Writer’s Notebook: Year in Review

“Hi,” he said. “How’s it going? Has the world ended yet?”

Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

It’s kind of been feeling like that lately. At least for me. And probably a little bit for Adam, too, who has to edit all of my work before it’s posted here. The list of things I want to write about grows longer and longer, and, no matter how I try to escape, the trauma is like quicksand: I am drawn again and again to writing about the difficult and dark topics. Like everyone else, sometimes I need to catch my breath before I go back into the darkness. To feel a little sun. I guess, when it comes to writing, I feel a little bit like Margot, in Ray Bradbury’s “All Summer in a Day.” Locked in a closet by someone else, and kept away from the sun. In Margot’s case, her classmates locked her in. For me, instead of the endless rain that surrounds Margo, it’s worrying about the world. I don’t have to look far to find something I can focus on to catch my breath. 2 Rules of Writing celebrated our first anniversary on December 1, 2022. It’s trendy to do an article that works as a year in review. But really, I want this opportunity to reflect. Because it’s been a big year.

Year in Review: The Raw Numbers

I took a look at the numbers we’ve generated this year:

• More than 13000 page-views
• Nearly 8000 visitors to our website.
• A total of 245 posts.

When I looked at the numbers from last December or from January, I would never have imagined that we’d have this kind of output or viewership.

It’s been quite a year, beginning with me taking down our website for a little while on the day we launched, to me ending up seriously ill in the hospital, leaving Adam with everything, because we’d never developed any kind of contingency plans for that kind of event. We have survived travel, illness, dead computers and more. We’ve done podcasts and a tv appearance. We’ve both had pieces accepted for publication. And there’s more good news coming that I’m not allowed to share yet. I promise, I’ll share it as soon as I’m allowed to. 

It’s kind of my thing to check in with myself every once in a while about where I’m at as a writer. Two years ago when I first started writing again, or a year and a half ago when Adam and I began working on our previous website, I needed these check-ins so much more than I do now. By now, I almost never cringe and want to run away when I say out loud or see in print the words, “I’m a writer.” Almost never. But that alone is a big step.

Accepting Praise for my Writing

Admittedly, I still don’t know how to respond when people say they like my work. Even harder is when people say things like “you’re a truly gifted writer,” as a friend of mine said after I shared this World AIDS Day piece. I would love to be able to graciously accept compliments like that and not feel like I want to hide because I don’t deserve them. I want to evict the brain-weasel that keeps reminding me that people who say things like that to me are lying. I’ve been trying. It’s a long, and as yet unsuccessful process. I may never evict that brain-weasel, but perhaps I can tame it a little. If only I could figure out what kinds of treats a brain weasel likes…

I’ve probably written somewhere around a hundred thousand words in the past year, just for 2 Rules of Writing alone. That doesn’t count the words I’ve written for things that aren’t on the website. I still find it incomprehensible that I’ve written that many words. Especially when a typical novel aimed at adults is somewhere between 70,000 and 120,000 words. Memoirs and non-fiction, too, which is more the kind of thing I write. So I’ve written the equivalent of a book this year? Really? I’ve joked about the title of my memoir (and I’ve even got a poem in progress riffing on that idea) but I never imagined I’d have written it already. 

A hundred thousand words for this website, and most of them are some combination of grief, trauma and politics. That sounds like one tasty cookie to me. How about you? 

Recommitting to my Project

I talk about what I do as “humanizing trauma.” And I’ve discussed the experience of spending so much time writing about trauma before. I wrote that article before Uvalde. Before Club Q. Before the destruction of Roe v Wade and Don’t Say Gay and all of the other things I’ve written about this year. My experiences since then, if anything, have confirmed that this is what I do. I can admit that I’m actually good at taking a traumatic situation and telling the human story behind it.

I suppose it’s how I bring the social work part of me together with the writer part of me, in the same way that William Carlos Williams did a lot of his writing on prescription pads, allowing him to blend his work as a physician with his work as a writer. Even if you’ve got a doctor’s penmanship, a prescription pad is just the right size to write something like this:

The Red Wheelbarrow


so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

William Carlos Williams

And this platform here has given me the social worker’s equivalent of that prescription pad.

Finding my Voice, Even if Nobody Hears It

My social work training focuses on macro practice. It’s about systemic changes that affect large groups of people. Although my platform here isn’t that large, I still keep the same broad focus  when I write these stories. It’s taken me a long time to see the way the work I do as a writer is a piece of the work I’ve done as a social worker. I shouldn’t be surprised. “Social worker” is just another label. I knew that I couldn’t just dismiss my labels. That I’d always be a queer, Jewish, disabled writer. And a social worker.

I’ve still spent hours worrying about the pigeonhole. Being the kind of writer whose books end up on the special shelves in the bookstore. Where people say “oh she’s that (adjective) writer who wrote…”  With each piece I write it becomes more and more obvious that it isn’t a choice. I write about the things I know about. That I care about. If that leaves my work on a special shelf, it’s because I’ve done my job as a writer.  That doesn’t mean I haven’t spent hours agonizing over whether I wanted to be a Big Q Queer Writer or a little q queer writer not realizing that I wasn’t really going to make a conscious choice about it. That I’d discover I’d made that choice through my choice of subjects to write about. 

Year in Review: My Growth as a Writer

With all the writing I’ve done, of course I’ve grown as a writer. Enough that when Adam was editing something for me a couple of weeks ago and sent me a message that said “you’re doing a great job using rhetorical periods” (meaning that he thought I was using the rhythm of words to convey emotion in a way that strengthened the points i was trying to make) I didn’t argue. I did express genuine surprise. I’ve gotten compliments for my writing before. But it’s usually for focusing on a particular story in a particular way. This was a stylistic compliment. Which I’m not used to. But if I keep improving I’ll have to find a way to get used to it. Or just get flustered every time. 

