Hello, September! Time for Updates
What's new? What's next? And the best books read this summer.
Well, hello there!
Summer went by really fast, didn’t it? The heat, the pool, chafed thighs and blisters on the ankles? Gone.
Welcome, Practical Magic memes and cozy sweaters.
I’m happy to be back here to think and share fascinating reads about literature, healing and writing.
Personal Updates: Recap
Last time we spoke, I wrote:
I will be pausing this newsletter until the end of the summer.
I do it without guilt (for once) because some things in the next few months will require all my attention: caring solo for my two children (+ a dog) while traveling around Quebec, swimming in pools and lakes, sweating from my underboob while riding Montreal metros and buses.
Caring is a full-time job and an important one. I’m finally integrating it as more than an “until I find a read job” gig; a daily grind that also brings me purpose and peace.
I surrender.
I am happy to report that I did, indeed, surrender.
The girls and I spent an outstanding amount of time by the pool. We traveled to Quebec and back, swam in a lake and got our asses served by horseflies.
Shit hit the fan, but it didn’t kill us: it reinforced bonds with friends and family members, allowed for new boundaries to be erected, and made space for more love, acceptance and hospitality than ever before.
It was 24/7 caring, and although challenging, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the kiddos, away from any scheduled work.
As
beautifully put it in her last piece, “I'm Tired of Healing... but I'm choosing to do it.”Plus, it doesn’t take up all the space anymore, and I’m grateful for it.
We also returned from a family vacation, our first since February 2020… There was water (salted, chlorinated, fizzy), cuddles and sun. It was glorious.
What’s New?
I am officially back at work on new and old projects, nothing crazy or unusual, including this Substack.
I am also — and this is not something I ever thought I would say — homeschooling my two girls.
It means nothing for this space, although I’m always porous to my environment and lack the necessary boundaries to separate my writing and life (who can, anyway?).
Expect some thoughts on care, education, creativity and mothering.
I am permitting myself to perform and tap dance online as (in)consistently as my body and soul need it.
That said, I hope to keep the “Weekly Crumbs” going with my favorite reads of the week and monthly posts on The Writer’s Log for updates or to feed you more substance — say, a slice of bread instead of crumbs — starting with this one.
Most Interesting Reads of the Summer
I finished The Chronology of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch. As I expected, it moved, transformed, and shook me to my core:
I didn’t know yet how wanting to die could be a bloodsong in your body that lives with you your whole life. I didn’t know then how deeply my mother’s song had swum into my sister and into me. I didn’t know that something like wanting to die could take form in one daughter as the ability to quietly surrender, and in the other as the ability to drive into death head-on. I didn’t know we were our mother’s daughters after all.
Fu…dge.
I slowly savored Real Life by Brandon Taylor, which was equally profound and astonishing:
It wasn’t the world outside that he had needed to drown out, then, but the world inside, the interior of the house, which had always seemed so much wilder and stranger to him than anything he found walking alone in the woods.
Once upon a time, I fell in love with Tove Jansson and her book Fair Play, and I continued falling after diving into The Summer Book. A perfect August read:
… the path circled the rosebush, which was large and famous and had a name, Rosa Rugosa. When it blossomed, with its huge, wild roses that could take a storm and fell only when they were high, washed clean but the waves, and there was seaweed in its branches. Every seven years, Rosa Rugosa died from salt and exposure, but then her children sprang up in the sand all around, so nothing changed. She had only moved a little.
Finally, I just finished Sarinagara by Phillippe Forest (in French, but an English version of the book exists) an erudite and exquisitely written tale about grief, literature, and the ordinary lust for life that connects us all beyond historical horrors:
Son regard se pose sure less choses, sur les êtres et il fait descendre sur le monde la douceur insignifiante d’une toute petite parole qui prend en elle, pendant qu’il en est encore temps, quelques minces morceaux de récits, histoires ordinaires qui bientôt ne concerneront plus personne et resteront à l’abandon, magnifiquement esseulées, objets singuliers et tout à fait insoucieux de leur sort.
His gaze rests on things, on beings, and it bestows upon the world the insignificant gentleness of a quiet voice that absorbs, while there is still time, slender parcels of stories, ordinary tales that soon will no longer concern anyone and will remain abandoned, beautifully lonely, singular objects entirely indifferent to their fate1.
That’s it for today! Expect the “Crumbs Weekly” to resume next Monday. I have months of links saved in Notes. Can’t wait to share.
Thanks for reading, folks. I’m grateful you’re here.
a. xx
My translation.
J'avais hâte de voir ton nom apparaître dans ma boîte de réception !!!