz returns to Berlin terribly disfigured having survived the concentration camps. After her recovery from extensive plastic surgery, refusing to believe that her estranged husband Johnny could have betrayed her to the Nazis, she resolves to find him in the hope he will still recognize her even though others no longer can.”

13. Mystery Train (USA)

Jim Jarmusch is a name that writers like to mention in a way that writers like to write in Moleskine journals. His films are hit-or-miss for me, but Mystery Train is one of my favorite films ever. (For writers: I strongly suggest you watch Paterson!)

14. A Single Man (USA)

I didn’t know that this was directed by the fashion designer Tom Ford when I saw it in theaters. When the credits rolled and I saw the screenwriting credit with his name, I paused. I was in the AMC Theaters in Quail Springs Mall & had previously seen a retail counter with his name. The film was so aesthetically stunning that my stomach resembled the feeling of having eaten too much of a rich piece of chocolate cake.

15. Fruitvale Station (USA)

This was the first film I watched by Ryan Coogler (writer and director of Sinners). Beautiful, heartbreaking, and brilliant.

Since the winter storm has hit the Northeast pretty harshly, my university classes have been online. I closed the final Zoom for the day and watched as new emails ticked in my inbox. They’re for a multitude of opportunities: sororities, medical internships, scholarships, fellowships. I flagged emails as I composed responses, backtracked my responses to make sure that I made proper notes of deadlines, and then continued replying.

My initial thoughts were: oh my god. What is going on? I grew a bit overwhelmed as I finished responding to emails and saw new ones appearing at the top. However, I started thinking of something that made me smile.

I’m proud of them.

I’m proud of all of them. These emails were so kind and caring—which I understand is part of softening and sweetening the ask to write a letter—but I felt really warm because I remembered these students. I remembered their writing. I remembered their hesitant looks at the start of the semester when I explained the syllabus and components of the course. I remembered students whose hands shot up and said that they’re a slow reader, or they aren’t good at writing. (These students are among my favorite; they tend to perform incredibly well in my classes.)

I remembered assigning grades and students saying that the score hurt their feelings, and the feeling of pride when they submitted much better and suitable revisions demonstrating their capacity. I remembered working one-on-one and discussing their work, and showcasing how their writing process reflects other aspects of their personality and identity. They’re usually intrigued that writing isn’t just writing; it’s reflecting. It’s choosing. It’s understanding. It’s criticizing. It’s loving.

“Look,” I tell students. “When I was a student, I received other half a million dollars in funding and opportunities. If you need a letter of recommendation once you’ve completed my course, let me know. I’d be more than happy to write one for you.”

This is a massive privilege to do. While I’ve been a lecturer, students have emailed and notified me that my letters of recommendation have aided in their acceptances to programs at other HBCUs, Yale, Harvard, international programs, medical programs, and funding opportunities that have exceeded tens of thousands of dollars. Professors did this for me, a multitude of times—some of them still do, in fact— and I’m happy to be able to do this for others.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned as a teacher—not just for college students, but also K-12—is that I can encourage them all I want. I can say and explain as much as possible, I can ask if they understand something, I can ask how they’re feeling, I can ask how they’re doing. But my guidance and care mean nothing unless they’ve demonstrated what they can do and see it for themselves. That builds confidence and capability. That’s what’s going to stay with them after they’ve had me and my instruction. That’s what belongs rightfully to them, and that’s something that they’ve earned themselves.

I’ve organized the next few days of my workweek to ensure that these letters all get written and submitted on time. Teaching is something that I’m so grateful I get to do because I learn so much. And honestly? I love believing in people. I love aligning coursework with students’ interests and showing them how much their writing can benefit their studies and their lives. Additionally, I just love that I get to help them with things get hard, and remind them of what they’ve submitted and why it reflects greatness in them.

That’s it, really: writing + you + belief + = greatness. Please don’t forget that. But even if you do, don’t worry; I’ll be writing these sweet little newsletters to remind you of it.

We’re just a little over 2 weeks into 2026, and while much still feels the same as last year, there’s a lot that feels different—in a good way. Mainly, there’s been a shift that feels a bit more hopeful. There’s a clean slate where people look forward to new plans and decide what they want to tackle in the days to come.

