No Matter Where We May Be

It’s no surprise that I returned to this safe space with a fervor, only after sharing my thoughts in a tweet.

In case you’ve somehow missed it, or are not on Twitter, my feed is full of those terrified about the downfall of a once comforting site. Namely, for writers. I know this is true for myself.

I currently have Instagram, Tik Tok, Pinterest, Goodreads, Youtube, and Facebook. However, Twitter has always been my preferred social media platform when it comes to an uplifting community.

Many would think Facebook would be able to do just that. Especially since my personal account has strict privacy settings. The thing about having a carefully curated group of “friends” on Facebook is that it mostly relies on people I already know. I will not accept friend requests from people I’ve never met. This is how I feel safe. I’ve seen more hacked Facebook accounts and that’s just on the personal end. When you get into the nitty gritty of trying to run a professional platform on Facebook, you encounter ever changing pages and a distinct lack of customer support.

But what’s most important: I have seen and experienced more kindness from strangers on Twitter than most of the “friends” on my Facebook feed. And maybe you’re saying, get new Facebook friends. It’s tough when you’re only keeping Facebook alive for your family members and high school teachers to maybe find the link to a poem you published. I guess that’s what it comes down to for me.

But interacting with strangers and making new writerly friends has only ever happened for me on Twitter.

Sure Instagram is lovely to look at most days. I follow a variety of authors and other bookstagram accounts and even one page where pies are designed to resemble book covers. But I don’t feel like I can personally interact with the people I follow aside from those I already know. And I don’t think this is due to user error. It’s simply the way Instagram is meant to function:

• Heart the aesthetically pleasing photo and move on with your day.

• Don’t try to include an outside link in your caption to let anyone actually go to the thing you’re mentioning.

• Create a reel.

• Share to your story.

• Etc.

It’s all pretty basic, but really only translates well for those who have made Instagram a full time career.

For those of us writers working tirelessly on a WIP, to those of us editors building a platform for a small publication, Instagram works well enough, but it doesn’t give us everything we need.

Maybe it’s because we deal in words. Twitter gives us the space to only share words if we want. Feel free to tack on a photo or include a link. Stick to your character limit, breathe some brevity into that thought, or make it a thread. But at the end of the day, you might just find your people.

I know I’ve been able to do just that over the last eight years.

My journey on Twitter started out by talking about books and writing. Not much has changed, though now I do speak up more about the causes that matter most to me.

During those early days on Twitter, an online literary magazine, One For One Thousand, replied to my tweet, suggesting I submit to them. They published flash fiction of 1,000 words inspired by photos. After all, a picture says a thousand words. I wrote a new story and submitted. They accepted. This story, “Three of Swords,” was my first fiction publication.

Following publication, I was invited to submit again. And I did. “Hanged Man” was published not long after. Again, I was invited to submit more. By my third publication, “Exulansis,” I was invited to become a contributing editor with One For One Thousand. It was a wonderful experience before we all parted ways.

As an editor and social media manager for One For One Thousand, I started to find other magazines through Twitter. I’ve always been and am still on Submittable and I use their discovery tabs. But there is something much more akin to kismet about finding that perfect call for submissions.

Nearly every publication credit I have, I owe to the literary community on Twitter.

Once I received a truly heinous rejection. Instead of subtweeting, I wrote them into a poem, and did the exact thing they rejected me for in the poem. A different literary magazine, Another New Calligraphy tweeted and asked if I would ever like to submit. I did so, and was published in their debut issue of Impossible Task. That poem, “Something You Called Sleight of Hand,” is still one of my favorite poems published.

And when Taco Bell Quarterly tweeted that they were asking for the worst rejection letters in exchange for a Taco Bell gift card, I happily sent that monstrosity. I had confirmation that the rejection letter was awful, and got a free taco out of it.

In a different scenario, a poet was offering to make playlists for people by liking the tweet. I did. This is how I met Preston Smith. He’s still one of my favorite poets and friends I’ve made on Twitter.

When the time came and I started a blog series called “Pages Penned in Pandemic,” Preston was one of the first writers I reached out to for an interview. Then when this transformed from an interview series on my blog to a collective featuring pieces written during 2020, Preston submitted some poetry. He now has quite a few pieces in that published book, though my favorite will always be “To the Boy in California.”

During the course of those submissions, I created a new Twitter profile, and I reached out to writers to invite them to submit. Others found us through retweets or by writers happily tweeting their acceptances. By the end, we received 300+ international submissions, and collected Pages Penned in Pandemic into a print book that still makes me so proud every time I read back through.

Just before we opened submissions, I saw a tweet from Benjamin Brindise asking if anyone living in Buffalo wanted homemade soup. I live in Buffalo. I love soup. He made me homemade minestrone to celebrate submissions opening for my small publication. He is also the Flash Fiction editor for Variety Pack. Through Twitter, I found their call for submissions, sent a few poems, and was featured in their Mini Pack where one author from each genre gets published. My poem, “This Will Only Hurt Until It’s Time For Dinner Again,” is another favorite among those I’ve had published.

Are you starting to see a trend? So many connections and strangers eventually became friends and peers.

