Tin House Hangover (Complimentary)
how to go back to real life when my heart still sits at the workshop bar
Hey there, it’s been a while.
I’m notoriously bad at keeping up with things. This means I’m pretty terrible at putting out a regularly scheduled newsletter. Maybe that’s the Sagittarius in me (maybe it’s simply the fact I don’t like being told what to do almost as much as I hate being bored), but nevertheless, here we are. I’m back, and here’s a new little note, and I’ve missed you, even if I’ve repeatedly forgotten to return your texts.
I spent the past week at Tin House Summer Workshop. I was on faculty for novel; this was fun and frightening to me (which is my favorite kind of mixed-drink feeling), because the thing about writing a novel (and maybe even writing in general) is I’m still not totally sure I know anything about how to do it. I’d just gotten done with the draft of my third novel, which I’d sent to my agent, which was then sent out for perusal by a third important party (you know the drill), so being at Tin House with a bunch of smart brains and giant hearts was the perfect antidote for my anxiety.
The gathered faculty was comprised of a wealth of genuine geniuses. It feels like possibly I am exaggerating - surely not everyone there was a real genius, Kristen, get real - but I am not. Everyone was exactly that smart. And not only smart; they were all funny! And kind! And nice??? It was a reminder to me, once again, how much I rely on my writing community for exactly that: community. Being around people who care about their work and ferociously engage with the art that other people are making?? This is the kind of feeling I want to bottle. I want that at happy hour; I want to drink up that feeling. I want to get drunk on it.
And the beautiful shiny cherry on the top of this cocktail was the fact that my novel workshop group was fully stacked with raw, incredible talent. Ten amazing artists gathering together every day to wonder and dream and consider the possibility of what a story might look like; to wonder what a story could be. I sit here now on my couch, after crawling from my bed after 12 straight hours of sleep, and I find myself wishing I was back there again in workshop. Because these writers all made me a better writer! They made me a better thinker. They gave me a better heart.
I got to read from my new book. I was worried; it’s got a clown in it. It’s all about a clown. People laughed, which made me happy (I always want to be funny), but the scariest and most honest thing that happened to me this week was that I gave a lecture on comedy and I was so scared that I don’t think I remember a single joke that I told. It’s all a blur. People were so nice to me about it - if that was you, thank you from the bottom of my heart - but it was the realest, rawest reminder that I can still fail and that can be a great thing, too. I learn the most from my mistakes. Don’t we all?
Things I Loved This Week:
Moving the Meatsack (shoutout to my workshop and their many literary meatsacks; I can’t wait to read these published books)
Hearing BRAND NEW WORK (not yet out in the world) from my incredible faculty cohort (Melissa Febos, Dawnie Walton, Dantiel Moniz, Alex Marzano-Lesnevich, A.E. Osworth, Meredith Talusan, Jake Skeets (writing fiction!!!!!!!!), Nadia Owusu, Manuel Gonzales) ; you’re braver than the troops
Hearing gorgeous work that deserves to be read again (and again!!!!!!!!) from my other smart as hell faculty cohort (Vanessa Villarreal, Jaquira Díaz, Talia Lakshmi Kolluri, Megan Fernandez, Kelli Jo Ford, Janice Lee, Deesha Philyaw, Matthew Salesses); you inspire me and remind me how much I love writing and art
The Guava Margarita at the Tin House Happy Hour Bar
Some of the best karaoke I’ve ever heard in my entire life - THE TALENT JUMPED OUT
Sarah Rose Etter’s RIPE which published on my favorite holiday (7/11); the NEW YORK TIMES loved it, too; you can grab a copy RIGHT HERE
The Breadloaf Spy Plane (IYKYK)
“Vomit Is Dangerous” - Reed Dorm Bathroom Proverb
“You got a kidder somethin’?” - Megan Fernandez to Lance Cleland, 2023
My heart can barely hold it all. I’ll see you soon.
Love,
Dad