However, in regards to a shift and a clean slate, these aspects appear a bit… different than what they might have looked like in previous years. (((Remember when a New Year meant raiding ‘80% Off’ clearance racks at the mall? Signing up for a nice gym at a massively discounted rate? Buying stuff just because the New Year felt like reason enough to make an absurd purchase?)))

Now, due to the economy being in the midst of a pretty hefty recession, this shift might not look like plans of taking a massive trip or spending money. In fact, for me, I’ve realized that many of the things that I look forward to about the year are less focused on money, and moreso about planning the hours of my days well. I’m doing this partly because I think it’ll be really satisfying, and mostly because it’s free.

* * *

I’ll admit that spending less money (and at times, no money) felt weird in the beginning; I used to delight in stopping at a local coffeeshop and buying a drink, but when my singular coffee started to skyrocket in price from $4 to $5 to $7 I stopped enjoying it so much. In fact, I felt like Goldilocks. “This cortado is lukewarm. I can’t believe I paid $7 and left $1 tip. That’s the price of a pound of ground meat.” Or: “This Americano is really quite weak. I should have asked for a double-shot… but I’ve been charged $8 for a double espresso once before, and even though that was months ago I’m still angry about it. (In their defense, ‘double shot’ wasn’t listed on the menu, so they just charged me for two shots in the same cup? I guess?) I mean, coffee beans are important but what is this?!”

My little delights felt like I suddenly had standards that seemed impossible to reach. Was I out of my mind? Did nearly every coffee drink that I paid an expensive price for suddenly taste mediocre and borderline terrible? Or was I merely regretful at paying higher prices for things that I used to enjoy at a fraction of the price?

This slowly began happening with nearly everything, and everywhere: when I’d go out to eat, the food was usually underwhelming but the prices seemed unusually high; bakery treats at the markets started to taste one or two days old; portions were much smaller for practically anything—even the ink in my newer highlighters compared to my older ones. The reality is that everyone is trying to save money, not just the consumer.

‘Little Treats’ used to make me happy. Then, they began to make me sad. As truth be told, these were sweet little saves and distractions from a collective sadness and fear of terror felt by most (if not all) Americans at this time. I might sound ridiculous, but imagine walking past the Washington Monument and seeing a 12-foot gold statue of Jeffrey Epstein and Donald Trump holding hands. Imagine being on the metro and going past Pentagon Station, right after reading in the Washington Post that journalists from every major news outlet turned in their press badges and quit their jobs on the spot to protest the violation of ‘Freedom of Speech’ imposed by the government.

So what did I do during these times? … well.

…. I went to get a ‘Little Treat.’

* * *

I will admit that I’m not really the best person at fighting against capitalism. I’m not even a great person at going out in public and striking up conversations that can make a difference, or even protesting. During the summertime, a photographer came up to me as I was reading Hannah Arendt’s THE ORIGINS OF TOTALITARIANISM on a park bench and asked if he could take my photo.

“I’m headed to take photographs of the protest about resistance,” he said. He looked at my book and gave a shy smile. I nodded, judging myself and feeling guilty for ultimately deciding not to go to the protest and for reading instead.

He took my picture and headed towards the protest of thousands of people fighting for their rights and the rights of others. I thought of following him there, but I didn’t. I stayed behind. I read my book, promising myself that I’d do something with it since I decided not to do something like attend the protest. There’s a cost to this, I’m aware-- and I feel like living in a capitalist country makes me very aware of cost. Oftentimes, I feel like I’m not doing enough. Oftentimes, it feels like there’s so much to do and sometimes I don’t know where to start.

So sometimes, I don’t start. I just kind of, feel the overwhelm and despair and throw myself over my couch or scroll on my phone. Other times, I read complicated literature and scribble notes and hearts in the margins. Will I ever be able to afford a house? *furrows brows and aggressively highlights passages from books by Tobias Wolff and Mikhail Bulgakov*

I know it took quite a ways to get to the point of this newsletter, but the point is this: I started becoming more intrigued by Big Treats, like living a daily life in which I make time to indulge in the things I want, instead of Little Treats. For instance: making and abiding by a schedule in which I have time to practice a foreign language, write a minimum of 250 words, and finish all of my household tasks? Dreamy. Scheduling time to cook a delicious dinner, write a few sweet sweet letters that I will send to sweet sweet friends, and work on stationery full of my souvenirs and crazy thoughts? Amazing.

