This book of personal essays explores Dederer’s midlife sexual reawakening that traces its roots back to her teenage promiscuity. It’s been noted for its honest portrayal of sexuality and its innovative takes on the creative nonfiction form.
Spoiler alert: I just finished this book. It’s a little tedious but worth a read since Tana French is one of the best crime writers working these days. Plus, it’s got an unsuspecting twist at the end. Her debut “Into the Woods” is still my favorite though.
Yes, there are some erotic stories in here, but it’s not what you think! This is a funny, heartwarming tale of British Punjabi women’s reconciliation with their patriarchal community and modern country.
I dated a Virginian once. A preacher’s son — the second I’d pursued; a high percentage for only being 20. Something about their balance — of fire and brimstone, innocence and hunger, optimism to believe in eternal life and pessimism to believe in a father sending his children to hell — that attracts me to them.
Like a tick on a fat dog.
He taught me sayings like that. Sometimes. Insecure about his southern upbringing in a liberal Yankee college town, his accent would mysteriously disappear as soon as we hit the Ohio border. Some Yankees made him feel bad about where he came from. Those Yankees were dicks.
I thought about him as I traveled through Pennsylvania into West Virginia this weekend. There’s enough distance between me and the me who dated him, so my thoughts were happy ones. Appreciative ones. How beautiful it would have been to grow up in the mountains, surrounded by a painting, tucked into trees.
He told me once that his first month in flat Ohio took some mental adjusting. It was jarring, startling even, to be so exposed by the topography. In a field of nothingness, horizons on all sides, how do you protect yourself? The mountains were safekeeping. The mountains were walls, the good kind. The mountains made him less afraid.
I agree. I feel better in places that live vertically. Chicago high rises scraping the sky, like a penny on a lotto ticket. Morgantown’s mountains beaming from on high.
Plus, there’s just more to look at. At our rental this weekend, I stood on the balcony one evening when the air smelled cold but felt soft. I looked out toward the skyline high above to see a hymnal of homes dotting the mountaintop. Who lives up there? What do you think they are doing? Dreaming? Lights twinkle spotty on the mountain side, mimicking the blanket of stars they’re so close to being part of.
When you know — when you can trust — that something’s ahead of you, it’s harder to be afraid.
Jimmy Cliff and Johnny Cash. “The boot the roots the radical” and “this time is not exclusive we want to stop a war.”
I’m not afraid of these songs anymore and the memories of him they send me colliding into. Instead I feel a calm. Now they’re just good songs. Songs I love.
A pleasant reminder that after the pain is gone, there’s always the music. The music that saves us.
***
I first heard “Ain’t Afraid” in February 2014, the best way how: live, standing on a floor like quick sand, sticky with beer and tears and who knows what else.
Those Darlins were playing at Rumba Café, a dark music bar that quietly hosted some of Columbus’ best shows. It was a tight squeeze in there, but always worth the liquor that got spilled on you by a neighbor shoulder-side because you could get so close to the performers. So close that you could see their goosebumps. And at Rumba, you’d always find performers who gave themselves goosebumps. Because they so believed in what they were up there doing.
“Ain’t Afraid” was a song I needed to hear that night. Their lead singer Jessi was a girl I needed to see.
I was heartsick. Justin had recently dumped me and moved two states away. I hadn’t grieved anything from the boy above or the one after that or Justin and was nursing a need to always be nursing a bottle. That winter was one where I was mentally preparing myself for a spring where I knew some things would need to change inside me. I just wasn’t ready yet. I was afraid.
But Jessi wasn’t.
Jessi Zazu at Rumba Cafe, February 2014.
At least not on stage. I was immediately drawn to her slink. Cool rock star prowl with pussy power. Then she sang and I was officially hers. She growled with a achy rawness that had dirt on its hem. The kind that can only come from living something real.
