*blows the dust off*

Well… hey there, y’all!

I have been, uh, absent from here for 4 months now. I could make excuses and explanations and get defensive, but why bother? I just couldn’t dedicate time to this, and—perhaps more importantly—I had no idea what I wanted to say here anymore. I dislike talking about my writing while I’m writing it. And, well, I’m sick of talking about myself in general. Worst of all I’m sick of essays as a genre, personal or not.

I cannot tell you how freeing it feels to admit that.

The internet—sites like Substack especially—is built on the backs of essays, especially personal essays, pieces people write that reveal the inner sanctum of their lives for clicks and comments. There are people writing in this genre really really well—beautiful prose that evokes every shade of humanity—but lately, for me, it feels more like screaming into the void than connecting. When I’m feeling uncharitable, to me it seems like the trajectory of personal essays as a genre can be neatly summed up by the trajectory of Roxane Gay’s books: From the groundbreaking Bad Feminist to the milquetoast Opinions. As

Jessa Crispin

said of Opinions, “At least you can say there’s no false advertising. Roxane Gay’s new collection of essays is titled Opinions, after all, not Thoughts or Ideas. She gives us exactly what she promises: a series of opinions on various subjects, arranged haphazardly, adding up to nothing substantial at all.”

When I’m feeling charitable I can just admit that I’m not in a season in my life where I can enjoy constant tales of tragedy and growth. My own healing and growth feels too fragile right now; it can’t be intruded upon by other ideas of how to heal and love and rage and start anew.

So… is there any good reason to continue this?

That’s what my mind comes back to every time I have thought about getting back into my pattern of publishing here. “I probably should keep going. I have a list of essay ideas I could crank out… But so what? To what end?”

Instead of resuming my work, thoughts of wintering keep running through my mind. We’re just past the solstice, winter has only recently “officially” begun. What does it mean to treat this season as a verb? Could it look like the dozen animals that hibernate? Someone—I can’t remember who, sorry—wrote here on Substack about how humans used to hibernate during winter; in parts of Russia for up to 6 months a year. In agriculture, fields lay fallow during winter. Even the earth rests, so why aren’t we?

What would it look like to drop everything for a few months and rest? Why does such a concept feel revolutionary today?

I won’t be hibernating this year—I haven’t prepped for it, haven’t saved up food and money to get me through. But dropping things that are unfulfilling, slowing down, wintering? I think I could do that.

Which brings me back to this ‘stack, today, wondering what to do with it. I’m pretty sure that I’m done here; I’ve said what I could, and probably not very well. I probably won’t be back. I won’t say never, because there’s no more sure-fire way to get myself to do something than saying ‘never.’

I do owe an apology to all the folks in the 100 Rejections Challenge—obviously, I dropped the ball there. The challenge is not something I’ll be continuing in 2024, but it was fun while it lasted. (If you signed up for this, you’ll be getting a separate message from me soon.)

If you want to follow along with my work, my debut book is officially available for preorder! I’m really excited to see it in people’s hands in just a few short months.

You can also follow the Unruly Figures ‘stack, where I’ll keep writing about historical rebels and rulebreakers. I’m still on The-Platform-Formally-Known-As-Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and I can be found trying to make Notes and Threads work.

Thank you to everyone who followed this ‘stack and stuck around as I navigated a few different iterations here. I hope you have a wonderful 2024! I’ll see you around the internet.