For me personally, the worst feeling is feeling out of control of the world and feeling no control of my own life. That’s partially true—I don’t know what will become of the state of my country—but there’s still quite a lot of time in my day that I would fill with distraction or nonsense. Quitting my phone is useful. Penning down what I want is useful. Scheduling my day and filling it with tasks that are necessary and enjoyable is gorgeous.

Best part? It’s the most affordable thing in the world. It takes very little time— I can schedule multiple days in a week within the span of 20 minutes—and boom, it’s like having fancy reservations every day. Now, do I always show up? No. There are times that I don’t do the tasks that I’ve assigned myself. But when I do, I feel my best. I feel like I’ve carved out time for myself to do what matters and that can really help me in the future.

* * *

So here’s a list of things that I’ve been doing that are absolutely free and that have made me feel starry inside. May they have the same effect on you, too!

1. Running

I used to coyly say to people: “I don’t run. On purpose? Never.” I’d see runners doing their thing and think “wow, that’s so amazing. That’s so incredible; I’d never do that.” Because why?!

For nearly a decade, I was a Workout Class Aficionado. I bought unlimited monthly exercise memberships religiously and showed up 3-5 days a week. It was the only way I’d exercise; I wasn’t disciplined enough to work out by myself, and when I’d whip out a yoga mat at home, I’d end up falling asleep on it.

I needed someone who was cool, mean, and who lied with instruction. “Just four more on this side,” they’d say. “Now one more; come on, you can do it. Now a bonus one. Yes Patience; perfect. Falling to the ground is perfectly okay.”

However, after a decade of being in a classroom setting and experiencing different teachers, I started practicing at home. It was for short durations at first, but then COVID hit, and killing an hour at home suddenly seemed very durable. Also, I saved a substantial amount of money from practicing at home instead of in studio.

I go on runs during the summer and the winter, and I love doing both. I still have those angry teacher voices in my head and I make them lie to me so that I run for longer durations and feel even more accomplished and strong in my body.

2. Going to Nice Retail Shops and Not Spending Any Money

This one might seem a bit embarrassing, but it isn’t for me: I like browsing shops in the expensive neighborhoods of my city (most notably: Georgetown), even though I know I won’t buy anything. These areas usually are incredible for nice, leisure walks and for pretty landscapes. Also: I love spraying my favorite perfume on for free at Sephora! Do I love it because it’s Killian, and because a singular bottle is retailed at $395 and I can’t afford it, and because I feel like Sephora has gifted me $7 dollars’ worth of fragrance credit when I spritz it on my wrists and decollete? Absolutely! And then I walk right out.

3. Committing to a Writing Schedule

*sigh*-- This one I’ve been fairly decent at this one since my early twenties, but my writing goals are more serious and concern getting paid to write, so I’ve got to really stay on top of them now. Here’s what they usually look like:

-writing a minimum of 250 words per day (advice from author Zadie Smith that I read at age 21 and that I’ve followed pretty much since)

-having a calendar/spreadsheet/agenda for submissions (I’ll be querying for agents again soon, so I’ll share more about this in a later newsletter—as well as tips for applying for fellowships and grants)

-having a ‘Work Log’ word document that includes the titles of everything I have written each month. This is a godsend when I’ve written a draft but can’t find it/can’t remember the name of it.

4. Reading Smarty-Pants Literature

-My professional background is essentially in Reading Books (MFA in fiction writing; BA in English literature), and it’s one of my favorite hobbies ever. However, as much as I love leisurely novels, reading difficult texts is really important. I like how they challenge my mind, remind me of vocabulary, and accentuate the ways that I talk and comprehend writing. Make no mistake: if you want to become a better speaker, you’ve got to become a proficient reader. Not podcasts, not short-form media: books. (I’ll make another newsletter on this as well.)

The best thing about books? They can be free for you if you want. (Public libraries are awesome.) If you wish to buy them, there’s local bookstores, second-hand bookstores, and occasional book fairs where you can get large quantities for super cheap. In fact, you can probably get at least two for the price of my singular double-espresso. (Yes; I’m still angry about it.)

