Coffee and Water and Bigger Truths

The things that nourish us.

Hi friends.

Yesterday I went to Brooke Pickett’s studio and took some pictures of the work she’s been making for her new show at Other Plans gallery and I’ll share more of those soon. But there’s a little taste below.

The big news for the day over here is that I got a new espresso maker. I had the other one for ten years and I had set it on fire so many times the handle was just a nub and the affection I had for its intense appearance had turned, lately, to shame.

How about you get yourself a big girl espresso maker, I thought one morning. Since you need your goddamn Cafe Bustelo to wake up every day.

So I finally ordered one on the internet and it showed up this week. It took me a few days to get through the seasoning process but this morning was my first cup and oh my god, that shit works.

I hadn’t realized the old one served me such bitter coffee. How long had it tasted that way? Why did it take me so long to get a new, functional device? Why do we hold onto things that don’t work for so long? Sentimentality? A lack of curiosity? Inertia?

At Angela Flournoy’s event in New Orleans this past weekend I took some notes, and I found myself circling one of the points she made about what made writing her book—or any book—challenging. There were moments in her process where she was cringing as she wrote. Where she said to herself, “Do I feel like being that deep with myself today?”

This is a great question, of course. How far down will we go to support our work? How much of ourselves—brain, soul, heart—are we willing to excavate to make our art? What are we prepared to offer up to the page to get at a bigger truth?

I suppose it depends on the type of project. Some books don’t require you digging deep into your soul so much as just showing up for yourself every day. (That’s pretty deep though in its way!) But a lot of what we do requires contemplating bigger questions, about a character or ourselves or ourselves through that character.

I remember when I was working on my memoir and I had written a particularly challenging chapter, one that had taken me years to get through, and I sent it to Ada Limón, and after she read it she said, “Did you drink enough water today?” I think about that all the time. I ask my friends that all the time. (The answer is almost always “no,” by the way. We often forget to look out for ourselves in the simplest of ways.)

I am of the school that we must push ourselves through these big life questions in our work. If we must live through the cringe sometimes, so be it. If we live in the tears, have a tissue ready. The work will only be stronger for it.

But in the aftermath be sure to drink a cool glass of water.

Jami

You are reading Craft Talk, the home of #1000wordsofsummer and also a weekly newsletter about writing from Jami Attenberg. I’m also on bluesky and instagram.