When my second collective, The Elpis Pages, opened for submissions, I created another Twitter. Through this, some of the authors published in my first collective retweeted and shared the call. I received staggering amounts of submissions, and again, have a book that I am so proud to keep on my shelf.

This account is still growing, as I am working on my third collective, The Elpis Letters. I love when writers tweet their acceptances. It allows me to feel closer to their celebrations, no matter where we may be in the world.

Throughout every experience, I have had the chance to network with other editors and publications. We take care of one another. On no other social media platform have I seen warnings about violent or hateful content coming from writers, about the kind of harassment that is worrisome, and the guidance on how to handle such persons in your submission inbox. I’ve always called it the “whisper network” on Twitter, but it’s helped me navigate tough situations where editors or authors may have otherwise been harmed or taken advantage of during a routine call for submissions.

For those of us getting ready to query, I think about all the books that have been published because of pitch contests on Twitter. For those who may not be familiar with the process, you tweet the pitch for your book. If an agent likes it during the hours of the contest, you are free to query them, and mention they liked your tweet. This gets you out of the main slush pile, though it may not guarantee representation or a book deal. Similarly, editors may like your tweet. This is something you can share with an agent before entering submissions. It’s all possible because of the vast reach and engagement on Twitter.

I have found critique partners on Twitter. I have found solace mourning the loss of a character on a show because of this site. And when I have new work published, I have actual human readers engaging and reading the work because of links or snippets shared by myself and the literary magazine on Twitter.

Without this site, I am not sure what will happen to the literary community. Of course, it survived the dark ages of Writer’s Digest. But from my understanding, that world was much more about prestige of publication than giving people equal access and platforms to share their words.

If history has taught us anything, it’s that speaking up is important. Using your voice and your words and your knowledge to change the world one Tweet or essay or novel at a time gives us a chance to make this world better. It’s been a bit of a dumpster fire for too long with only brief glimmers of hope.

Twitter, more than anything, has given people a free platform with equal access to share and receive information. There is value in such a thing. Take that away? I’m sure you know about the Ukraine atrocities, how Russia has attempted to keep their citizens docile and ignorant to the horrors being committed by taking away equal access to information. Look at every historical trauma and you will see what a lack of knowledge has done.

And I’m not talking about the fake news that runs rampant on Facebook. Before Twitter changed hands, there were alerts that mentioned whether a news article should be considered with caution. It is my understanding that this is going away, along with an unprecedented increase in the use of the “N” word since Musk loosened certain strictures. From where I exist, that seems like “freedom of hate speech” not the “freedom of speech” we should be fighting for in the United States and countries beyond our borders.

People are still being silenced. Books are still being banned. Where can we go to feel safe? To stay up to date with the most important news? You can think what you want about traditional news sources, but I have always preferred to get my news from Twitter. Get in and get out. Life is filled with too much darkness to tune into the nightly news and be bombarded with so much carnage.

Alas, I’m not sure there is any answer to the possible decimation of Twitter. There is only sadness and fear for those of us who rely on this site to stay connected and share our words with the world.

Many thanks for the literary magazines and authors and dreamers who’ve made Twitter such an inviting space for the last 8 years. I hope we’re not going anywhere. I hope I get the chance to tweet my announcement of an agent when I get one, to share my book news for all my Twitter friends, to stay engaged and in contact with the community I have worked so hard to build in this time.

Silver Sparks: An Author Interview

Though my TBR grows daily, this did not stop me from adding J.S. Bowers’ newest novel, Silver Sparks to my list of must reads. Today, I’m excited to dive into the writing life of J.S Bowers, learning about his process for publishing his second book, finding his writing community, and making a career out of being an author.

Let’s start at the beginning, when did you know you wanted to be a writer?

Kayla, my dad's side of the family ran a newspaper in northwest Iowa, going back to 1915. I remember visiting there when I was 7, and my grandfather let me bang away on his typewriter. He published in the paper a ridiculous little piece I wrote about birds. My first byline! I was hooked.

Are you a plotter, pantser, or somewhere in between?

I'm notoriously unable to outline. It's embarrassing to admit it, because I harbor in my hard little heart the conviction that good writers view their stories in panoramic start-to-finish visions before they ever set a word to paper. My strength as a pantser is that I love to surprise myself, and I'm not reluctant to throw out chapters when I realize they're not working for the story.

Where is your favorite place to write?

I'm so fortunate to have a beautiful back porch that overlooks a small wooded wetland area. For the winter, I will have to take the same zero-gravity recliner chair into the basement and write there. I've trained myself as best I can to write anyplace. I write in my car, but first I park and get into the passenger seat.

Did you curate a playlist for Silver Sparks while writing, or is music too distracting for your process?

I prefer to have quiet while I'm writing. I write songs, in addition to writing fiction. When music is playing I tend to give at least half my attention to it, you know, figuring out the chord changes, listening for passages I like. See my website for more about songwriting. I've been working with the same collaborator for more than forty years.

Without too many spoilers, which was your favorite scene to write in Silver Sparks?