So I guess I’m coming into my own voice as a writer. Which is not something I ever thought I’d do when I was starting out. It’s been interesting to journey back into our archives and see the early pieces from the first half of 2021 that we put online. I can read them and see exactly where Adam’s voice overtakes mine. As I journey through the archives I can also see how his voice takes over less than it used to.

Growing as a Writer means Taking up Space

I’ve learned to push back a lot more when editors make changes that don’t sit right with me. Sometimes that means asking why. Sometimes it’s saying “no,” which is so very difficult for me. Hand in hand with that, though, goes the awareness of weaknesses in my own writing that I hadn’t been able to identify before. There are times when I’ll draft something and leave a note in the comments that talks about what I’m trying to say and why I want to say it but asking for help with the language. I’m actually proud of that part. Because it means I’ve moved from “everything I write is terrible,” to “there’s something worth working with here, but I still don’t know how to do this.” 

I don’t get so upset or ashamed when I don’t know how to knit a particular stitch. I make a note of it and find ways to try and learn. Writing shouldn’t be any different. My own voice is so much stronger, and my confidence so much higher than it was a year or two ago. I believe that I might actually be a writer. There’s value to my words and thoughts, I just need to learn how to organize them and put them out there for people to see.

I’ve also become more confident as an editor, too. I’ve gone from just barely being comfortable making a minor grammar correction to recognizing when something is hiding underneath the words on the page. That was last year. Suddenly this year I’ve found myself making actual comments: “Why is this here,” “Is this the best word for that,” “Did you know the history of this thing and choose to write it that way anyway? For what purpose? Does it need an editorial note about it?” I still question Adam’s judgment sometimes when he allows me to edit things. It’s no longer because I don’t see my contributions as valuable but because I’m still working towards making contributions that will make things stronger without changing the voice behind the piece. And in my own work, I do less self-editing as I go, and more overall editing at the end. 

Leave Room for Writer’s Block

Writing used to be a trauma for me. Now it’s a tool for growth and improvement. I’m still an anxious mess about some things, but when it comes to writing? I’ve battled my way through writer’s block two or three times in the past year. I still worry when it happens. I’m not sure that I’ll ever stop worrying about it. I’ve also learned that worrying about it is part of the cycle now. The writer’s block happens. I worry endlessly about it. Talk about it a few times. Make a few false starts with new pieces. Eventually, I find something to write about.

Sometimes the solution is to ride it out. Other times, as it was a month or two ago, the solution is to take Adam’s advice and “go back to basics.” The worry has changed, too. There’s less worry about “will I ever write again,” and more “what’s the story that I’m trying to tell, and how am I getting in my own way in trying to tell it?” The words will come back. Being kind and patient with myself is important. There are always going to be stories to tell.

Taking up Space as a Writer means Taking up Space in Other Ways, Too

Writing has changed me in other ways, too. Maybe it’s because of the things I’ve been dredging up from my own past and talking about. Maybe it’s because I’ve learned new ways to use my words. I’ve gotten better at not ignoring my own feelings in the hopes of not hurting others’. I’ve learned that sometimes I can push back. That my “no,” does matter. And so does my “yes.” With all the writing I’ve done about rape and sexual assault, this isn’t surprising. What did surprise me was how much more often I’ve been able to say “I’m a rape survivor,” instead of “I’m a sexual assault survivor.”

That’s not the only difficult thing I’ve been able to say. Sometimes I say, “I want to do that but I can’t do it myself. I can help with it though.” With all the time I’ve spent in a healthcare setting recently, I’ve been more apt to speak up and say: “I’m not comfortable with that,” or: “That’s not working for me.” 

I’ve changed. My writing has changed. I swear more. Laugh more. Cry more. I feel more genuine, more authentic, more truthful than I have in a very long time. I’m not entirely whole yet, but there’s a wholeness that’s returning to my life after a long absence. Writing has led me to the places I needed to visit in order to find that wholeness again. 

Year in Review: Wishes for Next Year

My birthday wishes for us at 2 Rules of Writing are not particularly complicated. I want us to continue to grow, to develop partnerships like the ones we’ve developed for ourselves with The Lavender Librarian or Transworld of Queer Shitposting. To bring even more wonderful work from the writers we’ve been working with and the new writers we can bring on board. I want our readership to grow. I want to keep creating the vision we had, with all the things Adam and I have said to each other about a supportive environment and helping emerging writers. And maybe it’s a really selfish wish because it’s about me and not 2 Rules of Writing, but I’d like to finally, actually, get to spend some time face to face with Adam in person and not across a computer screen.

If I take one thing away from the journey so far, it’s this:

There’s value in my words. Value in my writing even if no one reads those words or loves those words but me. Those words preserve a moment in time. They are a record of being here. Of being present now. They’re a way for someone to remember or to learn about now, whether that’s a week, a year or a thousand years from now. Simon and Garfunkel sing a song called “Bookends.” It’s a lovely guitar tune with only two verses. The second verse says:

Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They’re all that’s left you

Some things can’t be captured in a photograph. And I have the privilege of capturing some of those things in words. They may not be as powerful as Nick Ut’s photo of Kim Phuc Phan Thi (the “Napalm Girl” photo,) but they tell the story of now. When someone is sitting in their tin can, far above the earth, far into the future, they might have these words to tell them about what some queer, Jewish disabled person thought and saw and cared about in 2022.

Happy Birthday 2 Rules of Writing. I’m looking forward to many more.