I'm Still Here!

And so are you

I have no idea how to start this post.

My wife and I joke about the “bubble” of our little neighborhood, a bunch of millennials and their young kids (or no kids) who got lucky enough to snag a mortgage when it was still possible to get one without offering up your limbs. A relatively quiet spot at the edge of North Minneapolis, all dog-walkers and lawn mowers and Pride flags.

We joke, but it’s never been truer than now. A six-month-old was gassed nearly to death a little over a mile away by ICE agents acting like an invading army of fascist fuckheads. Downtown (which you can see from here, if you’re standing high enough), another fascist fuckhead thought it would be cool to march with his little buddies toward an immigrant neighborhood to cause trouble (and found out real fast why that wasn’t wise).

ICE is terrorizing Minnesotans all around us. In the parking lot of my nearest grocery store (at a Tesla charging station, dear God, the irony), on the highway on the drive home, at the mall where we go every Christmas to see a movie with the kids…

But not in our bubble. Not yet.

We have whistles and our neighbors have signs. My wife checks in on them, lets them know she was maybe spotted following an ICE agent. To be aware, just in case. My elder kiddo is off at college (which makes me both relieved that she is out of the cities, but terrified that she is more than a quick drive away), and my younger is just trying to graduate while her friends stay home to keep an eye on their immigrant parents.

In all this hyper-stress, this bone-cutting, teeth-grinding ache, I do have room for pride. For my Twin Cities neighbors who I see standing up for each other. For having fun, even when it feels impossible to do so. The federal government wants to make an example out of Minnesota, but they haven’t realized yet what a mistake that was. Minnesotans are insufferable (if you want an example, ask a Minnesotan about the blizzard of ’91), happy to be an example. To show the rest of the country how to push back. How to win.

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, fascism loses. Every time.

So, while we wait for the hook to drag the losers offstage…

I am still here, and I am writing! Lots of half-books that get tossed aside. Sometimes it feels like there are too many words vying for my attention, loud and talking over each other so I can’t figure out where they fit. And that’s okay! It’s part of the process. This time it’s just taking longer than usual. It is disheartening at times, but thankfully I’ve found a coven of writers who are encouraging, who are wading through the same murky publishing pool trying to find where we all fit in this post-TikTok industry we thought we (kind of) understood.

And I’m reading! Here are a few of my recent favorites:

The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels by Janice Hallett

An epistolary mystery with plenty of meat for true crime fans who are looking for ways to satiate the craving without engaging in a sometimes-problematic genre.

Girl Dinner by Olivie Blake

Speaking of meat…

Of Monsters and Mainframes by Barbara Truelove

I read this one back in the summer, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Go in blind, trust me.

Swordheart by T. Kingfisher

Dipping my toe into the romance genre has so far exceeded my expectations. I don’t know what Kingfisher traded at the goblin market for the skill with which she wields a pen, but it must’ve been shiny.

How About Now by Kate Baer

If I could tattoo this book of poetry onto my heart, I would.

That’s it for now, except for a few final thoughts:

· If all you can do today is make the coffee, feed yourself a little, and doomscroll, that’s okay. Just remember to take a break.

· Keep reading. Keep writing. There is a world on the other side of this that needs both.

· Fuck ICE.