I tried to make Silver Sparks a fun and lighthearted book, but there is a sequence in the middle where Kaneia has run away from home after witnessing a crash. She is really quite ill, and she's hiding out in an underground hovel, undergoing a personal transformation. That scene allowed me to write about depression and metamorphosis.

When I wrote that scene during my first draft, I recognized that it was much better than what I had written up to then. It was a turning point for me. The rest of the novel flowed easily, and then I went back and uplifted what came before. It was my favorite scene to write and is still my favorite scene to read.

Is there any advice you would give to writers considering independent publishing?

Yes, and my first piece of advice is to learn from what Kayla King has done. Kayla, you have been a role model for me and I wouldn't have been brave enough to step into this world if I hadn't seen what a success you made of it. Indie authors support each other, and there are lots of excellent free resources for getting started. I won't start banging the drum here, but I'm an enthusiastic advocate for authors to publish their own work.

What comes next? Is there another project you will be working on following publication of Silver Sparks?

Silver Sparks is really special for me because it was the first novel I wrote and finished. But it wasn't the first novel I published. When I moved to New York in 2019, I started working more diligently and my writing skills improved. I wrote a novel called Wash Away that introduced some characters and storylines that I really loved.

So my next project is the sequel to Wash Away, tentatively titled Fast Asleep, and I'm well underway with writing it. At this stage in my career, I'm more interested in finding readers than in making money, so Wash Away is priced to steal at 99 cents.

What is your favorite thing about your book cover?

Oh, boy. I am so happy about my book covers. Both of them were designed by a talented Romanian artist named Tudor Popa. He gave me wise guidance as I figured out what I wanted. What I most love about the Silver Sparks cover, and this is silly because it's a tiny design element, but there's an almost-invisible row of interlocking salamander silhouettes right above my name. It utterly delights me.

What did you learn after publishing your first book?

It takes work to find your readers, your audience. It requires patience and strategy. I have used free promotions on amazon.com, and inexpensive paid placements in book-promotion newsletters, to try to get Wash Away into as many hands as I could.

Months passed before I started to get signups to my author mailing list and reviews from strangers. But the other thing I learned is that self-publishing is a really forgiving endeavor. If you recognize that something is not working the way you want, it's generally easy to fix it. I try to live by the attitude that this is my career now, and I'll get better and better with every book.

Was there any part of the process, either writing or publishing that you changed the second time around?

I involved a larger group of beta readers for my second book. I hesitate to confess this because I know it violates best practices, but I didn't hire a professional editor or a proofreader for either of my books. I used to work as a proofreader, so I have a pretty high level of confidence about it, but when you read your own work, it's hard to apply the focus and discipline necessary to find typos. I had the (possibly deluded) hope that having more beta readers would mean they were more likely to find typos. So far I have not discovered any errors in either finished book.

Have there been any recent books you’ve read that stood out or that you would recommend?

I'm a fan of Susanna Clarke. I liked both Piranesi and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. Her two books are not at all like each other, and I admire that she stepped off a ledge that way, and didn't try to duplicate her first book.

As someone who has found a writing group, can you share why you sought one out in the first place?

The answer to that question has a lot of facets for me, but the most simple truth is that I couldn't get better as a writer without sharing my work and listening to feedback. I had my first writing group while I was in college.

I like a group where we read our work aloud, and I've tried to develop the skill of spotting awkward sentences and other problems while I'm reading. If you stumble over a phrase while you're reading it aloud, there's a problem with that sentence.

Can you share he benefits of being part of a writing group?

Something I've recognized about myself is that I really like to talk to other writers. That's one of the reasons I signed up to be the Buffalo-area municipal liaison for National Novel Writing Month. I enjoy the company of writers and I like "talking craft," as they say.

For me it is immensely rewarding just to be able to chat with the other five members of my writing group. We chose each other and I think we have a high degree of commitment. I am lucky to know people so insightful. I learn by listening to other people's work and by trying to understand it well enough to give practical, helpful comments.

As you know, Kayla, I'm not somebody who blithely smiles and bounces back complimentary patter. Nobody in our group is like that. We're honest and we're vulnerable, and we passionately believe in each other.

Are there any writers who inspire you to keep pursuing this passion?

This may be an ass-backward answer to your question, but lately I've been thinking about Franz Kafka. He didn't publish during his lifetime, and in my opinion, he didn't wish to publish his work. He wrote for himself and that gave him the freedom to be as innovative and as unconventional as he wanted to be.

I would like to find that same kind of freedom of imagination, to envision a story that begins with a man waking up as a vermin without any further explanation.I like authors who throw commercial considerations to the wind. Kafka wrote one of my favorite quotes about writing: "You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still, and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet."I

Is there anything else you’d like to share?

Kayla, thank you for sharing your good will with me so generously! To anybody who has read this far, thank you and I would love to hear from you.

---

About Silver Sparks

When you land a flying bicycle on the water, keep the wings level! And wear rubber gloves while handling the swamp dragons, or you will get very high. Silver Sparks is a young adult eco-adventure with a dash of magic and first love. Join Kaneia and Jasper in their fight to save the salamanders of Trevian Bay.