After seeing her that night, “Ain’t Afraid” became my secret anthem for a little while. I loved that she croaked out the “I” and not one of the other words. It made me feel her fear of and power in herself, both coming from the same source of power, both with a chance to win until she chose strength. Behind that long, multi-noted “iiiiii” were many long, lonely nights figuring out who that “I” was — because survival wasn’t possible without it.
I needed to face those nights. And I did. I grew out of the song by spring—probably to a more confident anthem, something that dug in its tires less and mostly just cheered me on. My cuts were scarring over and I couldn’t connect with the pain in that chorus anymore, didn’t need it’s brute resolve.
But that line. That line! “I ain’t afraid anymore” still pops into my head sometimes. “Keep going,” it says. “This is your fucking life,” it says. “You choose.”
That’s a piece of Jessi’s voice in me, joined by a choir of the singers and songwriters who have all budged me a step forward. I could only dream of making something so meaningful in 28 years.
I wish I could tell her thank you for the song, for that voice, for being fearlessly, unfuckably herself.
That Danielle Steel’s writing desk is made to look like a stack of books. But not any books. Her books. Excellent reporting from the front lines of narcissism-so-gaudy-it’s-charming by Vanity Fair, per usual.
Hello, beautiful. Yes, you.
This ridiculously soft, skin-perfecting Pur makeup brush that makes my BB cream look not so DOA. I put makeup on my face every day so I’m immune to seeing it change. This seems counterintuitive, but each wrinkle deepens so subtly, each crow’s multi-clawed foot grip tightens on the rim of my eye socket so inconspicuously, like the boiling water in the pot with the frog (if you don’t know that analogy by now, you deserve to go look it up). Pretty soon I won’t be able to wear foundation, cream or powder at all lest I look like a founding father. Until then, this brush.
Miranda July’s new short story, “The Metal Bowl.” And Miranda July talking about marriage and how hard it is to write a short story here. Miranda July is so dreamy.
Photograph by Elizabeth Weinberg / NYT / Redux
Atlantic magazine, recognizing the increasingly chaotic nature and overbooked status of even the most loyal and disciplined reader’s everyday life (and the laziness/ distractedness of the rest of us), has started posting audio recordings of prominent stories from its print issues. Listen the “Donald Trump is the First White President” by Ta-nehisi Coates as you wash the dishes, or “When Your Child is a Psychopath” by Barbara Bradley Hagerty as you commute to AA <knowing head nod>. The recordings are often posted in the stories, but you can check out the Atlantic’s Soundcloud stationhere to binge on all the recordings made to date.
Ariel Pink’s new album, “Dedicated to Bobby Jameson.”And its sugar-in-your-veins “Feels like Heaven.”
This old commercial starring old Michael Jordan. Justin makes me watch it when I’m feeling anxious about making new work. Justin listens to NPR’s “Fresh Air” and Rocky’s greatest inspirational speeches while he works out. Justin is my favorite person.
I recently asked my Facebook friends for some new music suggestions. I was particularly looking for music and artists they listened to when the coffee’s wearin’ thin and they’re in desperate need of some focus. The response was overwhelming and I had to share. Here’s the full list. Happy listening! Get back to work! It’s not the weekend… yet…
***
Classical. Baroque to be specific.
Bossa Nova (multiple votes!)
John Coltrane’s album “Blue Train”
Sonny Rollins’s album “The Bridge”
Stereolab
Beethoven’s Seventh by the London Symphony
Spotify’s Brain Food playlist
Tycho (multiple votes!)
God Speed You Black Emperor (multiple votes!)
Tortoise
Sigur Ros
Miles Davis
Phish (studio albums only!)
Pretty Lights
Aphex Twin (multiple votes!)
Sts9
Astrud Gilberto
Sergio Mendes
Walter Wanderly
The New Pornographers’s new album “Whiteout Condition”
The High Art soundtrack
Miles Davis’s album “Kind of Blue”
Debussy
Beach House (multiple votes!)
Explosions in the Sky (multiple votes!)
