It’s Monday, and emotionally I am all over the place—horrified and sad about the wildfires around LA, giddy remembering the snow days we had in NC over the weekend, melancholy and contemplative after spending time in the fictional worlds of Virginia Woolf and Michael Cunningham, proud of Jordan and myself for culling quite a bit of clothing from our closets on Saturday, motivated and excited to make more art this year and eventually return to full-time small business ownership. So far in 2025 I have kept up my daily journaling practice, and the structure seems to help. Not that I’m writing anything deeply profound, but the routine is soothing, and having a place to let it all out makes my brain feel less foggy and burdened. Do you keep a notebook? If not, what’s your favorite way to cope when your head gets too full?
Currently reading
I first came across this beautiful combined edition of Mrs. Dalloway and The Hours a few years ago on instagram, and while sorely tempted, I resisted buying it at the time. However. On a visit to The Regulator bookshop in Durham last January, I saw it in person and it was somehow even prettier. The gold fold stamping on that creamy ivory cover! The French flaps! Those gorgeous dried florals! I simply could not be stopped from taking it home with me.
This time around was a re-read of both novels, though it had been quite a while; according to my offline book log, I finished Mrs. Dalloway on May 21, 2004 and January 21, 2010, and The Hours on June 20, 2011. I retained a couple of details, but the vibes were what I remembered most, the feeling of walking around in these worlds. And in that way, returning was a comfort—to the bustling London of Mrs. Dalloway and the similarly busy New York City of the present-day story arc in The Hours.
These are both extremely introspective, character-based books, so not much happens. In Mrs. Dalloway we go with the titular Clarissa Dalloway as she sets out on a June morning to buy flowers for a party she’s throwing that evening, along the way following her thoughts as they spin out from what she sees around her, and occasionally jumping into other characters’ perspectives to do the same.
She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day. (9)
The Hours is three-pronged: the present-day story is about a woman also named Clarissa who is also throwing a party, but it’s set in early 2000s New York. Meanwhile we follow Virginia Woolf in the 1920s as she’s living in “the country” outside of London and working on Mrs. Dalloway, struggling with her mental health and longing to be back in the city.
She sips her coffee, sets it down, stretches her arms. This is one of the most singular experiences, waking on what feels like a good day, preparing to work but not yet actually embarked. At this moment there are infinite possibilities, whole hours ahead. Her mind hums. (32)
The third perspective is Laura Brown’s, a young housewife and mother in 1950s Los Angeles, who is reading Mrs. Dalloway and trying to feel less dissatisfied with and trapped by her life.
She will permit herself another minute here, in bed, before entering the day. She will allow herself just a little more time. (37)
Michael Cunningham sprinkles details from Mrs. Dalloway throughout, and it was delightful to read both books back to back and notice exactly how he switched things up and updated certain characters and plot points to fit in their altered or modernized settings.
The feelings, though, are the same. These are novels about life, about what it feels like to exist, and make choices, and regret, and wonder what we’re here for. They’re also about death, about the suspicion that everything is frivolous and without meaning, about the longing for escape and release. And yet, both authors seem to say, we continue, because that’s all we can do.
We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep—it’s as simple and ordinary as that. (The Hours, 207-208)
The single day we live through in Mrs. Dalloway and The Hours is in June, but the mood is solidly winter: contemplative and melancholy, with, from somewhere deep within, a knowing that spring will come if we hang on long enough. And the writing! Woolf’s and Cunningham’s, both. Just beautiful. If you can handle the heaviness, I highly recommend this pairing. Bonus points if you cap off the experience with a viewing of the 2002 film adaptation of The Hours.
My other read of the week, Make Your Art No Matter What by Beth Pickens, takes on the idea of death too, but from a totally different angle. Pickens is a therapist who exclusively counsels artists, helping them break through the emotional, mental, and logistical obstacles preventing them from doing their best work. In this book, she covers topics like money and grief and how to ask for help, but much of her messaging comes down to this:
You are going to die. I will, too. We have to make choices about time because we have the finite gift of one existence. You should make your art. (16)
How Mary Oliver! How Oliver Burkeman! I also greatly appreciated her focus on pushing through uncertainty and fear. It reminded me of James Clear’s advice in Atomic Habits, still fresh in my mind, that in order to become someone who does a certain thing, we have to stop planning and preparing and—surprise—simply do that thing. In Pickens’ words:
If we want something new or different, we have to take action in that direction. Understanding and knowing ourselves, our thoughts and feelings, is just the first part—but we cannot stop there. Behavior is what leads to behavior change. We have to take action. (158)
Make Your Art No Matter What, as the title implies, is definitely aimed at creative folks, but parts of it are much more widely applicable. Take this quote, for example, one that verbalizes something I’ve been mulling over lately myself. If you, too, have a tendency to second guess every decision, to “what if?” your way out of fully experiencing and enjoying your one wild and precious life, I hope this brings some comfort and perspective:
What if there is no wrong thing, just the next thing? Only the present choice in front of us? We can transform indecision and anxious wondering by making a choice and accepting it. What if, whatever you choose at this moment, you are right where you are supposed to be? (26)
Added to my to-read list this week
We Need Your Art by Amie McNee: Patricia Elsie-Tuttle included this nonfiction title among her most anticipated for 2025. The subtitle is “Stop Messing Around and Make Something,” and it apparently addresses perfectionism, procrastination, and a plan to (re-)build a creative habit through consistent small steps, so clearly I am the target audience here. I’m also on a creative small business professional development kick after loving Make Your Art No Matter What, so… see you March 11th, Amie!!