---

About J.S. Bowers

Fiction writer and novelist from western New York. Guitar jackhammerer. My science fantasy satire novel Wash Away was published in February 2022. Editor of the memoirs of Joan Haverty Kerouac, Nobody’s Wife. You can follow more of J.S. Bowers’ writing journey at his website, or on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.

The Elpis Letters #5 | 16 by Writing to Breathe

16

16 year old me.

Please.

Know your worth.

Trust your instincts.

Hug your parents. Tight.

Apologise quickly.

Stand strong in your beliefs.

Appreciate true friendship.

Find the good in others.

Defend that girl.

That boy isn’t forever.

The pain is temporary.

The hurt will heal.

Find your passion.

Savour the good times.

Laugh immensely.

You will learn as you grow.

You will grow as you learn.

You will look back some day.

Your why’s will be answered.

In the meantime.

Please.

Love yourself.

Trust the journey.

~ Writing Breathe, B.P

---

About writing to breathe

Writing to Breathe (she/her) is thirty-five years old with a two-year-old and a one-year-old to keep her busy. She recently decided to leave the corporate world behind to focus on what she truly enjoys: writing! Although poetry is her main passion right now, Writing to Breathe is looking to delve into all types, and has started a Creative Writing course to help her master it. You can follow her writing journey on Instagram @Writing_to_breathe_ and on Facebook @WritingToBreathe.

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The Elpis Letters #4 | Blue Glitter by Robin Kinzer

Content warNing: SELF-HARM

Dearest S.,

Do you remember the blue glitter? I will never again be able to walk through a craft store’s glitter aisle, without grateful tears burning the corners of my eyes. Sun-sparkles blurring my vision. 

We were sixteen and seventeen, precisely eleven months apart in age, and I sent you an envelope full of glitter in the mail. I have to assume a love letter was included as well— I was known for fifteen page, blissed out missives. Shortly after I sent the blue glitter, life turned particularly desperate for you, burning your tender nerves more than they could take. You cracked an x-acto blade open, dagger spit forth from bright orange sheath. You sobbed, holding it to your left wrist. You pressed the aluminum shark’s tooth into your wrist’s pale flesh— practicing— dragged it lightly across your skin, a thin red line left behind.

Then, an act of the divine, an act of chance that’s enough to set teeth chattering. The envelope I’d recently sent came spilling down from the shelf above, blue glitter exploding onto your palms, your thighs, your knees. You pressed your hands to your tear-streaked face, turned even your cherub cheeks into sparkling blue.

Robin, you thought then. Robin. And that was it. You could not leave me. That’s how you always told the story. You clicked the aluminum dagger back into its sheath, away, away from your slender, precious wrists.

Somehow, it’s now twenty-five years later, and you are still my favorite person in the world. And I’m sick again, only it could be fatal this time, not just excruciating. You write every day, tell me about your new plants, your dissertation, your nieces. You send postcards in the mail, made from giant puzzle pieces— sea creatures on the front, your swoop-swirl handwriting on the back. I send postcards to you and your nieces, flower faeries and dancing sprites to remind them to dream.

Today, I dissected my apartment, portioning its contents out to the people I love. I wish someone had told me to write my Last Will and Testament when I was healthy, because writing it while sick is just scary. Just blisteringly sad. I’m curled turtle in bed when you write and say: The idea of having your physical stuff with me, if I can no longer have physical you, makes me very happy. I’m so glad to be in this messy life with you. 

I’m reminded of being eighteen and sick, endometriosis still years from diagnosis. We were rained out of our tent at a folk festival in Hillsdale, New York, clothes soggy, hair curling like untamed grapevines in the damp. That night, my abdominal pain put on a horror show, and with nowhere else to go, we slept cramped into my sister’s boyfriend’s car. I will never forget letting you run your silvered fingers over the hot throb of my abdomen. A place I never let anyone touch. Ever.

You sang to me then, something mellifluous and sweet, a love song you’d written about us. The pain still pulsated, but it also lifted just a bit, carried away by the sound of your voice floating into the star-splattered skies above us.

This messy life, indeed. I have loved you for twenty-six years, and whether I have five years left or fifty, I will love you for every second left to us. Today, I told my best friend I’d been lucky enough to have two great loves, and because of this, would be okay if I never had another. 

It is hard to need more when I already have so much. It is hard to need more when I am so saturated with love that it spills out of me like sunlight sometimes, bits of gleam pouring to the floor the second I open my mouth.

Love spills out of me like sprays of blue glitter falling to the floor, blue glitter ensuring I can write this letter to you over twenty years later, ensuring you will be there to receive it.

Lucky is a pitiful word when it comes to you and I— too small, too simple. I don’t think the word to describe our love has yet been invented, though a few come to mind. There is numinous. There is luminescent. Sublime.

There is so much left to say. So many words to be written, found, cherished. I still imagine us drinking lemonade on a porch in our eighties, rocking on a swing that glides with the ease of a sparrow’s flight. I refuse to stop believing in that future, in a bower of purple geraniums growing above us as we rock back and forth on that porch swing, so happy. So old.

I still believe. I still believe my love for you is enough to keep me alive.