The End of the Ocean
Washed Out
Squarepusher
The Social Network soundtrack
Ritual
Bon Iver
Olafur Arnalds
Max Richter
Nils Frahm
The Zelda Soundtrack
Spotify’s Vietnam War Era Music
Iron & Wine
Spotify’s RetroWave/ Outrun playlist
Loscil
New Brighton’s album “Sketches”
Handel’s “Water Music”
James Horner
Bonobo
Prefuse 73
Lemon Jelly (my favorite so far!)
Mingus or other jazz
Haim’s album “Something to Say”
Toubab Krewe’s self titled album
Townes Van Zandt
Colter Wall
Son House
Devendra Banhart
Milk & Bone
Erik Satie
Grouper
Boards of Canada
Do Make Say Think
Vitamin String Quartet
The Pride and Prejudice soundtrack
Clutchy Hopkins
The Speedbumps’s new album “When the Darkness Comes”
Lo-fi Chill Out YouTube channels
Frodus’s album “And We Washed our Weapons in the Sea”
Getting straight to the point inside an electrical company’s offices in Marion, Ohio.
Passive aggressive messages left on cars happen early and often in Chicago’s crammed streets. The washed-and-dried look of these notes allow us to deduce that this car has been here for a while.
I think the theme this week is really direct signage. “Rear.” “Office.” “463.” All the news you need.
There have to thousands of nail salons in Chicago. I love seeing how they name themselves. It’s always some variation of “Nail”. Hot Nails. Cool Nails. Diamond Nails. Nails.com (which does not have a website and definitely is not the owner of the domain of which its business title speaks). Nail Story is a pretty good one. My nails would tell a super gross story.
Heh. Heh. Body man wanted indeed… Another Chicago signage trend: Body shops with really innuendo-heavy language. There’s a place by my apartment that boasts “Best Hand Job in Town.” Maybe something was lost in translation?
“When your car is feeling blue. We paint it yellow.”
Zing.
More like words on the beach. Shoutout to our honeymoon!
Diligently reported by Washington Post writer Monica Hesse, this is the true story of a decaying rural town in West Virginia that faced down a pair of arsonists who set fire to 60+ abandoned buildings over the course of half a year. The book covers the town, which as become symbolic of the struggle of modern middle and working class America, and the confounding couple that struck the match to burn it down.
I just joined Book of The Month Club, a monthly online book service that lets you pick from its selection of new book recommendations. For $14.99 a month, you get a new book that’s been curated by a panel of voracious readers just like you. This August selection was my first pick. It’s written by a Chicago writer (heyyy!). It’s an anti-hero’s journey of a father on a mission to find his addiction-addled son, who has been missing for months.
A Writer’s Digest University find. This book promises to help me understand the difference between plot and structure and how to outline like a pro. (Almost-Pro-Tip: Check out Groupon for deals on the magazine’s classes and workshops before you pay full price.)
Anything Roxane Gay-recommended will make my to-read list, but Stielstra does her own heavy lifting in this book of literary essays about fear, faith and how to live a better life. Yes, please.
In June I left my full time job to work contract and freelance hours. The goal is to free up time for my creative side hustle, with the goal that those projects will eventually become the main hustle.
I’ve contracted full time before, so I knew what to expect. It’s not for everyone, but it’s perfect for me if I stay focused. I like that I save time on my morning and night commutes. I also am way more productive because I can work on my own terms, which is motivating (not to mention the meetings I get to sit out that always seem to eat up so much time). It’s also perfect for dating a comedian who works at night. (Oh wait! We are married now! Eeeee!) I like that, when possible, I can work night shifts like he does and we can spend the afternoons together.
I recognize how lucky I am to get to do this. Not a lot of jobs or professions allow for this kind of freedom. I also recognize how hard I’ve worked to get to this point. Like Roxane Gay says:
I was much more prepared for this second go at freelancing full time. Here are some tips that made a longterm setup like this possible. Good luck!
