two years worth of words

on writing for two years about a little of everything, and looking forward to writing more

I’ve been writing this letter for just about two years now. It started not so much as a newsletter, but as a way to serialize the dumb novel I wrote. In early October of 2020 I published the first chapter, then put up chapters after that a few times a week until the novel was done. The story got good reception, most people seemed to like it. But I didn’t know what to do with the space once I was done.

After a few days ruminating about it, I decided I would just…write. It’s what I do. I write daily anyhow, always for myself, and thought I’d share some of that with the few readers I had. I was writing on Medium before this, and I initially pulled some of my essays off of there, sharpened them up a bit, and a newsletter was born.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to get out of this, if anything. Sharing my writing is always a double edged sword; I do love putting my words out there for people to read, but I get nervous that no one will read them, no one will enjoy them. But I plowed away anyhow, posting two or three times a week, sometimes stealing from myself, but often writing new essays on a variety of subjects.

It was fun. I enjoy writing so much and I got feedback that made me believe people also enjoyed reading what I wrote. Sometimes I would get messages from readers saying they were touched by my essays, that they learned something or they were helped in figuring something out, or just that my words resonated with them. Messages such as that encouraged me to keep writing. I had plenty to write about - childhood stories, lost loves, music appreciation, funny anecdotes about my life, rants about the state of the world. I was happy, I was content, I found a small thrill in writing for an audience that signed up to read my words.

Everything kind of went to hell for me the end of January 2021. That’s when my husband abruptly walked out of my life. The newsletter took sort of a turn then, with most of the essays being about grieving my loss or trying to come to terms with it. There’s a whole stretch where my words are solely of heartbreak and sadness, tinged with a little rightful anger.

People wrote me telling me of their own separations and divorces. We commiserated, we cried, we talked about how hard it is to move on. Writing these words took on new meaning. I was purging, I was emptying myself of my despair. And you were there for me. You read what I wrote, you commented on it, you reached out, you helped me realize that there was a certain comfort in being so open and forthcoming about my marriage ending. By writing about it, I was confronting my loss. I was learning, I was growing, I was finding myself and my voice. Having this newsletter, writing several times a week, was a godsend for me. Having people actually read it and respond to it helped me more than you will ever know.

Eventually I eased into writing about other things again, but I came back to my despair and heartbreak often because I knew it was a therapy of sorts. Because it was all still there. Because you listened to me. I was happy to write about music and sports and parenting again, but I also knew I had created a safe space for sharing my personal woes. I thank all of you for sticking by me, for reading and sharing my stories, for reaching out when I needed it, and for understanding my need to keep on writing about all of it.

Two years feels like a lot, yet it doesn’t. I still have a lot of words left in me. I still have stories I want to tell you. I still have some residual despair left to purge. I’m so happy I have this little newsletter to do this. And I’m so glad to have you along for the ride.

Thank you for reading, for being here. Happy two years to us.

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