Stirring Up Mischief

My book is for sale - sort of! Plus postcards from Wisconsin

The entire experience of bringing my book into being, from my first inkling of an idea to today, when it has a cover and a sales price, has felt like a series of momentous milestones, one upon the next. I can’t tell if every single juncture is important or not. They all feel important inside my whooshing stomach and overactive mind.

Case in point: holy what—my book is for sale! But that’s a trick, because no one—except early reviewers, booksellers, librarians, and media—will receive a copy until August 6. Were you to order today, your copy would get sent out in August. So… you can wait! I promise I’ll mention it again. Nonetheless, it’s a milestone.

As I was thinking about this announcement, I decided to go into the archives of this newsletter and see the other times I’ve talked about Group Living and Other Recipes. I was extremely tickled while reading these old posts to realize that things that had seemed truly unknowable have become familiar. Life is wild that way—how what was strange becomes known and the intensity of anticipation vanishes.

Here’s an excerpt from each and an invitation to travel back in time with me.

Big Announcement

Introducing the book - May 3, 2021

I don’t believe in some bizarre Driving Miss Daisy or Green Book narrative—that when people from different worlds become “friends” our social problems are solved and the tyranny of isms are vanquished: racism, sexism, classism, heterosexism, ageism, ableism. But I do believe in action at every scale, and that includes the domestic. Home is a place where we get to practice how we treat one another, how we synthesize other people’s feelings and reactions, how we express affection, generosity, and discomfort.

On Writing On Writing

My writing process - August 5, 2021

My [writing] practice still feels very young and inexperienced, and I marvel at the shape it’s taking. Strangely, I feel more like a passenger than a driver, although if I’m not driving, who is?! Perhaps a better (and grosser) metaphor is my own intestines. Even I am amazed at how long and meandering they are! I did feed myself, so am I the one who is helping move the food along? It certainly doesn’t seem like it! But if it’s not me, then who is it? And how long will it take?

What Do We Deserve?

Writing residencies - March 24, 2022

Overtime, my little cabin began to feel low-key sacred to me. I was “sharing” it with the women who came before and after. We were in lineage with one another. It didn’t make me feel like I had a standard to live up to, but more that I was part of a continuous wave of feeling and experience.

On Editorial Letters

Switching publishers, getting substantive feedback from my editor - December 28, 2022

The first draft was very rough. I had to fight all my impulses to send it to my editor without a long letter explaining all the things I knew weren’t working. But I promised myself that I would let her respond to the work on her own and not have to attend to my specific insecurities.

The Marmalade Better Made

Practicing patience - February 15, 2023

I’ve felt uncomfortably impatient to get through the process—to hold a real book in my hands instead of returning to the editing again, and again. And yet, I swear to god, I know the marmalade hasn’t set. The first draft felt like a first draft. There was fruit and sugar in there but it hadn’t cooked properly. There might not have been enough pectin. Or sugar. Now, I’ve been revising, and only this week did I finally see the syrups become viscose. It’s not time for the wrinkle test yet, so it’s certainly not time to put it in a jar and can it!

purple-lipped push-pop

Being copy edited - October 6, 2023

Here was my whole book’s distinct vocabulary, listed alphabetically. This is the stuff that makes me me. Here were all the proper nouns I use—my family members’ names, the celebrities I hate and love, the places I frequent—alongside Japanese and Filipino words I’ve folded into my life and words I’ve invented! (i.e.: “Poof” as a verb!) It was the glossary of my life.

Please stay tuned for what lies ahead! Between now and August 6, things will happen (like early reviews, recording an audio book, and things I can’t predict). I will report them here, on instagram, and in person, if you ask! I’m buckling up because it’s already been a wild ride. Thank you for accompanying me.

Postcards from Wisconsin

“Whatever you think you’re supposed to be doing, forget it. You’re supposed to be stirring up mischief,” my mom told me as we drove along a gulley in the Driftless.

Last week, I visited my mom in Wisconsin. We started up north, near Lake Superior, where one day we cruised past the Wisconsin Concrete Park, once the home of self-taught artist Fred Smith who fabricated these mixed media sculptures from 1948 to 1964. We couldn’t tour the park, but my mom’s partner, George, parked in the middle of the road, since there was no shoulder, so I could run across the street and peer in. Several cars had to stop and wait behind him and not a single person honked in annoyance. Midwest nice? I can’t wait to return here in the future!

Then we went southwest, to my mom’s home, the Kettle, with its spiral staircase, two-story windows, and twelve-sided shape (for the twelve houses of the zodiac - not kidding). Together, we mourned and talked about all the lost life in Gaza and our country’s brutal culpability. My mom made sourdough bagels, knowing how much I love them, and I ate one every single morning, topped with whatever I could find: fresh mozz, avocado tomatillo salsa, roasted squash!

We visited her friend’s sheep farm and ate their extraordinary Hidden Springs Creamery cheeses. Driving home from the farm in the dark, we saw dozens of Amish buggies parked outside a dimly lit barn and later learned they were hosting an Amish teen mixer.

Everyday we walked along iced rivers and lakes, and in the slats of sunshine between trees. We talked a lot about my book, and sometimes she’d get so excited she’d start talking at double-speed, making me grin and feel I’m not doing any part of this alone—which I know I’m not!

Spending time with my mom in Wisconsin is always jam-packed and fascinating. I get to witness what lights her up, what makes her feel grounded or ungrounded, amused or horrified. Her mischief is everywhere.

On my last full day, we went to Milwaukee and watched the Bucks beat the Nuggets. The next morning, awake at 5:30 am to head to the airport, she instantly befriended a man working the nightshift at our hotel who was taking a break near her car. He offered her a puff off a joint and pointed up into the sky where a murmuration of birds was circling, light bodies swooping against a black sky.