How do you start all over again?
A proof-of-life dispatch from the trenches of a first draft, on finding community in a new city, and more.
A friend asked me last summer if I’d quit my Substack. The short answer is no, but moving to a new place is engrossing. So is chipping away at the first draft of a novel, changing agents, and just holding space for health when the world seems broken and we all carry on as if it weren’t. I wanted this Substack to be a place for other writers to find useful advice about the years between getting an agent and debuting. But writing a first draft is about asking questions, and right now, I have no answers to any but the simplest ones, like whether I should fertilize the broccoli again. (I think so. They seem to like it, because of or despite the weird warm weather.)
This year’s big lesson has been to avoid seeking input on new projects too soon. I tend to jettison drafts within fifty pages and start over from scratch, trial-and-erroring my way toward a narrative strategy that carves enough room for the big idea or obsession that sparked the project. Joan Didion famously said that the whole novel flows out of your first sentence, “And by the time you've laid down the first two sentences, your options are all gone.” Every draft comes with the hope that I’ve finally found the right combination, but I’m starting to think I give up on my drafts too soon. It takes a lot of energy to hear past early negative feedback and believe in what the story might eventually become.
If you read these Substack posts for updates about my life, thank you for caring. Here are some highlights:
Teaching: If you are a past or prospective student of mine, I have two upcoming classes at the Loft Literary Center, both online. The first is a one-hour, $8 sampler class on fiction if you’re curious about the form or just want my perspective on it right now. That’s January 9 at 5 p.m. Central. The other is a four-week class and workshop focused on world-building, with some thoughts on setting-as-a-character heavily shaped by my current dive into environmental fiction. We meet online on Thursday evenings, January 16 to February 6.
Events: If you happen to be in Austin on January 7, I’ll be at Radio Coffee & Beer to read one page of my work in progress at the One Page Salon, sponsored by the Writers’ League of Texas. It’s free and fun. If you’ll be in Pittsburgh on March 13, I’ll be on a panel of interdisciplinary magical realist creators discussing Gertrude Abercromie’s paintings at the Carnegie Museum of Art. Writers, I’ll be at AWP Los Angeles in late March; catch me at the RAWI table or on this panel. And if you’re in Austin between September and December 2025, I’ll be the artist-in-residence at Wild Basin Preserve; there will be a show in December, but let me know if you’d like to stop by for a hike or to talk about writing and nature photography.
Bookish Gratitude: I’m thankful for every reader, fellow writer, and friendly Austinite who has made this a welcoming literary community for newcomers. From the Texas Book Festival to the American Short Fiction community to the Wild Basin Preserve, as well as queer literary spaces like Future Front House and Sunbird Fest’s organizing for Palestine, this city is outstanding at keeping a writer’s heart and calendar full. I’m grateful for friends beyond Texas too: thanks to the Headlands Center for the Arts for letting me spend some time there in September, to the Ursula K. Le Guin Prize for shortlisting The Skin and Its Girl, and to RAWI for inviting me to join the board. (If you’re a SWANA or allied writer, we’re accepting proposals for October’s RAWIFest until January 31!) Thank you, too, to everyone who gave me a chance to teach, read, edit, or just think through literary problems together in 2024.
Although restarting life in a new city is not as frightening as life’s other possible reboots, it requires some courage. Thank you for being supportive and present in large or small ways this year, and reminding me in many ways that we are all in this together. Good luck with whatever project is getting your attention this winter. I’d love to hear about it.
