Soundtrack: Now Playing: “Art School Girl” – Stone Temple Pilots

There’s something both oddly sacred and super casual about the phrase “Let’s grab coffee soon and talk about your work.”

It floats around workshops, readings, literary events, DMs—spoken with the breezy warmth of “let’s catch up sometime” and the casual optimism of people who might mean it, at least in the moment.

And most of us—especially those of us who write—believe it.

We file it away. We wait. Not just for coffee, but for connection. For the quiet acknowledgment that our work matters to someone we respect.

Sometimes it happens.

And sometimes we grow older. We pass each other—again and again.

Still waiting.

I made a comic about it.

Not because I’m upset. Not even because I’m disappointed.

But because humor is one of my coping strategies, and it hurts a lot less if you make it art. And because you go on anyway, because if you wait around, you will just – well, read the comic.

And hey, writers—if you need a reader?

I’m here. And I will lovingly judge your work but never you. Because you are perfect! (Or close to it? I don’t know, who’s reading right now? I’m going to assume the best of you.)

Limited availability on the reading front, of course. Novel number three ain’t gonna write itself, duckies. But I can start a waiting list if need be. And that dozen or so of you (you know who you are) who are my inner writing circle, darlings, you will always go to the front of the line, I pinky swear. 

Just yesterday, I had coffee with someone I met at a book discussion. She wasn’t a writer—just an extraordinary reader. Her book was full of flags, like each page had a conversation tucked inside it. I gave her my card because I couldn’t stop wondering what she hadn’t had time to say.

So we met. Before we even sat down, she looked at my earrings and asked if I’d bought them at the local thrift shop. I had. They’d belonged to her mother-in-law. We were both thrilled. And we talked. A reminder that connection doesn’t always come from where you expect it.

It was nice to go fortified into the next part of my day — visiting an ill relative that I’m full tilt worried for. After her care meeting, let’s just say I ate fries in my van listening to Rob Lowe and Kelsey Grammer talk about the afterlife. Later, I wrote a poem, but my chest still burns. And now I’m up at 4 a.m. writing this. 

I’m not mentioning this for sympathy. I’m just writing this because remember what I wrote about grinding your pain into glitter? This is part of the process. This is the circle of life, and, as I said to my students last year when they wrote me beautiful notes upon the passing of my sister, grief is the cost of loving and that’s not too high a price.

Pardon me if I distract myself for now with music, musings, and the Word Raccoon. I need the distraction. I need the company.

I’m trying on the dress of poetry—the official writing outfit of emotions.

As I see it, I’m pre-grieving.