New Year New Words

Monday Afternoon Edition

Hello and Welcome to Sitting in Silence, the newsletter about writing, craft, worry, and joy.

Welcome to all the new subscribers and to the premium subscribers who support this newsletter. You’re all appreciated dearly. It’s a joy to write these words.

A few church announcements to start off. It’s a busy time.

Firstly, I finally started a podcast. The idea is to have a free-flowing, improvisational discussion about writing, craft, worry, and joy. No audience. No co-host. No guests. No sponsors (except, perhaps, you). Just me and a mic and Sitting and Silence. You can find it on Substack or in the emails I send out, if you’re a subscriber. Let me know what you think.  

I’m teaching an online writing class for beginners and intermediate writers Thursday, January 18, 2024, at 6pm EST. This will be a fun and light-hearted experience. I hope you can join in. Limited scholarships are available.

My next book, The American Daughters, comes out in just over a month. Feel free to pre-order it from your favorite independent bookseller. And give a copy to someone in your life who enjoys good literature.

So far, people seem to be enjoying the early copies we sent out. You can enter my giveaway, and maybe win a free copy.

The American Daughters comes out Tuesday, February 27. We’ll have a joyous release and celebration at Baldwin & Co. that night. Get a ticket if you plan to be in New Orleans that evening. We’ll have a great time.

Reading poetry does something good to my mind. I’m a better writer when I read a book of poems. Friend of the Substack, Poet January Gill O’Neil, has a new collection of poems, Glitter Road, coming out this month. I have an advance copy and am enjoying her trademark ecstatic intimacy. Long time subscribers will recall that January proceeded me at the Grisham House Residency and that she was one of the very first people I interviewed for Sitting in Silence way back in September 2022. The book is powerful. Check it out.

And writer, Kayla Min Andrews, has done something marvelous. She rescued her deceased mother’s (Katherine Min) novel The Fetishist. Kayla found an editor and publisher. It was published to acclaim last week. We should all be so fortunate to be loved so much. I’m moderating a discussion with Kayla this week in New Orleans, and I’ll also be posting an interview with her before long.

*whew* as I said. There’s a lot going on.

I hope your 2023 was okay. I enjoyed mine. I know life can be hard and people can suck sometimes, but if all else fails, I’m not too jaded to still go here from time to time.

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Let’s get started.

I’m not going to do the whole New Years Resolution Thing today, but maybe I will. Sort of. Like Frank Sinatra: My Way.

Today, let’s talk about New Year New Words.

I’m talking to anyone who writes or wants to write. I’m asking you to have forgiveness for yourself. Forgive past perceived failures and rejections. This is a brand new year, and there are infinite words at your disposal for free(!) I have no idea what I’ll actually write this year. But I know that I’m going to have fun doing it.

But what if writing is no fun?

Let’s say, you’ve been writing all along throughout your life. In your journal, on social media (yes, this is a kind of writing, even if only in the comments sections), or on a blog that you and ten others read.

But you’re feeling dissatisfied. The writing isn’t making you feel better at all.

Now, at the doorstep of 2024 is a good time to assess why that might be the problem.

Is the writing hard? Boring? Ugly? Or just somehow wrong?

I just got back from a teaching experience at Randolph College Low-Res MFA where I spend my winter breaks. It’s a great program and the students are some of the happiest you’ll ever meet. I was asked to do a presentation. I could pick any topic, so I chose joy. How do we carry it into our writing?

In the ballroom, I had a great big screen with slides on it. One of the slides (with a cute graphic of ‘Anger’ from Pixar’s Inside Out) commands:

“STOP WRITING THINGS THAT DON’T MAKE YOU HAPPY [Save your negative emotions for the world of the page].”

It’s such a simplistic statement that I’m almost embarrassed to share it with you. It’s glaringly obvious that we shouldn’t do things we don’t like. I mean, yes, we have jobs and other adult responsibilities. But this is writing. Writing. Writing is a game we play with ourselves. You ever watch a dog chase its tail? It’s like that. The pooch does it because the pooch wants to raise its spirit.

Writing well isn’t easy. We all get blocked or lost. I know I do. But one thing I don’t do is write things I don’t like. And I certainly don’t engage in negative self-talk.

Look, I need to lose ten pounds (although shout-out to 2023 me for getting my cholesterol way way down to normal range). I should probably take better care of my skin and spend less time worrying over, well, e v e r y t h i n g.

But I don’t denigrate my writing skills because I worked hard to get to the level of ability I have, a level that any writer can attain and, frankly, surpass. I’m not Shakespeare or even Anthony Trollope (who? Exactly!). And anyway, writing is subjective. One reader’s trash is another’s Song of Solomon.

I’m asking you to show yourself grace. If you really want to write, then sit down somewhere comfortable, crack open that notebook or laptop, and write something that would make your high school self want to give you a high five. My 14-year-old self does a cartwheel whenever I make something we like, which is funny because he’s a husky kid, and we were never good at tumbling. He flops whenever he tries it. But he does it because it makes us both happy. I smile realizing that I’ve always been exactly this: a storyteller who just wants to make cool, fun, entertaining things.

My child-self had absolutely no illusions about being a best-selling author or winning prizes. He drew, and played make-believe with his cousins, and, yes, he wrote in a composition notebook that no one ever saw the inside of but him. That black and white tablet is lost to history, gobbled by hurricane floodwaters. But even today, 30 days later, I smile when I think about how it was filled with literal dreams, nightmares, corny jokes, and inane ramblings. I did it because I enjoyed it.

Simply stated: we need to stop thinking that writing is about prestige, fame, or money. If I wanted to be truly famous, I should have taken a shot at acting, rapping, influencing, or even video game playing (hi, people with gray hair: yes, there are video game celebrities in this timeline today).

Writing is the quiet art. It’s for every reader who ever curled up in a comforter on a cold day with a cup ‘‘o hot cocoa (with marshmallows!) and read about Narnia, Celie and Shug, Margaret, Offred, or the like. Literature is the interior place. The section of our selves untouched by advertisers, group think, or social media…for now. Writing is soul work.

If you are thinking about writing, just do it. Don’t wait. Just sit and peck out 200 words.

Or open the recorder app on your phone (all phones have one) and make up the start of a story as if you’re talking to your child, a niece or nephew, a good friend, or your shadow self. Be weird, funny, dark, inappropriate, surprising.

If you’re more advanced—say, you have most of a manuscript or screenplay—go to them. The stakes may be high. Maybe an agent or editor is waiting. Perhaps a film or TV producer. That’s ok. Because you’re a writer.

Just as ducks don’t drown, writers are never truly lost for words. Sometimes, we simply can’t figure out which key opens the creativity door.

I often say that I’ve been stuck during the writing process of every major thing I’ve ever written. I get stuck in my books and short stories. I get stuck when I write an essay or do an interview. But I come back and ask myself, “what could make these words enjoyable?”

Often, it’s what I’m most afraid of: grappling with some truth about myself, or killing a character, or having best friends fight, or writing a scene that is weird and difficult. But it’s only rock and roll, isn’t it? No one is forcing us to do any of this. We write because we’re writers, just like cooks cook, and dancers dance, and children play. We can’t help but touch this magic. The magic is us.  

So, read your horoscope. Or talk to your significant other. Have tea with your bestie. Say a little prayer. Burn sage. Tell someone that this year you’re going to write and you’re going to do it from a place of joy and play and fun. The worst thing can happen is a good time.

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