Yours,

R.

---

ABOUT robin kinzer

Robin Kinzer (she / her) is a queer, disabled poet and sometimes memoirist. She was once a communist beaver in a PBS documentary. She previously studied psychology and poetry at Sarah Lawrence and Goucher Colleges, and is now an MFA candidate at University of Baltimore. Robin has poems recently published, or shortly forthcoming in Little Patuxent Review, Wrongdoing Magazine, Gutslut Press, Fifth Wheel Press, Corporeal Lit, Defunkt Magazine, and others. She loves glitter, Ferris wheels, and waterfalls. She can be found on Twitter at @RobinAKinzer

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The Elpis Letters #3 | Ctrl Alt Del Black Woman by Mo

The women I know used to shrink all the time,

Now, we bare our teeth,

drink the blood of our enemies,

after all anything that bleeds be unholy,

ain’t that why you call us witches?

Call us hysterical,

Call me bitch,

Bitch please.

I could swallow you whole in one bite and use your bones to pick my teeth when I’m finished.

Boy, I birthed you;

Don’t you ever disrespect your mother.

And yeah, Crystal, you were right.

Every time I walk into a room,

my black goes before me, while my woman sits in the back where she will neither be seen nor heard.

Sometimes my woman walks into the room before me, and locks my Black out because my black is too black, and the only black in the room, and my woman can not afford to be the stereotype,

even though she be angry,

even though she be right,

even though she be backbone,

even though she is too much of all to only be one,

and still she be forced to choose,

like you can separate one from the other when you are the bastard child of bondage.

My woman closes the door on my black.

My black closes the door on my woman.

My woman and my black fight every single day.

My woman, and my black be tired.

My woman and my black be so tired, cus she be everything to everybody and don’t get none of the credit for everything she gives.

And she gives,

and gives,

and gives,

till she can’t give no more, and then she gives again.

She be the meat, the bone and the marrow.

She be the cook, the pot and everything in the pot,

and still have to clean up everyone else’s mess.

And maybe that comes with the territory.

Perhaps Medusa was a black woman,

you know how they be demonizing us when we talk back.

Perhaps it wasn’t snakes in her hair, but locs,

and if I am my mother’s child I have followed in her footsteps.

If there’s anything that she has taught me, it’s that looks can kill, and that if I have to serve a man,

I should serve him well done.

---

ABOUT Mo

Mo (she/ her) is a 25-year-old poet, who is an avid reader, and lover of all things art; Her passion has always been music, poetry, and the arts as a whole. Poetry is her truth. Being able to find healing through her platform as an artist, is a gift that she is truly thankful for. She can be found on social media platforms such as Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr as @momothepoet.

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The Elpis Letters #2 | My Expense by Anonymous T

I'm turning 23 soon. Perhaps I'll be 23 by the time you read this, I'm not sure. 

I've learned a lot, I've learned a lot especially this past year and I...damn. 

It's hard to find the right words here. 

I think my understanding of womanhood has developed more than I could have imagined. I've got a firm grasp on how I am perceived as an individual to other individuals, and I feel like I'm so often treated like a pushover. People shove their responsibilities onto me because I'll "get over it" or I'll "just have to deal with it," and you know what, I'm tired. 

I'm tired of putting other people before myself, I'm tired of giving my energy and my generosity. I feel like I'm a piggy bank, my paycheck goes right to the bills, responsibilities get left behind for me to tidy up, and my mental health declines because of it. Lovers don't want to imagine a future with me, so it all gets called to quit. All of my coins are used up and spent by other people, my expense, I guess. 

I feel like I have been placed under a faucet, my clothes weighing me down as the sink begins to fill. I remove myself, my mind at least, disassociation at its finest as I check out and go numb for a while. 

Meanwhile, I feel like the male figures in my life get to go and do whatever they want, they don't have to deal with it all. I realize that I'm treated like I'm less of a person, at least I surely feel that way. Not just by those around me, but by society, which I often blame as a factor into everyone else's moods. 

I find that it's harder for me to land big paying jobs, it's harder for me to get accepted into the schools I want, and I wonder if it's because I'm inadequate, or if it's because I'm a woman. I've witnessed first hand how women are treated in this reality, and I'm just trying to keep my head above the water, to rise above this circumstance. 

I'm tired of women competing with each other and fighting each other. I'm tired of men tossing us aside and acting like we're nothing. 

I'm...everything. 

I claim my power back. Now. I will not show remorse or apologize for the new me walking around like I know everything because let me make this clear. I know what it's like to have nothing, so in turn, all that's left for me is fucking everything. 

I wish I was more cold-hearted sometimes, but I know, that I will continue allowing my heart to break open because if I become cold, I'll just be like the rest of them, and society will in turn have transformed my soul into mere wires and strings, and I do not want to become someone who is just going through the motions. 

I am a woman, and I will not give up. 

