Hi friends,
I have some exciting news to share with you today:
Some of you might already know that in a few weeks, I’ll be starting the MFA program at Sarah Lawrence as a Randall Jarrell Non-Fiction Fellow. It’s finally starting to feel real—I’ve gotten coffee in the park with a fellow Bed-Stuyer making the trek to Yonkers every week, I’ve chatted with classmates on the phone and over Slack, and I’ve read my first workshop syllabus cover-to-cover about ten times. I’m excited! nervous! anxious! thrilled! all at once.
I’m diving all in—along with the fellowship and scholarship funding, I’m cobbling together whatever I can from freelance writing assignments and miscellaneous other gigs for rent and food and those fun things instead of getting a 9-5 and trying to split my attention.
This means I’ll have some extra time and brain space to devote to this newsletter, which is really the thing that started it all. Before this experiment (which only had 16 subscribers when I first sent it out!) I never even considered that I could make a living doing the kind of writing I felt really, truly compelled to do. And then 16 people grew to… way more than 16 people… and suddenly, I was not only getting more comfortable with my own voice, I was getting much more comfortable sharing it.
So, what does this mean for this space?
If you’re on the list or sign up for free, you’ll keep getting sporadic emails just like you have been. They’ll be little vignettes or essays three or four times a year.
And if you enjoy those and want to read more, I’ll be sending out monthly essays that will go to paid subscribers only. They’ll be new and only shared here. I’m excited to have a little bit of that more personal feel back and to see what they morph into.
You can subscribe here:
You’ll also notice a name change. I’m calling this Horrors, Storied, which I can really thank my friend Robert for. The very first time we met, he asked me what I wrote about. I don’t know why that night was different—why I didn’t just give the same self-deprecating answer I usually did—but I told him I wanted to think about it for a minute instead.
I went to the bathroom and when I came back, after waiting somewhat impatiently for a break in whatever film-centric discussion he and my other friend, Li, were having, I said: “I write about the things that scare the hell out of me.”
It was the first time I’d ever put that into words, but once I did it seemed ridiculously obvious. This has always been a place to examine all the things that I’m too afraid or embarrassed to say out loud. And it will continue to be that, as all my writing is. I’ll be looking hard at all things that are tempting to look away from, whether that’s capitalism or vulnerability or the monsters under my bed. It’s where I figure out how I feel, and how to feel. And hopefully, how to knock the teeth out of some of those monsters along the way. (Metaphorical monsters, mostly. I’d never take Bigfoot down because Bigfoot’s really fucking cool.)
So, please please join me if that’s your thing! And if you enjoy it, it would mean the world to me if you’d share with friends:
Thank you, as always. For reading, for being here, for all your kind and wonderful email replies and notes and comments. Without fail, they make my day, and I’m thrilled to share whatever comes next with you.
—Anni