What's a Love Letter Anyway?

On all the little notes we send ourselves.

Hi friends.

Yesterday morning, I found an old, half-finished smallish notebook from last year sitting by my bedside, wedged between two books, lost, forgotten. At the time, I had been writing in it regularly, using it only as a journal as opposed to a place I composed fiction. Finding this notebook was a portal to a version of me that hadn’t published two books in nine months, hadn’t traveled all over the place and back, hadn’t witnessed the tragedies, crimes and crises of the past year. The last entries were in September 2023. Even just a year or so ago everything felt a little different.

I sat down and read it with my morning coffee. In it, I found some suggestions I’d had at the time for how to live my life. And I also found some of the original inspiration for the book I’m working on now.