The Other Significant Others by Rhaina Cohen: This was one of Rebecca Schinsky’s picks on Book Riot podcast’s favorite books of the year episode. It’s all about the importance of friendship and how platonic relationships can and should have a bigger role in our lives, because romantic partners were never meant to be our everything. As someone who loved Ann Friedman and Aminatou Sow’s Big Friendship, which had similar themes, and who often jokes with besties about the commune we will inevitably one day build, I know this book will be right up my alley.
A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf: I was already in a Woolf mood thanks to Mrs. Dalloway, and then I came across a photo on instagram of this new edition of one of her other books, featuring an introduction by QUEEN Lauren Groff. At a list price of just $12, I fear this will be jumping into my arms next time I find myself at my local indie.
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Currently listening
As I mentioned at the beginning of the newsletter, we embarked upon an epic clothing sort-through over the weekend; I’ve been itching to do the entire Marie Kondo process, and this is step one. Since it took an entire afternoon into the evening, we had a lot of time to listen to music. One of the first albums I queued up, one that I strongly associate with wintertime, was Carnavas (2006) by Silversun Pickups.
Something about these songs feels slightly ominous to me. There’s an edge I can’t quite put my finger on, a chilliness, a suggestion of dead leaves and skeletal trees. I’m not sure if it’s inherent or just an association I’ve formed; to me, this album is the sound of college Christmas break, driving around Memphis with Jordan, of standing by a campfire with a cold beer in my numb hands, waiting for a group of irresponsible and slightly drunk teen boys to set off New Year’s fireworks at midnight.
And also, there’s just something about that moment in “Lazy Eye” when the lyric “everyone’s so intimately prearranged” comes around the second time, and you know “everyone’s so focused clearly…” is next, and the tension builds a little before “with SUUUUCH SHINE,” and it’s so satisfying and it just makes you want to yell and thrash and whip your hair around all out-of-control like. I love that song and that moment.
In new-to-me music updates, there’s this track that plays during the pre-feature presentation at my local independent theater (you know, “please take note of the emergency exits, don’t talk during the film, throw away your trash on your way out,” and all that). It’s so hype and fun, and I shazam it literally every time I see a movie there but then always forget to follow through.
Well, people can change, because after this happened at Nosferatu last week, I actually looked it up on Spotify and added it to my 2025 playlist. It’s “Let’s Get It” by Captain Joz, from his 2023 single Mind Blown. And it’s been stuck in my head for days. Next time you’re trying to get amped up about something, give it a listen and I bet it’ll do the trick. LET’S GET IT! BOOM!
And another thing
The wildfire footage out of Los Angeles is truly horrible, and the thought that weather events like this are only going to become more and more common as the climate disaster progresses fills me with panic and despair. However. Just like in the mountains of my own state in the wake of Hurricane Helene flooding, the people are coming together and helping each other. Witnessing this part fills my heart all the way up and restores some of my lost hope. If you’re watching from afar like I am, and wondering what you can do to help, Traci Thomas wrote this post for us:
I’m planning to donate to Octavia’s Bookshelf to help with the relief work they’re doing; I hope you’ll find a GoFundMe that speaks to you and give as you’re able. ♥︎
Haiku round-up
Monday, January 6
Let us continue, dismissing what we don’t need, cherishing the rest
Tuesday, January 7
Something has changed here This might be a signal to start looking beyond
Wednesday, January 8
We gasp at the cold, its thrilling interruptions halting our chatter
Thursday, January 9
There’s no more decaf, so I sip the regular, my soul ascending
Friday, January 10
All morning, waiting for the forecasted snowflakes, and now, look! they’re here!
Saturday, January 11
With nowhere to go, apply yourself to a task that will create joy
Sunday, January 12
A meditation, this peeling, chopping, mixing; A gift to be shared
Until next time
As snow started to accumulate on Friday afternoon, we received an invitation to meet a few friends for a beer at the small brewery down the street. Though our first instinct was to hole up and stay cozy at home, we eventually decided to bundle up and go for it, and I’m so glad we did. There’s something so lovely about walking through flakes that are actively falling, feeling their gentle sting on your cheeks, watching as all the features of your familiar environment slowly disappear under a blanket of white. From a distance we could even see a subtle dusting atop our favorite phallic skyscraper (photo above)! And when we arrived at the neighborhood spot, we were treated to the warmest company: not only the people we intended to meet, but also some other townie folks whom we love but don’t often get to see. The time spent sipping my oatmeal stout, lost in lively conversation, staring out frosty windows at the wonderland outside, truly felt like magic.
See you next week, and until then, speak volumes with your silence!
—Emily
If you have any feedback, or want to tell me what you’re reading or listening to, I’d love to hear it. You’re always welcome to leave a comment or reply directly to this email.