Author Archive for Adrienne

Parable of the Sower Concert Review/Gush

Terry Marshall of Intelligent Mischief recently articulated this moment we’re in as a Black Renaissance. I concur – we are transforming pain into gold at an impossible speed. I keep turning around and finding something black, brilliant, fantastic, collective, wonderful – I feel in the midst of an artistic explosion, of a people cultivating creativity and joy in the face of genocide and mass produced misery. And Octavia Butler is one of the seed mothers of this moment.

There are some of us who read the Parable of the Sower (and it’s sequel the Parable of the Talents), as sacred text. Butler, the author of these two near-future novels, was a black sci fi writer hermit who died in 2006 after giving us 12 novels, a collection of short stories, and winning the Hugo, Nebula and MacArthur genius grant.

Everything she wrote is provocative and interesting, but in the Parables she cuts in right next to her own story, and many of ours, a black girl creator, surviving. Lauren Olamina is growing up in a gated community in dry, divided California as the government swerves violently to right.

I heard a few years ago that Bernice Johnson-Reagon and Toshi Reagon, mother daughter movement folk singers, were going to make an opera of the Parables. At that time, I fell out with possibility. Then I wished I had lived my life differently, seriously pursued my vocal practice, tightening up my pitch issues, because clearly this was the best thing that could ever happen in life.

As the Opera/concert piece has moved along its iterative process, I’ve been awestruck by the caliber of talent in and around it, while also landing in my own Octavia/sci fi work (I’m in NY because Octavia’s Brood is reading at the Schomberg open house on Wednesday!).

In January there was a first set of Parables concerts. I was out of the country and seriously priced out what it would cost to fly to NYC for one night. Out of my economic capacity.

Then it was in Abu Dhabi, because…of course. Octavia in Abu Dhabi. But again, tickets were researched and too expensive and I was left bereft, so distant from the experience of my dreams.

All of this context is just so you understand a little bit about how ecstatic I was when it was announced that the concert would be in at the Annenberg Center in Philly when I was scheduled to be in NYC, when I priced the trip, when I realized it was possible. I got tears in my eyes buying the tickets. That’s the level of anticipation I took with me on the bus, to Philly, and into the concert.

Because this was a predestined perfect night, I got to eat at White Dog Cafe, which I’ve been hearing about for years – I have tons of respect for its founder Judy Wicks, who is one of the sparks in local living economies work. I shared a meal with my dear friends Sofia Santana, who bussed down with me from NYC, Jennifer Kidwell, and Sham-e-ali. Jennifer, an incredible singer and performer now based in Philly, was part of one of the earlier iterations of the opera. Sham, a poet, had seen the concert the night before and said she’d wept the entire time.

Rasheedah Phillips of Afrofuturist Affair was in the lobby with her sweetheart, we’d all been together at Ferguson is the Future just a couple of weeks ago.

Sofia and I got to the theatre right as the show was starting – I dashed to the bathroom and switched from my bus outfit into something more appropriate for a historic event. It had a belt, pink lipstick, the basics.

The musicians were tuning up in the black box of the theatre. There were twelve chairs in a circle, microphones, a full house audience, and the singers were standing at the edges of the theatre. I recognized vocalists Tamar-Kali and Karma Mayet Johnson, Marcelle Davis Lashley, violinist Juliette Jones. Many of the others were new to me.

Then Toshi came out from the back with a gorgeous smile on her face. I love watching her perform – she sits down surrounded by instruments and immediately makes it feel like we’re just watching her jam out in private, extending ease and intimacy to everyone.

Then the music came. It came up through Toshi, and from the edges of the room. I had to take off my belt right away. The context was set in songs that walked the line between chant, lamentation and praise. We learned that the water was gone, that some were seeking solace in God, and the gifted and gorgeous singer Shayna Small, who sang Lauren Olamina, was feeling a change, feeling everything.

After the second song I turned to Sofia and said “this is a best-experience-of-my-life”. There was a fearlessness about the songs, they were precise and subtle and then deep and full, the pace was just right – the pace respected the way Octavia told this story.

Toshi gave us some context after a few songs. I’m not sure it was needed, it all felt so spiritually correct…but how could I know, I’ve read the text twenty something times.

Toshi spoke at various points throughout, her words always spare and heart opening. As the journey north began, she said, ‘if you don’t know where you are going, you can just make something up and walk on that.’

The main thing I will say about the songs is that as I was hearing them I was deeply satisfied, and when each song passed I wanted to rewind and stay in it, even the songs that covered the hardest moments. Hyper empathy in an apocalypse is painful, the terrifying world changing behind them as Lauren and her crew made their way north, the ideological battles between systems of belief that give and take away responsibility – the Reagons have written songs that allow us to feel all up in this text.

I didn’t know I needed these songs till I was flooded in them.

One of my favorite moments was Toshi inserting a folk singer into the story. She said it was Octavia’s mistake, that when things are going so badly, people need the singers to tell the story, to give them back to themselves. Yes, exactly.

Towards the end of the concert, the songs were straight up Earthseed verses. I kept catching tears all over my face and then getting caught up in wonder, needing to undulate and tap my foot and dance and sing along.

Helga Davis was a sitting closest to us, and her moves were so funky and distinct, Sofia and I couldn’t take our eyes off her.

I walked out after and ran into several magical people, including radical dance artist Althea Baird, both of us wide open and teary eyed. Annie Danger later posted that those of us who’d experienced the show might need a support group to live into the change. Sonia Sanchez was in the audience.

Now I’m glowing from the experience, wanting everything I suffer through, everything I learn, to be sung in chorus by the Reagons. And even as I wonder how I can hear the songs again, I recognize that in this time of instant gratification it is a gift to be given something so rare, so visceral, so about being bodies and hopes and grief in a room together.