Dust off your contact list a few months before going rogue
Reach out to employers or contacts who may hire freelancers that do your kind of work. Let them know when you’ll be available for hire. Keep it cordial. Don’t sound desperate. Offer your updated resume and CV and thank them for their time, regardless of an opening or not.
Save six months of expenses
That sounds like a lot of savings, but it’s for peace of mind as you wait for checks to roll in. Sometimes publications don’t pay until the work has been published, and when you’re writing for magazines, that can mean you’re waiting two sometimes three months until you get your check. Be sure to ask when you sign a contract what to expect in terms of a payment schedule.
Start an invoice and check tracker
I have a Google Sheet that tracks my assignments, publication contact info, date of assignment, due date, date submitted, date of invoice, invoice number, check number and date payment was received. I also keep notes on whether or not taxes were taken out of each check. That will come in handy come tax season and also helps you remember what amount of spendable money you *actually* have in your bank account.
Get that calendar sharp
Google Calendar is my other freelance lifeline. I have my personal and work calendars separated but can view them both at once. They’re color coded. Google: Making creative people organized since two thousand and whatever. I’m a sucker for paper calendars but I’ve found I just cannot keep up with adding or changing everything in by hand. The Google Calendar lets me stay flexible and I can add to it on the go on my phone. I create an event for 6 am each day of the week that keeps a running to do list so I don’t miss anything. This is helpful when you’re working for multiple contacts.
Work on your self discipline
I have a sign on my desk that says “Get shit done.” Seriously. You need to get shit done. Approach your at-home work hours the same you would in-office. You wouldn’t do the dishes or decide now is the perfect time to bleach the shower while on the clock. You shouldn’t at home either. Having set work hours dedicated to work only is the standard for a reason: It, well, works.
Thank your lucky stars
Don’t take the work or your work life for granted. Here are some images from the New York Public Library that make me do a little dance that I was born when I was, where I was, as I was. Some things hard work can’t count for. <3
Carpenters and construction workers waiting outside Florida State employment office trying to get jobs on Camp Blanding in Starke, Florida. December 1940.
“Closing Time” by artist Ann Nooney for the U.S. Works Progress Administration.
General Office at the Gordon-Pagel Co., Detroit. Postcard issued 1898-1931.
Oh, writers. My favorite kind of people. They’re the best at describing what love looks like, tastes like, feels like, even when they fail at keeping it — and those keenly sensitive types often fail at keeping it — because they’re so observant, so prone to seeing the world, and thus love, in a new way and describing it like only they can. Their gifts are our worth more than a mine drowning in wedding diamonds.
“A Farewell to Arms” by Ernest Hemingway, 1929
At night, there was the feeling that we had come home, feeling no longer alone, waking in the night to find the other one there, and not gone away; all other things were unreal. We slept when we were tired and if we woke the other one woke too so one was not alone. Often a man wishes to be alone and a woman wishes to be alone too and if they love each other they are jealous of that in each other, but I can truly say we never felt that.
We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others. We were never lonely and never afraid when we were together.
Comedy sets
I also have a weak spot for comedians. I’m marrying one. Comedians are like writers but harder and rawer around the edges (a nice balance for a writerly softie like me). But underlying their calloused scorn is always, always something deeper than the rest of us would be willing to journey down. The greats make you laugh because they understand something you haven’t seen or thought about yet. They’re ten steps ahead of you, of all of us, in putting it in words. And their brilliance is making you laugh at something so very real and, sometimes, find hope in a place so terribly dark. Just like love.
“It’s just a ride” by Bill Hicks, 1993
The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are.
The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud, and it’s fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, “Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?”
And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, “Hey, don’t worry; don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.”
And we … kill those people.
“Shut him up! I’ve got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real.”
It’s just a ride.
But we always kill the good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok … But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just a ride.
And we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a simple choice, right now…
Between fear and love.
The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one.
Here’s what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded…
And we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace.
