a brief autumn dispatch
June
I resume the Sequential Artist Workshop (SAW) Graphic Novel Intensive (GNI) Program.
I am billowing with optimism.
July
I spend another week in New York City.
I reflect.
Ten years ago, I set up shop in this hostile environment, for better and for worse. I learn about paradises made in hell from Rebecca Solnit and believe that’s what I’ve done here. Or is this all a sunk-cost fallacy?
I am uncertain.
August
I begin the MSSW program at UT Austin.
I am curious.
September
I partake in Dirty, Messy, Alive, a virtual two-day memoir workshop event. Of the sessions I was able to attend, Nurjahan Boulden’s sticks out. She spoke on the shame and ethical quandaries that surface when writing about family.
I am scared.
October
I attend a writing retreat in the eastern part of Texas Hill Country at Shield Ranch. I toiled away at my graphic memoir in the company of playwrights, science fiction novelists, and others.
Thani and I talk about concessions made along the way towards artistic success. We once again talk about Octavia Butler’s letter to herself and how Thani has something similar taped to his bathroom mirror.
My SAW mentor, K. Woodman-Maynard, encourages me to write every day, just as many have before her. I get rid of all my streaming services. I wake up at 7am every day and write before work.
Things to start to crack.
I am scared.
November
I begin to languish. I cannot keep up at this pace.
I accept I must take bigger risks and this keeps me awake at night.
I continue to do things scared.