---

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The Elpis Letters #1 | A Letter to my older self by Snehal Amembal

Dear Snehal,

How are you? How old are you now? 60? 65? I wonder if you can read properly, or has that blasted disease affected your vision, too? Do you remember yourself from about 30 years ago? The anxiety, the helplessness, the uncertainty about the future. I hope it is not as bad as you imagined it to be. Can you recollect moments from your own life, or have they been wiped away once again by that merciless tyrant of a disease? I hope you are living with dignity and are surrounded by love, lots of love.

That brings me to your wonderful sons. I imagine that they have grown up to become  strapping young men oozing charm, kindness and generosity. Are they good looking? Of course they are! I hope that they have done well for themselves and are making you proud as always. I wonder if R has retired from his working life and that he is making time for himself and for you in particular. 

I hope that you are still able to travel far and wide irrespective of the challenges that you face on a daily basis. How do you keep yourself busy now? Do you still read as voraciously as you used to? Are you able to still write? I’m hedging my bets on you having released at least five books by now. Please tell me that you now have at home a dog, or at least a cat or two? I know they always brought you joy, so I sincerely hope that you are basking in their love. Finally, I wish that you are reading this letter out to your best friend who lives across the road from you and that a cure has been found.

Love,

Your younger self

---

About Snehal Amembal

Snehal (she/her) is a freelance writer, poet and blogger based in London with her husband and two toddlers. Her writing primarily reflects her motherhood journey, memories of her own childhood and the essence of everyday moments. Her debut collection Pause, inspired by the COVID-19 pandemic has been recently published. She is a Young Onset Parkinson's Disease warrior and creates awareness of the condition through her writing. She also reviews books authored by writers of South Asian heritage on her blog Desi Lekh.

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Keep Us Connected

While the life of a writer can often be solitary, we must find moments to keep us connected. Throughout my journey, I have had the opportunity to be part of different writing communities, but the most recent is among a group of four other authors. 

During the uncertainty of the last few years, this group has been a refuge and a way to stay tethered despite isolation, countless revisions, and the oddly cathartic pressure of completing a post-pandemic story while living in a pandemic. 

For any writers who may not know the benefits of a writing group, I am excited to share my latest remote meeting. I will be reading from Chapter Three of my YA speculative novel, DREAM CATCHERS. Afterward, my fantastic group of fellow authors will be sharing their feedback. 

Once the meeting adjourns, what happens next? I take my feedback and add it to the applicable chapter card on my book’s Trello board. I like to include the date and then break down the feedback by the author who gave it to me. That way, if I have any questions in the future during the revision and editing process, I can go back for clarifications. 

For myself, organizing the writing process from brainstorming to drafting to developmental edits, line edits, beta reads, and more works best on Trello.

For those wondering how to find a writing group, how to know when that group is the right fit, and the pros and cons of getting consistent feedback and readership while you focus on a work-in-progress, rest assured I will be diving into this in the future!

Don’t forget to like and subscribe. And remember, no matter where the day takes you, dream big!

As a Victory

It’s been one week since I attended the Women’s March in Buffalo, NY, and I’m excited to share that experience here. Before I talk about the actual day of the march, I did just want to travel back in time a few weeks to the moment I heard about this event. 

On September 14th, my sister sent the link for the Women’s March, and I knew we absolutely needed to attend. However, when looking closer at the details, we did notice it was within the same time frame as my cousin’s wedding. 

Despite the challenge of this busy day and the realization that yes, everything does always fall on the same day, we decided we would go to the event first and then make our way to the wedding reception after. At this point, we did have all the logistical details worked out, but we knew we would have ample days to come up with a game plan. 

Per the information I had already read, it looked like there were open spots for speakers at this event. As someone incredibly passionate about women’s rights and someone in the unique position of a new collective all to do with womanhood, I knew it was important for me to volunteer. I registered for the event and emailed the organizer to let her know I wanted to speak. At this time, I considered reading a poem, thinking about the words I’d already written and the ones I could write. 

After sending that email, I also realized that I wanted to create some merch inspired by the event. I had already launched a few pieces inspired by The Elpis Pages. I went to work that night creating a few designs. 

The days started to pass. I ordered my t-shirt, which I discussed in my Editor Diaries. It has a quote by the incomparable RBG on the front and Bans Off Our Bodies on the back. A few of the other designs incorporated this same slogan, some with the Elpis logo and one specifically inspired by The Handmaid’s Tale, which simply reads “OfHerself.” These are still available for purchase. 

I also looked back through previously written poetry in the hopes I could find something to read at the event. On September 20, 2020, I wrote a poem entitled “All the Things You Could Miss At the End of This.” Today the poem is still unfinished and unpublished, but I have high hopes for its future. I wrote this poem two days after Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s passing. It was something that sat in my mind until I put the words on the page. And it was inspired by a Twitter thread in which the line “May her memory be a revolution” was broken down and the Jewish traditions explored. I was fascinated and proud as a woman for the legacy Ruth was leaving behind, but also sad and scared for a world without her in it. 

That poem also goes on to explore a few key women in my life. But it all came back to Ruth. I still love these stanzas: 

You don’t know how to write this part. But you bellow the words of a prayer typed out to be mindful of character counts: May her memory be a revolution. The leaving remains in everything. Every fact. This season must go. She is gone. 

