Who Runs Into the Storm?
Currently listening to: It’s still Florence + the Machine’s new album.
Currently enjoying: The cinnamon candle on my desk.
Looking forward to reading: Alix E. Harrow’s The Everlasting.
Thing(s) you should read: Scott Edelman’s essay about the unfortunate happenings with the contracts at Asimov’s, F&SF, and Analog. MRM was given an opportunity to learn and do better, and they are simply not. It’s gross, and it should not take such a big back-and-forth for a good-faith contract. (I published with both F&SF and Asimov’s in recent years, and it was a highlight for me. That said, before F&SF sold to MRM, I had to pull a poem that I’d sold to them, given an issue with the magazine that was Concerning. This instance with Scott is just as bad.)
The older I get, the more I realize that your people are the ones who show up when everything is messy. It’s easy to hang out when times are good and things are fun.
But I always want to be the person who gets asked, “Hey, do you have a minute?” The answer will almost always be yes, unless I’m literally on fire or in a crowded room and can’t sneak away. (Have I, on occasion, hidden in the bathroom at a party? Yes.)
I don’t care if someone is popular or famous. I care about someone’s heart. How I feel when we’re together or texting. If I feel safe to blather on or send three excited texts in a row. If I can be my most honest self and not hold back, even when it’s moderately inconvenient to be truthful.
More and more, it’s what we share when things are frakked up that matters. Who runs into the storm to be a lighthouse when the world feels dark? Those are your people, darlings.
I remember, after my mom died, a friend reached out to say that she was sorry—and she’d call in a week. We had been inseparable for years. So, I believed her.
She never called. She never texted. The next time I heard from her was when she wanted something from me. And…no. That’s not how friendships work. (Yes, I know it is difficult or sometimes impossible to figure out the right words when someone is grieving or dealing with a hard thing, the right words are not what matters. It’s the care that does.)
For me, I always trust my gut. I always check in with my gut. When I don’t know what the correct move is, it’s Gut Check/Heart Check time. When I figure out how I feel, I act accordingly. It’s not a skill I was born with. There were years I did the exact opposite and, in the end, suffered for it. Turns out red flags and butterflies are rather indistinguishable. Oops? Ah, well. Fun stories, at least.
This week, I have spent a good deal of time pondering my relationships. Where have I been kind? Where have I been selfish? Where could I do better? It’s regular inventory and not the stage for a self-scolding. It’s honestly healthy and important, I think.
I don’t always get everything right. None of us do, in any relationship. We mess up. We say stupid shit. Worse, sometimes, we say nothing. I try very hard to muscle through my fears and find my words. Imperfect ones will do.
PS If there are typos, and I’m sure there are, forgive me — I was lazy.