Hi friends! I have a couple more treats for you before I head off on a three-week adventure. I have been far less consistent on Substack than I hoped to be this summer, and I think part of that is just my looming writing slump. I am continuing to slowly pick through On Writing, I read a bit at a coffee shop today. Stephen King kind of just dissed on symbolism for a while, which kind of hurt my feelings as someone who has taken many English classes, etc. I love symbolism! I will admit, it’s a bit of an afterthought for me sometimes when I write poetry. After I write, I think about meaning and tweak a few words to clarify or confuse. I remember spending hours in class and outside of class trying to understand, dissect, and write about symbolism, so it was interesting hearing his take on it. He also wrote about being disheartened that his readership still, overwhelmingly, favorited a book he had written sixteen years ago rather than a newer novel. Interestinggggg… many thoughts about King, maybe more so than writing, while reading this little memoir/opinion piece.
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A little over half of July was dedicated to travel. I haven’t spent much time on the east coast, so being there and seeing places I have heard about for my whole life was very cool. Vermont was just as I imagined it to be, in the best way. Green, peaceful, woodsy, tranquil compared to most states I have visited. There was a certain freshness in the air, it tasted different than it did here. Moving through various spaces reminds me more of the commonalities between places instead of their differences. There is so much excitement in being somewhere new, even if it’s just new for the moment. But, the world is recognizable. I think in a few years when I have (hopefully) been to way more places, I might say something different. But wherever I have traveled so far, there has been more familiar than foreign. For me, beauty and sadness exist within this realization, which seems more “mature” and distant from what people describe as some kind of childlike wonder, where everything we breathe, see, touch, and feel is new and enchanting. Gaining knowledge fuels us and inspires power, but makes it more difficult to embrace tiny aspects of newness. I don’t think ignorance is bliss. I think ignorance evokes nostalgia sometimes, and I think although people resist nostalgia much of the time to appear stronger or more grounded, we’d go to great lengths to feel it. I’m still not exactly sure how to define nostalgia, and I think that’s a separate newsletter, but it’s something I think about a lot being home from school. The vast majority of my experiences here, now, are grounded in some form of nostalgia. Is sentimentality enough of a reason to stay?
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Along the same lines, I recently watched Past Lives for the first time (and then again 24 hours later with my parents). It is, without a doubt, the best film I have seen so far in 2024, and one of my favorites of all time. If someone asked me to name a bittersweet story, it would be this one. Without spoiling the plot (because your first move after reading this should be watching it, or at least adding it to your watchlist), it will tear you apart and confuse you while also being warm, sensitive, and simple. I have never seen such a touching love story, and I have read many touching, creative reviews on the film since watching it (there are lots on Substack if you just look up Past Lives) but beware of spoilers!
I wrote a little poem on the plane out of Boston about a week ago. I haven’t come up with the right title for it yet, so I’m just going to leave it as is:
Before, the biggest risk you’d take was breathing underwater
Until you turned inside out just to impress someone’s daughter
A once lively room neglected when you went to nurture her
Upon returning, fish were floating, dinner spoiled, breakfast served
You once were taken care of, still could be if you asked
But your skin sheds already, only your love was made to last
You dig to find her roots before you ask about your own
Save everything for her and when she hangs up, curse the phone
You both are tangled up in something bruised black and blue
Your home is her theater, your movements to her cue
You are somebody’s child and your dog misses you
It’s not funny anymore, and you miss underwater blue
I was a part of an after-school writing program in fifth grade. There was a guest speaker, and we could each choose one of our poems/short stories for him to read and give us feedback on. I chose the poem I was proudest of, and I remember him calling me into the hall and being so nervous for his critique, as he was pretty blunt. The first thing he said about my poem was that it was “dark,” which I was surprised by, as that wasn’t what I was going for. He seemed surprised about these elements of depth and darkness he identified, and said he thought I was meant to write sad things (I don’t think he used the word sad, but something along those lines. It was fifth grade so). At first, I was proud of myself for surprising him with my talent and being able to draw some sort of emotion out of this dry, self-deprecating, judgemental local author. But the more I thought about it, the more upset I was. I didn’t want to just write “dark” things. I was a very happy, upbeat kid writing devastating poems, which was fine, but I worried that my writing and my person would morph. As much as I wanted to become one with the products of my creativity, I didn’t want to be the face of sadness or gore. I still think about that sometimes when I write, but writing bliss almost feels more vulnerable. Anyways, time for the REPORT!
July’s R.E.P.O.R.T.
Reading
Eating
Playing
Obsessing
Recommending
Treating
I completely agree about finding similarities in the places you visit over the differences in between them!! I took a hike in Alaska recently and all I could think among the trees was how much it seemed like Northern California, and how beautiful it was that nature could be so technically "biologically" different, hundreds of miles away but still make me feel like I was at home. As always I love being able to read what you write - you have such a beautiful way with words :)
“You dig to find her roots before you ask about your own.” Love that line so very much and remember you sitting to my left and getting your inspiration from the clouds outside the plane window.
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