Someone hugged me recently and said something hopeful about the new year. I was that asshole who said “I don’t believe in new years having to be new.”
I don’t actually think I’m an asshole, but I did seem to offend this person’s well wishes, and so I clarified that I think of January as a continuation.
I think of all things as a continuation.
But in some abrupt, world-rupturing way, my father died. A few weeks ago. And. The continuation is just that I keep being here. And he is not. And everything— from showering, to eating, to sleeping, to remembering where I am—feels impossible. I call “Mom and Dad” on my phone and he doesn’t answer. I leave a voicemail after hearing him speak his name: you’ve reached the voicemail of “Peter Brown”.
Out of privacy, I think I will say not much more about this. It was just a few weeks ago.I live with a little cloud on my shoulder and chaos in my head.
Maybe “devaluing” is a strong word. Maybe it’s because, like James Baldwin says of the creative process, there are instances that require us to be present and they are hard to do because they must be endured alone. The aftermath of expressing ourselves openly to another person, a stranger even, out of respect for something greater—say, telling someone I watched my father, Peter Joseph, take his last breath—might be a difficult thing to sit with. Did I have to deliver that news so dramatically? Did I have to say his name? Yes, and yes.
It feels like, in our lonely, singular ways, we have to be aware of what is required of us and not to turn away out of fear for the after. Place value where value ought to live.
“Nothing is stable under heaven” is something Baldwin writes in the essay linked above. Nothing is stable, not human emotions or responses to unkindly and unthinkable things. It’s okay if sometimes it’s the human thing to choose fear.
Cloudgazing has needed to be updated for a while. My right mind tells me to wait until I’ve graduated from my MFA and have more time, but in the interest of continuing, I’ll set out some of my intentions for this space:
More in-depth essays and experimental writing. So far, these have been more like “micro essays,” which I’ll continue to publish. But here, as well, I’ll be talking about books that are supporting my research efforts as I finish my novel. I like learning about which books authors are drawn to, how they organize their ideas, and where they find inspiration. Hope you do, too.
Novel updates and scenes. I had a conversation with someone recently around the question “how do you have things to share online when you have a huge project behind closed doors?” And it’s true; it is odd to be working on a gigantic thing like a novel and have nothing to show for it except the statement that I am, I am working on it and it exists (promise).
Book recs, DNFs, and progress/setback notes. Some of the things I love and the things that go wrong as well. Writing a novel and pursuing publication (on all sides) is not linear and takes a lot of inner work. It’s ugly. I’ll share that.
Like this: is it completely insane to have a single post about both my father’s death and my plans for this space? Yes. Nothing is stable under heaven. Sorry, Dad. It’s chaos here without you.
Read My Work
“Water Bird” published by The Ex-Puritan. It’s about ducks, The Sopranos, and not being able to write.
“ecological love” published by Pinhole Poetry.
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