Hurricane Helene hits Earthaven

Plus a thank you to my amazing beta readers!

Dear humans,

I’m writing to you from New York. I’d been planning this visit with my family since early September, and, despite Hurricane Helene’s touchdown at Earthaven, did manage to catch my train.

Today is the first day I’ve felt capable of reaching out. I’ve been recovering from a couple physical complaints, and also dealing with the fallout of severe laptop damage (caused by kraut juice paired with poor judgment and exhaustion).

I still find myself tearing up whenever I think of the storm—even though I never actually felt endangered, and no one at Earthaven got hurt. I guess it’s just deeply disturbing to witness that kind of havoc—downed trees, mudslides, trailing power lines, collapsed bridges, undercuts, river-ravaged roads—up close.

If it would delight you to contribute to Earthaven’s recovery, via GoFundMe, please do. (And then let me know so I can thank you.)

Also I’ve noted a resurgence of Zendik-born anxiety. At Zendik, we pretended we were at war, and in a state of perpetual emergency; thus, failing to be constantly on call was treason.

After the hurricane, my self-hate machine shifted into high gear—screaming that I should be doing more, that everyone was watching me and finding me wanting, that I was losing social capital by the minute, that I ought to be out there clearing brush even if I felt depleted.

This did not happen because of anything that anyone at Earthaven did or said. It happened because I’d fed that story every day of my five years at Zendik, and had not yet, in similar proportion, nourished a new one.

In other news: I did relish taking my six-mile walk, a couple days in a row, on practically car-free roads. This reminded me of a song I’d written, years earlier, in which I’d imagined kudzu beating back asphalt, and walkers taking charge.

Here’s the song:

Last but not least:

Danke sehr schoen to my amazing beta readers! I deeply appreciate your feedback.

This morning, as I began hand-rewriting the first chapter, I carried your voices with me—while reminding my brain that my job right now is not to improve the text, but reimagine it. Make a newer, more glorious mess.