And you cling to someone else’s poiesis in regards to the pain of seeing empty places at the dinner table. They expound on Jewish traditions you commit to the page because you fear those, too, will disappear. She was held on earth until the end of this year because she was needed. It is how they speak of her passing on a holy day, effusing the sacred with beauty about the revolutionary ramification of womanhood, of truth. Of Her. 

But this poem didn’t feel quite right. I penned other bits and lines. I wrote:

When I was young, I was scared of being soft. And I said, yes, he’s nice though I was scared. And later, I couldn’t walk to the car and my hair was long and I thought that was the problem.

This all came from one of my most terrifying memories. In which I was harassed by a male employee and then questioned by the owner. He asked to see if I’d been flirting with said employee and thus “asking for” that kind of unwanted attention. My hair was long then and I was nice, maybe too nice. I also wrote:

I liked the weird women in Macbeth. I knew them for who they were: poets with guts filled with feelings. They might’ve clasped car keys in fingers as a talisman. And I hold my palms to the women before: Circe, Hecate, Elpis.

Another line played over and over in my mind:

And I cried to my mother, telling her I didn’t ask for this. And she explained I was born to hold a universe, but of which she was unclear.

There were so many things to write or reread that had to do with womanhood, but they didn’t feel like enough. 

I moved on to other preparations for the event. I designed two posters to be printed. One for myself and one for my sister. I also created postcards with information about The Elpis Pages to be handed out prior to our march to city hall. I got a little crafty with the posters, mounting them on foam board and adding a handle. 

And then on Tuesday September 28th, just a few days before the march, I couldn’t keep the line: “half of a whole is still less than” from echoing in my head. This is not uncommon, as I am the type that hears all thoughts as narration and usually with lines of dialogue or poetry, they won’t cease until they’ve been written. What can I say? My writerly brain is persistent. 

I didn’t think this line could be the opening, so I back tracked, thinking about how much I always struggled with math back in school, specifically fractions. And from there, my speech spilled out in a torrent. I knew its title, “Sometimes All We Have is Hope,” since I’d been using that as the tagline for The Elpis Pages. It is something that continues to carry me through and remind me why this project is so important. 

I finished my speech and sent it to my friends. I practiced reading it and recorded it over a voice memo. Even on the day of the event, I took the printed version of my speech to the backyard to practice reading over noise pollution, projecting like I’d learned to do back in my theater kid days. 

I was ready to read, but needed to get ready for the day. I put on my RBG shirt, left to get my hair done for the wedding later, and focused on the excited energy I had for the march. My sister arrived, we grabbed our signs, and our dad dropped us off at Prospect Park, which was the location we would be meeting before beginning the march at 2PM. 

When we arrived, there were so many women and men already gathering. Many were in purple shirts, as this year’s colors were purple and cream. We snapped some photos early on and I handed out my postcards for The Elpis Pages. Everyone was so kind as I did so and there was a palpable energy surrounding the park as we read each other’s signs and shirts. 

I must say, I’d planned to take more photos and videos, but I was drawn into the moment and am mostly left with memories now. A few favorite posters included: Ruth Sent Us, Without Hermione, Harry would’ve died in Book One, We Are Not Ovary-Acting, etc. Everyone had taken the time and effort to create messages filled with rage, confusion, and alas, hope. And before long, we were marching through the streets of Buffalo on our way to City Hall. 

We chanted: "Bans Off Our Bodies, Who’s Streets, Our Streets, Hell No Roe Won’t Go, and my favorite: Who Sent Us? Ruth Sent Us. Each step during this walk made me feel empowered and heard, poster raised high above my head. There were people there who’d marched before and others new to the experience like myself. But all came together to speak on behalf of the importance of women’s rights. 

Once we arrived at City Hall, my sister and I moved closer to the front, as I knew I would be speaking, though I wasn’t sure when. Unfortunately, we had to leave by 3:30 to ensure we could make it to the wedding reception, but we had the chance to listen to wonderful and inspiring and important words spoken from different women.

And then it was my turn to speak. 

I folded the speech in half to keep it from blowing free from my grip. Downtown Buffalo is notoriously windy. I took a deep breath and began. I supposed what I wasn’t expecting were the cheers from the crowd. But I took that in stride, even managing the loud traffic that occurred during my reading. 

With this speech, I felt every word in my bones. 

I will also be including my speech in full with my Letter From the Editor in The Elpis Pages once it’s published this December. 

And just like that, it was time to leave. To prepare for a different kind of celebration. But I held the memories with me through the lengthy car ride, trying to  share as much about the experience with friends and family at the wedding as I could. By this time, my mom had already shared my video, and it was heartwarming to hear those reactions from some of those I love most. 

As I continue to champion women and their rights, putting together this collective to support the Planned Parenthood Action Fund, offering a safe haven and platform for self-identifying women to share their words on womanhood, I will not forget this day and everything it gave me and our nation. 