5. Calling Your Friends

I love my friends. I need my friends. I love hearing their voices and telling them why I adore them. I love when they’re honest with me and feel so happy to have met them.

Calling your friends is always a great thing to do. Also: if you haven’t written your friends a letter before, I strongly suggest you do it *at least* once. If you want to do it with me, join me at Hillwood in March 2026 and write a beautiful package of 3.

6. Being Grateful for What You Have, and For What is Possible

Gratitude is phenomenal because it’s always accessible and it’s always free. There’s a lot going on in the world right now, but there’s also a lot of good. And let’s face it: you’re here. And you’re part of the good. You’ve brightened up a lot of days for people and you’re going to do even more incredible and beautiful things. Whatever you’ve planned for, and whatever you haven’t: I’m excited for you.

Good things are coming your way.

Cheers for 2026.

***

Being a resident in Washington, DC (the nation’s capital) at a time like this is strange. I’m sure that most would agree that America feels unrecognizable right now— Angelina Jolie mentioned that exact description in a recent interview at the San Sebastian Film Festival in Spain— but moreso than that, a lot of daily life just feels amplified. I’ve never been the biggest fan of this city but I’ve really tried my hardest to like it. This effort hasn’t been working, and the reasons are more glaringly obvious than they ever have been before.

Example: I know that people don’t come to DC for hospitality. (If they do, they’re insane.) My biggest reasons for feeling relatively uneasy in this city is that there is an air of pretention that feels stifling and repressive. So many people care moreso about what others do for work; it tends to be the most important aspect of a person here. I think it’s great to feel proud and impressed with your job, but there’s a flipside to it; I’ve witnessed a diplomat yank open the post office door and stalk to the front of the line to shove a passport in the attendant’s face and say that they need this done, now; and I’ve seen service workers be belittled and ridiculed while someone in a suit seems to enjoy making these employees feel small. The dynamic has been strange to get used to, and I don’t think I ever have. I know this tends to be a pattern in cities, but in DC, there’s an aura of importance. Many people here are defined by their work, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

I guess this can be good (maybe?), but I have found it difficult to live in a place like this. There’s quite a big factor of loneliness that’s perpetuated by steep rent and luxury apartment advertising great additions for “your friends”, which is actually referencing pets. But I detail all of this to demonstrate that what DC feels like is just moreso how it’s always felt for me, but much sadder now because a lot of people have lost their jobs.

***

When I was still contemplating whether or not I wanted to pursue a career in the Foreign Service (long story), I attended an Open House in the city and requested a few video calls with people who worked in this field. I was surprised when quite a few successful people were telling me, in a jaded voice, that this career was, well, okay; at times it was really hard, though. I nodded; I had no doubt about it. However, I was shocked at the subtle dissatisfaction of what many would consider a very fulfilled and inspired life. “Yes, I know 3-4 languages,” was the common response when I asked whether they learned any additional languages while working stateside and overseas, and when they responded, I instantly thought of the amazingly rated Language Center whose services were free for people in international affairs. (I personally have to pay for language tutors, and while I enjoy practicing with native speakers very much, this can get pricey, and at times, unaffordable for me. The thought of learning a language without having to pay out of pocket for it, and getting to learn it consistently, would be amazing!) They’d share that their children were also multilingual, and oftentimes attending some of the most desireable schools in the most desireable districts.

“Let me tell you about the people who work for this industry,” a woman told me in a Zoom meeting. I was looking forward to this call; she worked in foreign services for decades and was also a black woman. “The people here? They tell me they don’t want the five bedroom house, they want the seven bedroom house with a pool. They act like they don’t already have a good setup and they expect you to bend the system so they can have more!”

I was shocked, sad, and disappointed. But I can’t say that I was surprised. When many federal jobs were cut and people had to leave their homes, their environments, and the city, I felt a sense of impending doom. Previously, there was a feeling of permeance in a city like DC. People felt like they were on top and they couldn’t come down. This wasn’t the case for everyone— and it wasn’t even the case for many— but seeing that something could come in and destroy it all within weeks was terrifying.

