This isn't even my final platform.
TinyLetter is dying.
This is the platform I liked the most, the simplest free version of what does this job. And soon it will be no more. The loss of TinyLetter to its parent company, MailChimp, is an excellent example of the process Cory Doctorow has deemed "enshittification," through which platforms decay from useful interfaces for a community to a worse version driven only by profit, even unto its own detriment.
As a result, my newsletter is going to switch to a different platform in 2024. I'm shopping for one that isn't overrun with Nazi transphobes, but I'll let you know where I land. You'll hear from me in a new spot, it'll still be free, and it'll still be Letters from Meg.
So let's close down 2023.
I left D.C. for NYC this year, in a move that both hurt and felt freeing. I'm in Brooklyn now, and loving it every day. I started a new job, moved in with my partner, wrote more books and more stories. I went to a lot of good high teas, including one in the Watergate and one on a bus. I saw Niagara Falls. It wasn't a perfect year, but it's an improvement on the last few. I'm hoping the years to come continue the trend.
I kicked off this year with a story about sandwiches and poverty. I'm still proud of it, and glad to be in the Personal Canons Cookbook.
I got to write about the Summer of Barbie with a perspective from the ancient world— one of the most fun things I published this year.
I lost someone I loved this year, and I finally figured out how to talk about it.
Looking back over my submission stats, I can see that I published almost no fiction in 2023. This is partly because I published so much non-fiction: for The Wild Hunt, for Black Girl Nerds, for Psychopomp magazine. I'm happy with this year's work, but I already know 2024 will be different. I've sold four short stories so far that will be out next year, and I should have book news on top of that.
One of the things that helps me cope with bad days is the surety that there are good things and good times ahead. I put events on my calendar and I plan to see friends and I watch the turning of the seasons, and all of it reminds me that there are good reasons to get out of bed, get dressed, wash my face and show up. Looking back at the year usually makes me feel proud and satisfied, but the looking forward part is always better.
I don't know how much longer that will be true.
Thank you for looking back with me, for looking forward. Thank you for joining me in hope and sporadic correspondence. The future is always a few feet away, and the present is us jumping, suspended.
It's easier to jump if we hold hands.
In the weaving of your fingers,
Meg
This is the platform I liked the most, the simplest free version of what does this job. And soon it will be no more. The loss of TinyLetter to its parent company, MailChimp, is an excellent example of the process Cory Doctorow has deemed "enshittification," through which platforms decay from useful interfaces for a community to a worse version driven only by profit, even unto its own detriment.
As a result, my newsletter is going to switch to a different platform in 2024. I'm shopping for one that isn't overrun with Nazi transphobes, but I'll let you know where I land. You'll hear from me in a new spot, it'll still be free, and it'll still be Letters from Meg.
So let's close down 2023.
I left D.C. for NYC this year, in a move that both hurt and felt freeing. I'm in Brooklyn now, and loving it every day. I started a new job, moved in with my partner, wrote more books and more stories. I went to a lot of good high teas, including one in the Watergate and one on a bus. I saw Niagara Falls. It wasn't a perfect year, but it's an improvement on the last few. I'm hoping the years to come continue the trend.
I kicked off this year with a story about sandwiches and poverty. I'm still proud of it, and glad to be in the Personal Canons Cookbook.
I got to write about the Summer of Barbie with a perspective from the ancient world— one of the most fun things I published this year.
I lost someone I loved this year, and I finally figured out how to talk about it.
Looking back over my submission stats, I can see that I published almost no fiction in 2023. This is partly because I published so much non-fiction: for The Wild Hunt, for Black Girl Nerds, for Psychopomp magazine. I'm happy with this year's work, but I already know 2024 will be different. I've sold four short stories so far that will be out next year, and I should have book news on top of that.
One of the things that helps me cope with bad days is the surety that there are good things and good times ahead. I put events on my calendar and I plan to see friends and I watch the turning of the seasons, and all of it reminds me that there are good reasons to get out of bed, get dressed, wash my face and show up. Looking back at the year usually makes me feel proud and satisfied, but the looking forward part is always better.
I don't know how much longer that will be true.
Thank you for looking back with me, for looking forward. Thank you for joining me in hope and sporadic correspondence. The future is always a few feet away, and the present is us jumping, suspended.
It's easier to jump if we hold hands.
In the weaving of your fingers,
Meg
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