Edition #66: My Debut Short Story

Plus, a vintage furniture shop worth checking out and a letter from Martha Graham

A Note From the Editor

Certain truths in life only become obvious from a far enough distance. My passion for writing was one of those obvious-in-retrospect things. I only recognized my love for writing in a formal sense a few years back. At the time, this realization felt like an impossibly bright spotlight illuminating a pitch back room, but when I comb through my memories I can see that I’ve always loved to write. In the seventh grade, I wrote a short horror story about a jealous understudy who didn’t get cast as Juliet in Shakespeare’s classic. In a fit of rage, she replaces the fake dagger with a real one on the night of dress rehearsal, causing the original Juliet to stab herself in the chest and allowing the murderous understudy to be the show’s star on opening night. I was so excited about that story that I brought my printed copy into dance class and read it to my jazz teacher in a breathless frenzy after class. I carried that story around with me all week, reading it to whoever was polite enough to listen. 

There were other clues, too. The fact that I only ever scored high on the writing portion of any standardized test. The novel, any novel, perpetually glued to my hand or placed inside my purse so that I might be able to squeeze in a few pages an any given time, in any given place. In high school, when I saw that the author a cutesy rom-com book I had rented from the library lived a few towns over, causing me to reach out to ask her whether I might be able to be her intern. Later, after college, when I created a blog documenting my travels during the first year of my first “real” job. The trail of breadcrumbs was laid out for me in what now feels like an overtly obvious manner, but I didn’t see it. I only began trying to write creatively out of desperation; I was in a job I didn’t love and I felt purposeless. I was desperate to inject a dose of meaning in to my life, to work towards something that made me feel like I was alive and not a shell of a human. I tearfully confessed all this to my best friend one night 2018, over pasta and wine at dinner. She suggested I try writing more. “You’ve always loved it. You journal all the time. Why not?”

Writing has become so much to me: my medicine and my wound. The gasoline that powers my vehicle and the lit match that threatens to blow everything up. It’s been my sole motivator some days, and other days it’s been the thing that drives me mad, making me wonder whether every word I’ve ever put down on paper is (pardon my French) fucking terrible and whether I’ll ever be good at writing and whether I should just give up now (this Tweet sums it up nicely). It’s been the most humbling thing I’ve ever tried to do. IIt isn’t formulaic; you can’t just do these steps in this order in that amount of time and magically be “good” at it. There are no shortcuts to the work. The work is deep and quiet and lonely and there is no one there to cheer you along, to tell you you keep going. Rejection is a surefire guarantee. It’s constant and impersonal (your story isn’t a fit for us, good luck placing it elsewhere). And the rejection never stops, not even when you become a real, well-established writer. You will always be rejected. You will always need to revise and re-revise your work.

In that way, writing is like pursuing an unrequited love. Even in those quick, tender moments when they show fleeting interest, they are always a hair out of reach. They’ll never love you back in the way you want to be loved, the way you need to be loved. But you’ll always keep coming back. And it will always be worth it, if only for the rush of your beating heart when you open a notebook or a Word Doc to a blank page, your mind brimming with all the worlds and characters that do not yet exist.

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Today, my first piece of fiction was published in an online literary magazine from a small press in Winston Salem, North Carolina. It’s one of the stories I wrote in my first fiction workshop in early 2020, and it’s been revised and reworked and re-revised about a million times since. I started submitting this story for publication in April of 2020 and it got rejected 27 times. Finally, on Christmas Eve, I got an email from the editor Prime Number magazine, an imprint of Press 53. He said my story needed a lot of work but that he couldn’t stop thinking about it and that it would be published in the Spring of 2021.

I burst into tears when I read that email. I cried so hard that my entire face and chest bloomed in a crimson flush, my eyes swelled up like two balloons. It was the first moment where I felt validated in this thing I’d been quietly, relentlessly pursuing. It was the first moment anyone who didn’t already love me told me that my work showed promise. It was the first moment where my unrequited love showed any interest in me; touching the soft spot on the inside of my wrist with a knowing look. I’d never felt more alive. 

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Cheers, my dears, and thank you for reading along. This newsletter is the first digital space I’m sharing this news and a link to my story and it feels serendipitous that the story would be published on the same day I write this email. I’m grateful to have a small corner of the internet that feels so loving and supportive, where I can share my inner workings and my creative work. Forgive me, but this week’s format is going to be a bit leaner in light of the time and energy I’ve spent on getting this story to its final resting place.

I’d love to hear what you think of my story (below!). It would mean the world to me if you would consider sharing it or discussing it, with the people in your life. My love for you, dear readers, is boundless. Thank you.

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(Only One!) Piece Of Content Worth Consuming

1. I’ll Be Missing You, a short story by me. Imagine your live in New York City or San Fransisco or any place in the US that is riddled with homelessness thanks to our failing systems. You encounter these people with some regularity and you fastidiously avoid eye contact most of the time, or you might slip one of them a dollar when you're feeling human. I would venture to guess that, if you're like most people, this is the extent to which you've interacted with the homeless population in your city. But what if that homeless veteran on the train is one of the most fascinating, witty people you'll ever meet? What if there is a barrage of colorful, vibrant homeless people with inner relationships and dramas and dynamics that you will know nothing of, simply because you haven't looked closely enough?
   This is the story of an unlikely friendship between Randy and Jazz, two people living on the streets of New York City. I hope you like it.

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Perhaps You Should…
Buy Some Cool, Curated Vintage Furniture

gemhousevintage

A post shared by @gemhousevintage

Vintage is the way of the future. Not only is it more sustainable, but it also tells a story and gives your belongings that much more character. Yesterday, one of my dearest friends launched an online shop called Gemhouse Vintage, and I’ve already got my eye on a few pieces. Follow along for a carefully curated selection of gorgeous furniture, decor and art that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

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**Bonus Content** (A Letter From Martha Graham)

This letter, to Agnes De Mille from Martha Graham, feels queerly fitting for today’s edition. It’s about the only obligation of the artist: to keep the channel open. You can also watch the letter be read aloud by Meryl Streep, accompanied by Yo-Yo Ma.

“and because there is only one of you in all time,
this expression is unique.

And If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost.
The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine
how good it is
nor how valuable it is”

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A Quote From A Book You Should Read:

“Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life.”

-On Writing by Stephen King

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This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.

Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.”