Many people moved out. Many stopped visiting the city. In the summer, I oftentimes sat on the metro in empty cars, surprised at the lack of tourists but knowing that I shouldn’t have been. Although DC isn’t my favorite city, I know that many people enjoy it exactly because of the feelings I previously described. Now, those were gone— and now, the National Guard was here.

___

As of lately, my days kind of look the same. The cost of living is rising and groceries are more expensive. I don’t think that people are necessarily pessimistic, but there is a feeling that things are going to keep getting worse. Occasionally I go see a movie and window shop at department stores, but other forms of entertainment just seem too expensive for now. I know I’m not alone in this— and in many cases, I haven’t lost anything— I still have my job, which I’m grateful for, and I have an apartment that I love. But I wish that DC had been a kinder place to live from the beginning. I think it tends to snub a lot of people, but watching as more and more people are losing their jobs and their homes and their lives is becoming scarier than ever.

Living a decent life in a city where you work should be attainable for everyone, and hopefully, one day, it will be.

I was on a teaching contract for a university in the north, and loved my life. I loved my little bike, my little group of friends, my little evenings spent reading and writing in my studio apartment. It was a dream. It felt too good to be true, in fact; I felt like, unfortunate…

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These are the words my thesis advisor said to me over the phone one evening, after she finished one of my book chapters. At first, I didn’t know how to take it— was this a bad thing?— but then, I quickly realized that it was true. I could feel my face brighten at the recognition of something that I had been missing all of this time. Now, I could work to fix it. This, in fact, was when I learned that the end needs to be indicative of something, instead of just, well, ending.

* * *

Most criticisms or suggestions that I’ve received pertaining to my work are reflective of my life. My advisor was right; I don’t know how to write endings. While I was studying the craft of short stories, I learned that you usually need to wrap up where you began. Since stories are shorter than novels, you have fewer pages and a lesser word count to do this right, which means that you might have to write something again and again and again. Of course, if you’re also a fellow writer yourself, you know the importance of rewriting and revision. Far too many times the ending of something I’ve written has actually been the beginning of it. Confusing, I know… but it’s true.

During a writing conference, an author said that he no longer considers revising an improvement of his work. “Sometimes it’s worse,” he shrugs. “But, sometimes the worser version leads to something that your other drafts were missing. So you’ve found something really vital that you can then add into better versions of the work.

For me and my writing, I think the 7th or 8th revision is when the work starts to look and feel the way that I wanted it to look from the beginning. This was infuriating for me for a long time— but so many good things take time, and I just have to remind myself of that when it feels like my work just isn’t good or isn’t shaping out the way I intended. Some parts are written well, some parts are written badly, some parts need to be rewritten and other parts need to be cut. For me, the editing process is also highly reflective of real life. I mean, how many things have felt like they ended for you only for the brilliance to only just begun? How many times have you felt stuck just to realize that actually, you’ve come further than you were last week? Last month? Last year? Even if you’ve done far less than what you wanted to do, you can pick up the slack at any point in time and have nothing to lose. Our passions aren’t here to leave us; they’re here for us to love them. We can. We do. We will. Even when things get tough and I feel like I’m producing my worst work, I produce it anyway so that I can work to make it better.

Now that I’m aware that my endings aren’t very strong, I know to look at the beginning and see what’s there. I can use that to journey to the end, and vice versa. This is a craft exercise that I oftentimes do with my students at university— I ask them to look at the beginning of their paragraphs and make sure that there are no loose ends, or questions that have gone unaddressed/unanswered— but I also do this with nearly everything else I write. If the end can’t tie into the beginning just yet, then maybe the end hasn’t been reached. Sometimes when we feel like things are over, they aren’t— not yet. Maybe there’s still more to do, or more to learn. But endings usually always arise as the flipside of something; what’s on the other end usually has to be discovered, or has to be earned. Perhaps one of the most satisfying feelings is when something ends and I can remember the beginning of it; I can recall how things changed, how I changed, how my outlook has expanded or enriched me. These moments are some of my best.

If you’re just starting something and don’t know where it’s headed, don’t worry. Enjoy the ride. There’s plenty of time to modify later; you can always change your mind, or correct your path.

If you’re finishing something and you’re not sure how it will end, don’t worry about that either. In the end, the right ending will be written; we just have to discover what it is first, and commit to making it possible.