Hello. Today, a whisper in your ear.
No big publishing updates, just proof of life.
Still working, of course.
I’m trying to find a form that incentivizes, no, inspires me to write about my work-work. Maybe little poems. For all the time I put into publishing, it’s astounding that what I actually think about during the days doesn’t make it in. Strategy platforms, user research, investor comms, management, creative operations, la di da.
I don’t publish much on work because I care too much about the words. But there is something quaint to how Matt Webb writes his weekly notes. Like dropping pebbles into a pond, just for fun.
Still writing, of course.
Just chaos and scrawls. Still on the poetry, a new language for the heart. Properly learning my electric guitar, a new language for the hands and brain. There’s bits and pieces of a new album but they have yet to form a cohesive whole. Now, just lots of noobness. More coming in 2024.
But hopefully, coming soon: My 2023 year in review. I haven’t written one of these since my 2021 field notes:
I almost didn't write this recap. Year two of independent consulting during year two of a global pandemic didn't feel worth publicizing. (Are there not far more impressive and devastating things that demand our attention?) But as I remind myself, small is beautiful again, and so here we are again, another year to archive under blistering suns and soft moons.
Also coming soon: A mini series on my recent time in Shanghai, Shenzhen, and Hong Kong. There I drank bubble tea on an IV drip. My blood was restored.
China is as misunderstood as ever by the west. I am as misunderstood as ever by myself. I have no energy to be a militant identity/geo/politics type but I do still think about it. I’m still tonally inspired by Margo Jefferson’s Negroland and Christina Sharpe’s Ordinary Notes.
A singular achievement, Ordinary Notes explores profound questions about loss and the shapes of Black life that emerge in the wake.
China is a place I think about loss.
At airports they instruct you to keep your baggage close.
Still living, of course.
Last year I wrote definitely not another holiday gift guide, or, 10 things that help me live, and maybe you too. It’s a list of books and consumables that make me happy.
Excerpt:
Stay is a mixed media collaged-photo-poem-excerpt thing for your arty friend, or your non-arty friend with the means and the interest to invest into arty things. From Mary Ruefle: "If you could string a wire between life and death and pluck it, it would make the sound of this book. All Flynn’s ephemera...shows us, from the ground up and onto our shoulders, that it is dangerous to be alive, but the truly deep, massive complicated thing is to wake up and try."
I haven't really looked into Nick Flynn and am hesitant to in case he turns out as some dirtbag art guy that renders me obtuse for enjoying his art. I don't think that's the case but you never know these days.
I just skimmed the full post and am surprised by the amount of energy in my words. It reads so young, or maybe I have just gotten less young.
Last week at karaoke, my friend H. and I were horizontal by the end of the night. Her back, bad from the plane; my knee, bad from the dance. Less young I guess.
I finally watched season 2 of The Bear. Now we see the soul! It’s not about opening a restaurant. It’s about a family. Blood poured into chosen.
If you scroll to the bottom of the gift guide above, you’ll find Imagine Me Gone, which is a book about a family. It’s my only Christmas ritual; I reread it every year.
Reply and let me know if you have any holiday rituals; I’d love to trade. Or share a moment you realized you were getting less young. (Maybe I round these up and reshare in the next newsletter?)
🎄 AND! Annual perk for paid subscribers: Send me your mailing address if you’d like to receive a holiday card.
Ni haody,
Vicky
That photo. Precious.