I know it’s likely none of you noticed, and I could simply not call myself out, but alas—it’s been a few days since the new moon, which makes this newsletter a bit late.
{Now is not the time to tell me that you don’t anxiously await my letters landing in your inbox or that you do not associate the darkest night of the month with the way my words toss soft velvet over your eyes.}
Almost everything else in my life is also late, behind and untended. You should see the thistle in my front yard. I know it’s good for pollinators, but I’ve got the invasive strain, and I’m pretty sure it will take over my house if I let it. The laundry is likewise piling up. The dust bunnies of cat hair are creating little cities in the corners of my bedroom. I’ve been working at the kitchen table because I’m too tired to go up the stairs into my actual office.
And it’s all because of pain. Severe chronic pain—Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome, to be exact. Basically my nervous system is convinced at all times that ~something~ is happening, and that leaves me with life-altering, crippling pain in all my joints. The pain often radiates out from—for instance—my hips into the sides of my thighs, down into my biceps from my shoulders, its sharp little claws reaching from my wrist into each individual finger. (Yes, some days it hurts to type. Most days, actually.)
I’m not really quite sure why I’m telling you this. If you’ve read a few of my previous newsletters, you’d know I don’t really like talking about myself in this way. I’ll rant about my love for Arthurian legend or expose myself with the shitty fanfiction I liked, but the real stuff—the nitty gritty of it all—is not something I’m usually interested in sharing with more than maybe three or four of my closest kindred spirits.
I think maybe it’s because a world-shattering pandemic descended upon us, and before it ever really got going, almost everyone threw disabled people under the bus. I think I’m angry. Pain makes you angry, of course—it’s been a life-long pursuit to not be in a constant fit of fury at all times. But this thing I’ve been feeling since I—and many other disabled people—saw where society was headed? It’s ice-cold rage.
I’m not surprised that no one can be bothered to wear a mask anymore—not even in a pharmacy or a grocery store, places that our elders and disabled community members frequent. I’m not surprised that people give my bookseller and I shit at the shop every week about wearing a (provided!) mask while they browse a tiny, antique space with no central AC. I’m not surprised that I’ve heard (unmasked) people standing right next to me on the train platform or at the coffee shop remark, “I actually have COVID right now, lol.” I’m not surprised no one gives a fuck about disabled people, because no one really ever has—we’ve always kept each other safe, because who else is going to do it?
Rage is growing in me as fast as thistle is growing in my front yard: jagged leaves on fragile stalks—but the roots are very, very deep.
Maybe I won’t bother weeding, after all.
STUFF THAT HAS MADE ME FEEL SOMETHING (ANYTHING) LATELY
“AWAKEN THE FIFTH ORDER” by ALLISON CARR WAECHTER: I know I already talked about this book when I was alpha reading it, but it’s out now!!!! The Immortal Orders Trilogy is complete and friends—don’t miss this one. Modern fantasy, compelling characters, steamy romance, intricate worldbuilding, all the goods! My favorite thing about this series is the main character, Harlow Krane—she’s soft and hard and privileged and hurting, making her one of the most interesting characters I’ve ever seen lead a romance fantasy. Be sure to follow Allison as she’s got so much goodness up her sleeves.
“RIPE” by SARAH ROSE ETTER: I’ve been a fan of Sarah’s since “Book of X,” and her forthcoming release absolutely blew me away. Sarah dives into capitalism, classism, sexism and more in an utterly spellbinding way. Despite dealing with such heavy issues and taking a fairly speculative, literary lean, “Ripe” is wildly readable and often feels more like a thriller than anything else. I can’t recommend this book enough—if, of course, you like books that punch you repeatedly in the face and then slit open your belly so your insides glisten in the sun like pomegranate seeds.
WOODLAND MAGIC: Okay, you all know that I’m a candle girly. I’m so excited that this small maker reached out to my bookshop because I am in love with her creations! Inspired by folklore, magic and literature, these candles are not only super pretty (important to a candle girly like me) but well-made with lush scents. 10/10.
{That’s all for now. Until the dark moon returns & the next story blooms. Yours, V.}