The Case of the Lost Keys

And the magic of a fresh set of eyes.

If you’re in New Orleans, you can still RSVP (it’s free), for the event I am hosting in honor of Kristen Arnett’s new novel on March 22.

Also if you’re in New Orleans, do not forget to vote, and please vote no on everything. Early voting starts today.

Free Mahmoud Khalil.

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Hi friends.

Earlier this week, I lost a set of keys for like, an entire day. It drove me crazy. I paced the length of the house, looking for it. I tore every room apart. It wasn’t in any of the usual spots I put it down absentmindedly. Did I have a whole new level of absentmindedness? (Yes.) Then I walked the perimeter of the exterior of the house. My neighbors must have thought I was crazy. (I was.) But it was nowhere.

Brooke promised to come the next morning and look for it. She walked in with flowers from her garden, asked me to describe the keys to her, and then, within five minutes, she found them, gleaming next to some quick gardening I had done in the backyard. The power of the new gaze.

Sometimes when I ask people to read my work I ask them to look for specific issues. But other times, I ask them for nothing but a “fresh set of eyes” which is actually a gorgeous phrase when you think about it. The sound of relief.

Brooke and I discussed it a bit and she said, “The important thing is knowing when to ask for help.”

Later, a new article on brain fog popped up on my screen and I refused to read it.

It’s probably the news that’s distracting me anyway, because it’s such a shitshow out there. I’m still only reading it in the afternoon. I think about that first season of “Severance” all the time. How I’m clocking in to the real world in the afternoon after staying in my dream fictional world in the morning.