Take things day by day is something they tell you when you’re visibly heading toward a future without days. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just weird that now that I actually want to be here, the entire world is crashing down around me. I go in the backyard, take a few laps, try to clear the sour taste from my mouth. When I inhale, there are notes I never sensed before, little hints of neighborhood post-crisis, and the birds are singing at night now. I’m putting down words, drinking down tea, lining up my queue and working through. I’m taking things as they come, another favorite from back in my therapy days. Scenes play out in my mind’s projector, flickering at twenty-four, showing what I’ll look like at forty-eight, then ninety-six, shuttling through the seams of life till I am the last person out in the world, streets empty, grass clear and tall, and all of the things that used to matter so much are no longer a concern, I’m just carrying on, ever-forward, designing and desiring times like these, as chaotic as they might be, even so, letting them be and become what they will. Counting each day down and watching in eon-time, using the distinctly human gift of forward-thinking. See the sprouts grow, reach their predetermined top, come back down once again, as the human rockets buzz and hum around, appearing and disappearing as the sun yo-yos up ahead, first up then down then up again, stars shifting, spinning the sky in time, and I am here again, all at once, locked in a painfully slow retelling of a life I’ve already lived and seen. These are the things that make up a life, reduced to their core functions, and here are all the rooms you’ve entered, the ones you can never enter again. Here are the people you have seen, none of which you can see right now, some of which you might never see again. Here is the great abiding grief that accompanies the ones who’ve already left you, the ones yet to leave. Here are all of the things you can feel, dry now, because you are sober and will stay that way no matter what, these things you’re allowing yourself, maybe forcing yourself, to feel. Here are all the things that make up your altered, segmented life, the segmented lives of everyone right now. Because there is no going back, and you’ve seen that for some time now, since this whole thing began, but quarantine wasn’t the beginning of the change. It was already shifting, imperceptibly, by degrees so small that you could scarcely notice. You are really alive here, even now. There it is. You’re even breathing, taking down that water, letting light refract and strike the wall behind you, picture-smooth, rippled grooves like vinyl as you wake and wait for the day to stop hitting. And here it is, as it is, right now in this perfect, terrible moment. In this snapshot that is all there is but not all there ever will be, and that’s okay.
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It's here! My first proof copy of Here's Waldo just came in the mail, and it is perfect. I can't believe how amazing it is in person. Swipe through to see a dream come true, including an unboxing video! And a reminder that you can pre-order this through the link in my bio! Wow. I am so incredibly happy right now. This is the best early birthday present I could ask for. Less than 2 months till pub date! 😱 #HeresWaldo #novel #comingofage #published #publication #publishing #writing #fiction #nostalgia #90s #iwrotethis #indieauthor #indieauthors #writingcommunity #woot #celebration #ididit #dreamcometrue #paperback #writer #Chicago #chicagoland #desplaines #illinois #winstonsalem #dtws #wsnc
Huge thanks to James Diaz and Anti-Heroin Chic! I’m so excited for this one to go live!
So thrilled to share my piece on grief and art that’s live in Cabinet of Heed! This is a massive issue, and I can’t wait to dig into it. Rachel Abbey McCafferty’s The Teeth Were Sharp, The Eyes Were Wide and Wilson Koewing’s Ghosted both absolutely floored me already. Check it out here!
I put the idea of you into a small locket that I’d never worn before, closed it up and wore it around my neck weekends before we couldn’t go anywhere, when I would go down to the things that were happening in the city that had been mine but was no longer, so I could let it glint a little in the sunlight before coming back home. I polished and shined the idea of you weekly, or rather I polished and shined the thing that contained the idea of you. I put it on my night stand before going to bed and smoothed out its chain on waking, set it down to rest just above my heart and watched the way the LCD screen on public transit went haywire, announced that the next stop was a series of incomprehensible pixels. I painted the idea of you in a self portrait after you went away, refused to take it off for the painting because it would be there if I weren’t painting, so it had to be there if I were. I sprinkled the idea of you onto the surface of my morning coffee and stirred it in so I’d have a taste of you for the rest of the day. I put the idea of you in between the layers of all of my dresses, one after the other, till I couldn’t be sure where I ended and the idea of you began. I clawed your name off the mailbox and poured isopropyl alcohol on it and set it ablaze for a flickering blue-fire moment in quiet darkness. It erased any trace of your letters. I put you into the cleanses that I drank morning after morning, intoned the shape of your face as toxin to be purged, rinsed it down the sink like the stubble shavings you’d leave behind every other day. I practiced saying all the sentences you’d shush, the barbs left unspoken if not unearned. And there were the gowns I couldn’t afford but which I would try on, looking for a version of myself I could be okay with, and the way that you didn’t want to talk or see me after you came, how you’d go in the other room and wait for my postcoital chase. I put you down in the poems of that time, clipped events and rearranged the names but kept the idea of you intact. Couldn’t do much else. In the end, I survived on pomegranates and apple cider. Thought I saw a glimmer of you in the pulp, but I decided to drink it down anyway. I was too thirsty not to.
The day after I graduated college, back in 2014, I started writing Here’s Waldo. Today, the day after moving into a new place with the love of my life, I started writing The Brother We Share. This will be autofiction, a novel that tracks my suicide attempt in 2016, only in this version of events, I didn’t survive. It’ll focus on my brothers and my friends who became brothers. It’ll be a story where my younger brother CJ found Here’s Waldo before I’d been able to finish it and decided to turn it into this book instead, a hybrid of that story and the intertwined lives of my friends, family, and I. I cannot express how thankful I am to be here and to have the life and the opportunities that I now have. Life is absolutely precious, and while this book will be hard to write, it’ll also be necessary for me. Thanks so much to all of you for supporting me on my journey, and an immeasurable thanks to the folks who kept me alive when I was barely hanging on. None of this would’ve been possible without you.