sparks in the dark

A note on this newsletter’s platform: Like so many Substackers, I’ve been following the dumpster fire of Substack’s founders first failing to appropriately de-platform white supremacists, then doubling down on that decision. Even given the complexities of content moderation and the internet, I feel they’ve signaled to a new (and old) wave of white nationalists that this is a safe space for them, and I don’t want to be a part of that. In 2024, I’ll be switching Supermassive Black Hole over to beehiv, so look out for an email welcoming you to that list. (SBH will continue to land in your inbox as an email like before, so pretty much nothing should change for you.)

Every year in late December I cannot resist the temptation of making lists, setting goals, and spending money on a blank planner that I’ll never use but am convinced will change my life. This month I’m thinking about what 2023 meant for me as a writer — a piece of my life I rarely consider separate from the rest of my year, but that I don’t want to lose track of this time around. This year I got to see blooms from seeds I planted years ago, and I’ve been feeling emotional about the gift of that lately. Writing (especially novels) can feel like groping around in the dark most of the time, but this year, I had some sparks.

A non-comprehensive of sparks in the dark in 2023:

• Writing friendships, new and old. I re-connected with writers from the One Story circle I did a year ago, attended Barrelhouse’s writing conference and Writer Camp, and swapped work and commiserated with old writing friends this year. It was cool to discover that this is now my normal — writing in a community, which ebbs and flows but is always there.

• “Only Connect (Eventually),” an essay by Alice McDermott. This was a recommendation from my dear writing friend Lucy, offered during a low moment when I felt like I’d looked at my novel draft so many times it had ceased to mean anything to me. The essay makes the creative and existential case for re-reading your own work many, many times. She also distinguishes between “the intelligent novel-writer, as opposed to the one who just hopes to be finished,” which honestly slapped me across the face and changed me! It ends on this bolstering note:

• Voice notes. Living in a different time zone than most of my friends this year led me to become a bit of a voice note obsessive. It’s my favorite form of communication now. The longer the better, honestly. It’s made me appreciate the human voice and all its little failures and surprises.

• Designing (some of) my days. This was my first year with a few months of freelance-only work — in other words, a period of time where I wasn’t beholden to a 9-5. I’m back in the office-job-with-freelance-side-gigs configuration for now, but the months where I could design my days around my novel, rather than my novel needing to fit into my days? Astounding.

• Finishing projects years in the making. I hit two milestones this year. First, I completed a full, revised draft of my second novel, and got it to my agent for feedback. More revision lies ahead, as always, but hitting that point was encouraging and very hard-earned, so I’m proud of myself. Second, I finished a personal essay that’s been brewing in me for years, which cost quite a bit to work through, and is now out on submission.

• Publication. Two writing wins for me this year: being named runner-up in the Kenyon Review Short Fiction Contest (which will publish my story this spring!), and being invited for the first time to submit work directly to a lit mag’s editor (which will also be published this spring!) Honestly, I’ll even count the tiered rejections from dream journals under this one — all of it helped convince me that I really am getting better at my craft, one story at a time.

• New novel research. For the past few months, I’ve been deep in a research rabbit hole for a potential new novel, losing hours chasing after esoteric archival materials and wondering what the hell I’m doing. It’s bliss, honestly. I love swimming in the possibilities and thrills of the early part of this process, before the stickier reality of actually drafting and revising takes over.

As I embrace the tedious but life-affirming practice of looking on the bright side, I have to admit that these sparks mean a lot to me. I’m holding them close going into the new year. And thankful to all of you for reading along with my reflections and questions this year — this space has been very special to me, in huge part because of your responses and care, and I’m so grateful to you for reading.