Distinctly Autumnal — mnchrm vol. lii
Incoming Transmission—
Hello, drifters. The weather here in Chicago has taken a turn for the colder side, which I'm hoping is finally the harbinger of Autumn. I find myself a lot more productive (what is productivity, anyways? Maybe just the ability to be motivated and effective working on the things you need to, and the priorities to figure out what that means.) on the projects I care most about, like writing. I love hanging out inside with a cup of coffee, as the leaves pass outside my window. It's sort of the same as the rainy-day feeling.
This past year, most of what I’ve read I’ve allowed to be dictated by my book reviews. A few months in advance, I look at what’s coming out. Then I email a handful of publications, asking if they’ll let me review a book or two. If they say yes, I ask the book publisher for a copy, read it, take notes, and then synthesize a little piece on my thoughts in the form of a review.
There have been a few errant library books, some back-tracking in my catalogue, revisitations to a couple already-read books, and attempts at my backlog intermixed, for sure, but… for the most part, this year, I’ve mostly read novels based on what publications would let me cover as a freelancer.
It’s sort of an interesting way to consume books. It’s got it’s upsides, for sure. You’re always up to date on the latest releases, and get a lot of books for free. I’m reading books fast (less than a week, for sure), and reading a lot. This is good and bad, as I read more than I would were I just reading for pure enjoyment, but don’t get to settle into any books like I might otherwise. And every book I read, I’m reading with a critical eye. As a writer, I guess most books I read I’m doing this with, but it’s sort a of different between the more passive “oh-neat-look-at-how-they-did-that” view I take on everything between the critical eye I turn towards books I’m reviewing.
I’m definitely going to keep reviewing books as long as I can, so that won’t change, but it’s been interesting to see how it’s affected my relationship to reading and books, going full-immersion like this.
This weekend was extremely peaceful. I’ve finally caught up on all the writing I was behind on (still working on the novel, on Japanese vocabulary reviews, my reading list, my anime watchlist (!), etc etc; but this alone was a big step), so I spent most of this weekend just relaxing. I’ve been taking to heart the advice to cook something that takes all day — the kitchen is a great place to spend an afternoon or longer.
Last weekend, I got in some new, black steel pans I’d ordered. Black steel, or carbon steel, needs to be “seasoned” like cast iron: basically, this means bonding an extremely thin layer of oil onto the surface to make it nearly (if not totally) non-stick. The process of getting there takes hours and hours, and layers and layers of oil. Oil, wipe clean, bake as hot as my oven will go for an hour, cool for an hour, then start again.
As this process repeats, the layers get darker and darker, eventually bronzing, then turning almost black. One of my fondest memories of living alone in my studio apartment while in college was of a weekend spent this same way, oiling pans, baking them, and then waiting for two hours at a time. I played Zelda in those breaks.
This past weekend, as the weather had gotten colder, I wanted to cook something for a long time in my Dutch Oven. I bought short ribs, the pieces for mirepoix, some stock. After a little bit of preparation, you cook everything together in one pot, and let it bake for a few (usually four) hours at a low setting. The apartment filled with smells I could only think of as distinctly Autumnal, and though the cooking was mostly self-contained, it’s a joy to wander in on it and check in, feel the warmth of the oven, the directness of the aromas, the sound of the bubbling stew.
I’ve been trying to be better about catching ideas as they float through my mind, rather than my old strategy of letting them slip away, hoping I’ll remember or waiting for them to drift back to me. Mostly this means making notes on my pocket notebook, but sometimes I might record a voice memo to my phone or voice recorder, or type a note into my phone.
Often, these come on the cusp of sleep, as my mind drifts towards that dreamscape (As Robert Olen Butler might say). Yet to conquer my fear of my girlfriend mocking me for making a voice recording to myself, and too dark to make a physical note, I often turn to my phone.
Frantically, I logged this a few days ago: “Remember the demo disk from Nintendo Power that had the Twilight Princess Teaser Trailer on it? How it became it’s own sacred and arcane artifact, like a Zelda item? The rarity and limited information offered.”
The good old days.
Something that occurred to me as a conscious thought that’s been dormant just under the surface as a passive preference for years: often, the part of a book / movie / story I remember most fondly and like the most, is the cozy moment before the “story” happens.
I hated the book Donna Tartt’s THE GOLDFINCH became, but I think I could’ve just lived in the idyllic early New York City section, working at a furniture restoration shop.
Also cool to remind ourselves the power of “conflict-less” stories. I hope to draw more from those Slice of Life style tales and Eastern narratives more consciously in my own work.
It’s official, I’m starting a literary journal. I’m so tremendously lucky to have some extremely talented writers joining me on this project, which I’ve called THE KIFU REVIEW.
For my full announcement (via tweet thread!) and to see what writers I’m working with, what it’s all about, and how you can submit, see here.
If you liked this letter and want to help it grow, please consider forwarding it to a friend, or sharing the link on social media. And if you’re here from one of those two places and want a letter of your own, you can see the archives here and subscribe with the link below.
Thanks for tuning in this week, as ever. I’m slowly easing back into this, as you can tell, but I hope it was worth the wait.
Fight on, friends.
Your faithful commander,
— I