one is a fiction

I’m in the Kenyon Review today! Spring 2024 issue is here. If you want to support the literary community you can purchase a subscription or access to a single virtual issue. And then you can read my whole story about stalking, office politics, and being invisible!

Spring is officially here in London. The wisteria is blooming purple up the walls. The sidewalks outside of pubs are packed with chattering people. Hampstead Heath smells like mud and hope!

Like clockwork, blooms are blooming inside me, too. I’m so deep in novel revisions that my google history is now full of things like “what are rules of time travel” “passage of time wabi sabi” “oldest house in new england” (and the results to each are THRILLING). I’ve had a delicious streak of good things to read, most recently In Ascension by Martin MacInnes (deep sea! space! the origin of life! algae! sisters!) My hyperfixations are sudden and deep—last weekend I turned to Christian and said, “I must watch all of the Missions: Impossible in order and develop a definitive ranking” and now I’m four Missions in and have a Google Doc that’s 10 pages long. (“You have so many notes on this film. Have you ever stopped and asked yourself why” Christian said. The answer is no.) Also, not to brag, but I’ve been crushing that NYT Spelling Bee game.

Other things are blooming. Like so many of us I’ve been watching the student movement for Palestine explode across the United States. New encampments of resistance and protest sprouting up just about every day. They’re organized, principled, clear. They’ve learned things about policing tactics, surveillance tech, managing risk for the most vulnerable protesters, and they’re putting them into practice!

I was texting with a friend about how one of the most striking parts of the videos of Harvard students rushing the yard to set up the encampment was how quickly they set up their tents — which seems funny but actually has really stayed with me.

There’s something emotional for me about seeing clear-eyed protest skills put into practice. I think about all the lessons I’ve learned over the years and how so much of organizing is material — knowing how to cook food that’s cheap but still be satisfying (and serv-safe!) for a crowd, how to set up the sound equipment, print a two-sided zine, get a grill lit, do first aid, administer Narcan, design a banner, fit way too much stuff inside an organizer’s car … the list goes on! These actions mean something. Most of them are pretty entry-level — a brand new person can show up and help you light the grill, and then next time they’re the person who shows someone else. People can find the thing that suits them — that doesn’t mean they have to talk, or be an issue expert, but can still contribute. Everyone is needed, and no single person can do it all. As they say in the meetings, “None of us knows everything, but together we know a lot.”

I’ve been really changed by those actions. Those physical, material actions that my body grew familiar with — how many supply bags fit in a rolling cart, how much ice in the cooler to get the water cold, what to pack in my bag for a march — are a way of understanding something that runs counter to pretty much all of my educational programming: that it’s not about heroics, or the individual, or a huge one-off gesture or accomplishment. It’s about people power. The collective. Showing up day after day.

Watching the students reminds me that I just need to find the small thing I can personally do, and do it with other people. There’s a sticker on a wall in our neighborhood that I walk by a lot, that says “How can one person make a difference? Don’t be one person” and while I think that might be a recruitment sticker for a political organization I totally haven’t looked up and that I might very much disagree with, the general sentiment sticks in my brain.

I hope you are finding signs of spring and hope around you, amid the nightmares that keep unfolding. We aren’t alone! As Tony Kushner said in his acknowledgements for Angels in America, which I have inexplicably read as many times as I’ve read the full play (so, a lot) — “One is a fiction.” There’s power in people.

(And if you’re an alum of a college where students are protesting, and you want to support, call & email your university leadership! Back when I worked at a university, part of my job was being the person who fielded angry emails and phone calls, and let me tell you, that kind of mass alumni pressure absolutely affects top-level leadership. Quite literally, the sound of the constantly ringing phones was like a physical reminder that they couldn’t ignore the issue. So don’t underestimate the power of your call!)