Song lyrics
Of course, the trick is picking one that can be read without immediately thinking of the melody. I can’t read aloud the lyrics to “Something,” one of the greatest love songs of all time, without putting on my best George Harrison voice by the second verse. “Into My Arms” is perfect. All poetry and longing limbs outstretched, doubt in God but faith in love. That’s as non-traditional as they come.
“Into My Arms” by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, 1997
I don’t believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms
And I don’t believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that’s true
But if I did I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you
To each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path
And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
And guide you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms
But I believe in love
And I know that you do too
And I believe in some kind of path
That we can walk down, me and you
So keep your candles burning
And make her journey bright and pure
That she will keep returning
Always and evermore
A sticker on a car in Columbus. A strong, certain word for a strong, certain statement (those are supposed to be ovaries, ICYMI).
I like this Ruthie’s use of the present tense. Is you still here, Ruthie? Is you a ghost? Is is a bold choice. Is we ever really anywhere? Do we ever leave? I’m into it, Ruthie.
From the Blue Line. A train car interior covered in black plastic, bearing a single word: “Hide.” An alien looked down from the ceiling, as if he was climbing through, trying to get to his very important business meeting in The Loop. It’s an ad for the movie “Alien: Covenant.” Creepy. Cool. A word like “Hide” becomes immediately off-putting when placed inconspicuously in a daily setting. It feels more off-putting than someone actually yelling, “HIDE!”
At an Ohio hotel’s continental breakfast. It’s never too early for farm puns.
You’re right. It was won by Native American genocide, but, like, I get what you’re saying. Saving this for character dialogue someday.
Irving Park. An example of how we still mark our territory and claim it. Someone is homesick.
First place “Most Magical” pie at an Ohio county fair. When making this recipe at home, don’t forget you need two fluffy bunnies and the lady bugs must be of a friendly disposition. <3
A little free library. With an even littler step ladder. <3 <3
I’ve been reading Margaret Atwood’s 2000 book, “The Blind Assassin.” Have you ever read a book and/or writer and thought, “Why am I even trying? This is brilliant.”? That’s how Atwood makes me feel. She’s a triple threat–genius storyteller, wordsmith and rebel thinker. A tiny example, this description of a dress as “… something easy to overlook but sharp, like a common kitchen implement — an ice pick, say — just before the murder.” This book is riddled with mic-drop metaphor after mic-drop metaphor.
As you can see from above, I brought my book to a baseball game. We had to get cash out of a BMO Harris ATM to get nachos for, you know, game watching (book sneaking). I liked this ATM tagline alongside the info that, though be it 2017, seat vendors are cash only.
True. This bunting in a Lakeview window display made me double take. What does it mean?? What is true??? Better question: What is not true? WHY IS LIFE SO COMPLICATED?
Stickers in River North, like writing prompts shouting from the sidewalk. What would qualify as the Last Great Riot? Why?
We went to the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago during my bachelorette weekend to see the Takashi Murakami exhibit. The art and curation were awesome, as expected, but I was drawn to the exhibition’s title, “The Octopus Eats Its Own Leg.” It’s from a Japanese story about how an octopus will eat its own leg to save itself, knowing the tentacle will grow back. Murakami explores how artists do the same thing, but with no guarantee of regeneration. (See more of my pictures here.)
A clever name for a used clothes drop-off. USA GAIN, use again, etc. I get it… It makes me eyeroll every time I walk by it though, as if it’s saying, “Hey, it’s us again. You really need to purge your closet and donate it to us and also stop buying so much shit that doesn’t fit you.”
Server shirts at Girl and The Goat, the lightning hot Chicago restaurant. You can’t be in Chicago during baseball season without hearing “Go, Cubs, Go” chanted at least thrice. Here’s a fun take on that.
There are so many agencies in this city, it’s no surprise the science of user experience + graphic design is evident in the least expected places. I love this example from a building in the West Loop. It’s a map of all the restaurants and attractions nearby. A writer was probably the least important creative to making this happen, but there’s cute stuff in there.