Just three days after a historic gathering in over 650 cities nationwide, U.S. Judge Pitman issued a stay of SB8, declaring that the Court “will not sanction one more day of this offensive deprivation of such an important right…” In this I find the reminder that each step, no matter how small, must be taken as a victory. I’m reminded that we all have the power to speak up and offer our voices to the collective we in this nation and say we do not accept this. We deserve better. However, there is so much more work to be done, and I’m ready to continue to add my voice and my words to this fight for women’s rights. 

I would like to thank everyone who showed up throughout the nation to march for women. I’d like to thank our organizers and give a specific shoutout to Anya Kester and Glenn Murray for sharing many of these photos from the day.

Don’t forget to like and subscribe. And remember, no matter where the day takes you, dream big!

This Spooky Season

October is my favorite month and I absolutely love spooky season, which makes setting up my planner extra special. This is the third year in a row that I have used Archer & Olive’s Undated Planner. Though I am not using watercolors or paint pens, I do love the quality of paper and overall construction of this planner.

1.) Select pen color

The first thing I do is select the pen color to be used for the entire month. October was easy. I knew I would be utilizing spooky accents throughout the spread so I selected a black pen from my extensive collection. Fun fact, I only use Papermate Flair Tip Pens.

2.) Select Washi Tape 

After I have my pen color, I go through my washi tape, choosing patterns that correlate to the monthly color. I always pull more than I need. During the last few months, it’s become a tradition that my mom selects the 6-7 washi tapes that will be used for the spread. This month was no different.

Once I have the tapes selected. I start with the monthly calendar page. I usually select a wider washi tape for both the monthly calendar page and the dotted grid page, which I use for memory keeping. 

To make the application process as easy as possible, I use binder clips to hold down my pages. I do a rough size match against the page before making any cuts. And then you’ll see that I am applying horizontally to the top and bottom of this calendar page. I usually will make the tape just a smidge longer than necessary, so once both pieces of tape have been adhered, I go back and snip any access from the edges. 

And then I repeat this process for each of the pages that month. At this point, the spread remains undated. I have made the mistake in the past of dating everything and then applying the washi tape over top of those details. 

3.) Fill in Dates

Now that the washi tape has been applied, I go through and add all the dates to the monthly page. I also begin my week on Monday. This is actually one of the biggest reasons why I started using an undated planner. A big pet peeve of mine are weekly and monthly pages that begin on Sunday. I then go page by page, adding the dates. 

Since each monthly spread offers ample pages, I do find that I often have an extra weekly page at the end. Since last month ended on October 3rd, I will be starting these new pages on the 4th. I will leave the last weekly pages blank, using them as a project page for the month. 

Looking at my set-up, this is always the fastest part of the process. However, I do like to luxuriate in every step. Planning, after all, is self-care. Or at least it always has been for me. 

4.) Select Stickers

Now begins the biggest fun throughout this set-up, which is selecting the stickers I will use. Over the years, I have grown my collection of stickers. And I am still so in love with this craft cabinet my parents gifted me for Christmas last year, as it keeps everything organized and still has room to spare. 

5.) Sticker Placement

Usually, I do go page by page, but sometimes if I see a particular sticker that I think will work on a different page, I will add it then.

I do like to start with some of the bigger stickers and then fill in with smaller ones, usually hearts in a matching color or some other tiny detail. 

Once the month is done, I move into the weeks, which allows for bigger stickers to be used. Often, I will choose stickers that correlate to an event. And when I feel a spread is done, I move on. I usually do this before a page feels too full. If I need to add a few stickers later, I will do so. But less tends to be more, and it is not difficult to go overboard. 

Since I planned on using this last week as a project page, I took a thinner washi tape that has the coppery elements used in the first tape I applied, and covered the names of the week. I then added label stickers, though at this point, I wasn’t entirely sure what each section would be. However, getting close to the end, I did know I could use this to organize some dates and tasks for The Elpis Pages as I move into the next steps of that project. 

The last page will be the monthly memory keeping spread. This will remain empty until the end of October, but I am planning on doing a September wrap-up soon where I walk you through this process. 

6.) Spot Check

After all pages have been filled in, I go back and do a final check to see if any spaces need to be filled. This is usually the point I have my mom look through to see if there are any gaps that need to be filled in.  

7.) Add Important Info

I start with the monthly calendar, adding bills due or important events that I already have scheduled. I fill in my goals for the month next, usually trying to account for what I accomplished the month before. I also try to keep these realistic. As a goal-oriented perfectionist, my old ways of goal setting was especially harmful to my mental health and I have since worked on making more manageable goals for myself. 

I also add a quote for the month. Usually, this becomes a sort of mantra that I return to on the difficult days to keep myself grounded. 

Next, I go week by week and add bills due, important events, and any days off I will be taking from work. It’s become a running joke since 2020 that I write in “work from home” every day. But in 10 years, I think it will be nice to see how long this continued. 

8.) Add Tasks

Once these important items have been written in, I can add tasks that need to be completed that week. If I have a day where something important or noteworthy happens, I also use this space for memory keeping, but I’ll go into that during my September wrap-up. 

For the final spread for October. I absolutely love the pops of color throughout and I’m even more excited for this spooky season. I can’t wait to see what October has in store for me!

Don’t forget to like and subscribe. And remember, no matter where the day takes you, dream big!