It’s a great joy to look back at old work, not cringe at the earnestness of it all, but instead think, “Damn, this nigga spittin’.”
I sent out 36 odd letters last year. Very proud. While I love them all equally, it’s clear to me that some of these cowboy hats had wider brims than others. For your reading pleasure, I’ve compiled highlights from my favorite letters of last year. Peruse at your leisure; read a full one if you can. Either way, I hope you find something that’s helpful to ya.
Your ideas are probably good enough.
A letter about being less precious with each idea.
“I appreciate the idea of not taking every single creative act as a deathly serious endeavor. I feel like writers like to picture themselves as the dashing solitary figure out in a cabin turning out page after page by some crashing waves (or forest creatures, depending on the genre). Eventually, we emerge with a masterpiece that everyone will love. But if you have any designs of being a writer with work other than your magnum opus, you can’t let every idea live and die entirely inside of your head.”
Clear pebbles off the path.
Reread, and reread again.
“Constantly rereading our work is probably one of the least sexy parts of the process. Not many cute ways to dress it up, but it’s like wearing a seat belt. You should do it”.
The only good stories are from Dungeons & Dragons
Stories should be fun.
“The idea behind all good improv, which is at the heart of most tabletop games, is the mantra of ‘Yes and… .’ If someone throws out an idea, you accept it and build on it. It is a bump-set-spike style of storytelling. In an ideal game, no one person is taking all the glory, or trying to get the most punchlines or dramatic moments. You collaboratively build the story to allow everyone to get their time in the sun. Everyone is reliant on each other to make fun and interesting character and narrative choices that provide opportunities for each player to get significant moments.”
Don’t describe the trash can.
Listen, that doesn’t matter. Please don’t write about it.
“The tendency to overdress scenes can come from a place of insecurity — a new writer’s lack of attunement to what a reader will find interesting or necessary to understand the point of a scene. There are not many shortcuts to acquiring the sense of what will resonate with your readers. It comes through experience and experimentation. But one step you can take towards appropriately dressing your scenes is to work on understanding what matters to you.”
Contracts to myself.
The systems you make for yourself should be silly and make sense to you and you alone. (Paid letter)
“Whenever I get an assignment or I decide I want to pitch a specific publication, I draft a new contract, print it, sign it, and slap it on the bulletin board by my desk. When I know I'm not getting more edits back, I take the contract down and blast The Last of the Starks from Game of Thrones on the loudspeakers. I'll fold the contract into thirds and slide a bone folder from my bookbinding kit along the creases. As the music swells, I drip wax onto the page and close up the contract with a wax seal. I use a small post-it to label the contract with the project name since it is now sealed indefinitely. Then I stow the whole affair away in a special box.”
Needing validation.
See it for yourself, I can’t judge you for it.
“The conventional wisdom among artists is that introspection and self-assurance outweigh the need for external validation. However, it is easier to say external validation doesn’t matter when you already have some. Sure, you don’t need a skateboard to make you happy, but it’s annoying if Kickflip Mackenzie, King of the Skatepark, is the one telling you that.”
Read this, you punks #5
A directory of writings about writing and creativity. (Paid letter)
“This first recommendation was given to me in a Dallas area bookstore by a lesbian shopkeeper and her cowboy companion.
It’s a Susan Sontag piece on the benefits of rewriting. One of my favorite things about it is that she frames rewriting as a way that we can allow our writing to be smarter than we are. It’s a good addition to your writing about writing diet.”
Push your creativity further
Cliché phrases are dreadfully dull.
“One method is to break down the basic idea a cliché is trying to express and seeing if there is an image from our lives or imagination that would better communicate the same idea. What’s boredom? Is it watching paint dry? No. It’s as Joe Andros said, ‘Boredom is a beach without the ocean.’ What is it to make something out of place? Is it bringing a fish out of water? No. It’s as Chloe Bertrand said, ‘It’s taking an armadillo to the Louvre.’”
You should be worse at this.
Be as a child, and be comfortable in inexperience.
“Imagine if your friend with no prior music experience told you they were going to start learning the oboe. You’d kill them before their madness spread. But in the heart of your would-be victim is the admirable quality of being okay with looking a bit silly.
Kids are very good at being silly. They often carry an innate understanding of how it feels to create without restriction. Tell an adult to define magic, and they’ll say something boring about the mix of science and culture. A child, however, will get to the root of the matter and say that magic is a pug that can talk. Everyone carries that innate whimsy. But at some point, we are told that a talking pug is technically a poor definition of magic, and we lose that silliness. Being creative as an adult comes best when we summon that part of us less concerned with rigid rules and definitions.”
The start of my 25th year.
A little vignette about some birthdays
“I generally tend to have fewer words in my journal on days I enjoy. I’m not yet ready to draw a definitive conclusion as to why, but I don’t like analyzing my happiness as much as my sorrow. Perhaps analyzing my emotions causes them to leave me quicker, so I rather hold onto every moment of joy rather than think it to death. Or perhaps I just had the intuitive sense that an event called Shades of Mahogany makes for a better story than a dinner for five.”
I tried to start a podcast. (I'm sorry)
Good god, no.
“A few nights ago, I unsuccessfully tried to start a podcast. Not a full-blown hour-long affair where me and some friends talk about if a bear could eat a pizza. But rather, in my ongoing quest to find a way to do this newsletter regularly with a lighter lift, I tried rambling into a microphone for 10-15 minutes. To my disappointment, my trial didn’t result in something I could release.”
Thoughts on the tapir.
An end of year love letter and some thoughts on the magnificent tapir.
“I did indeed go to the zoo the other day. That’s where I saw the tapirs. Life changing. Importantly though, it was one of the first big outings I did with my partner’s extended family. Years back, her family and I had kicked off on some shaky ground since I had been flaky when it came to starting the relationship. But it’s a nice stage of life now to learn another family’s pace, quirks, and to know your partner’s world better.
My partner’s name is also Jade. We did not seek each other out for that reason, but it happened all the same. Our name always makes me think of her before it makes me think of me. She’s the better of us two Jades. She’s lovely, hilarious, and the type to pack a leash on a road trip in case she crosses a stray to take to a shelter.”
Those are some of my favorite highlights of the year. While I do tease my brother and my ma for not always being up to date on these letters, I appreciate any second a person spends engaging with my work. Like a horse learning they won’t be executed that day, every thoughtful comment and message fills me with joy. I’m truly floored every time I get a new subscriber email. The support in every form means so much to me, so thank you for reading, recommending, and even thinking for a second, “Oh yeah, I should catch up on those.”
More to come, with love and camaraderie,
Jade
I absolutely loved this! Thank you for the recap. "You should be worse at this" really resonates with me in this moment. We definitely should all embrace our inner child. Love you!