Thank you Toshi and Bernice for the vision and the execution. Thank you Eric Ting for the direction – the presentation felt so organic, centering the songs and voices. Thank you Bertilla, Helga, Karma, Tamar-Kali, Morley, Marcelle, Josette, Shayna and Jason for the gift of your voices and the way you became conduits for this crucial story. Thank you Juliette, Robert, Fred and Adam for the music which swelled up the room.

Looking forward to the next iteration.

Closing Remarks to Environmental Grantmakers Association

These are my notes (roughly what I said) for framing the closing plenary of the EGA.

Apocalypse is not in the future. It is a current condition. In places like Detroit, where I live, or New Orleans, where I just was for the ten year anniversary of Katrina…or hearing the news from Syria, or the Marshall Islands where my family lived for a while, the apocalypse is all around us. It is happening now.

Apocalypse is not linear, with an end point. I was raised with a Christian concept of apocalypse….four horses, and scene. But there are places that are post-apocalyptic, people beginning again in toxic soil, surviving after what was an end to the economy or environment as we knew it.

Apocalypse and temporary utopia co-exist. We are all interconnected, which means we are all, right now, living in an apocalyptic time. When I go to California I take three minute showers and don’t flush anything, then I leave and I go back to “normal”, instead of holding that the water crisis is interconnected.

The reality now is that there is no science that can account for our future. According to Movement Generation, we are living in the effects of our technology and pollution from 40 years ago, it takes that long for the impacts to fully show up. In 40 years we will feel our impact now! There is no science, no math, nothing to account for the survival of places like New Orleans. Now is a time for imagination and magic that can move us beyond what we think is politically possible now, which is simply not enough.

This is why I write science fiction (after spending so long in social justice work). To cultivate radical imagination. I believe, Octavia’s Brood proposes, that all organizing is science fiction, all efforts to bend the arc of the future towards justice, is science fictional behavior.

How we do that work really matters.

Emergence is the way complex systems and patterns arise out of relatively simple interactions (give examples). We are all interconnected. Denying that, we die. Surrendering to that, we live.

Relationship is key! Relationship, quality relationship, may in fact be everything. To create a shift, we have to learn to be in authentic relationship with, to listen to, voices that are ‘on the ground’.

What does that mean for you? Do you just go up to an organizer and write a check? Perhaps. But aligned with the Jemez principles, ground up happens at every level. In your foundations, it means putting more power in the hands of program officers, who are forming relationships with the field. In organizations it means really listening to the organizers in the field for strategy. And so on.

Who do you know how to listen to?

everywhere so full (for Jake Brewer, rip)

everywhere was so full of people
remembering what they’d been told to forget
dying with regrets
too soon or too late
but never on time

you were a man unafraid of the moon
leaning into the small and tender beautiful
of an incomprehensible world
if you were the president
i’d still think you were good

let’s banish the tar from our dreams
in your name
plant trees in shells of the old world of steel
swell against the places wounded with borders

there is this world and then
which one have you gone to
how is it there is no portal
you would have opened one easily
i want you to just explain it is all

in shock i put it aside
lived a day with the story peeking through every window
feeling the no in me forever as a bell
till i could look at your face
and know you
as your children will know you:
in memory

Self Love as a Liberatory Practice for the Future

On Wednesday night I got to have a public conversation with new and old friends about self love.

We spoke at Solespace, my favorite site store /community space in Oakland. They’re in a campaign right now to keep the space open after the city shut down their street. Support the space with donations and spreading the word.

I opened by speaking about Audre Lorde’s Uses of the Erotic, specifically the idea that once you have tasted the pleasure of being so fully alive and self realized, you cannot settle for suffering. She teaches:

“once we begin to feel deeply all the aspects of our lives, we begin to demand from ourselves and from our life-pursuits that they feel in accordance with that joy which we know ourselves to be capable of. Our erotic knowledge empowers us, becomes a lens through which we scrutinize all aspects of our existence, forcing us to evaluate those aspects honestly in terms of their relative meaning within our lives. And this is a grave responsibility, projected from within each of us, not to settle for the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected, nor the merely safe.”

I’m titillated by the implications of a future determined by those who willfully immerse themselves in joy and love for the self. I am obsessed with how love and joy are the actual tools we need to move against the culture of fear and scarcity. We’re experts at deconstruction and tearing systems and each other apart. But if what we pay attention to grows, how can we be more mindful about growing our capacity for love?

I also spoke of building community with those who are also focused on self love and how it shifts accountability. About how I’ve been learning slowly to engage self loving behaviors and disengage from behaviors that harm myself. That there is a way that truly loving myself makes clear how interconnected I am to other people, to this planet…makes it harder to do harm. I spoke of Somatics and healing as a way to understand that I am more than my trauma, that I can be a part of communities organized around collective and liberatory longing. I spoke of how grief has made self love more crucial, because I have to love not only myself, but the ancestors and ghosts I carry, their wisdom.

Jodie then spoke of how self love radically changes what we demand from the world and the future. She also spoke of how people on a self love journey in parallel engage in coevolution through friendship – and how this isn’t easy. It means asking each other tough questions about whether the choices we’re making serve that highest purpose of self love.

Jay-Marie spoke on being a deity amongst deities and how her choices in life, including leaving the bay for a massive black lgbt bike tour of the South, participating in the stunning Say Her Name action earlier this year, and pouring her heart into her music, come out of this exploration of self love. Jay-Marie brought tons of people out, drawn in by the light force she’s generating.

Ashara was our final speaker, and she had us in tears as she spoke about this year of her mother’s death and her own near-death experience with overworking to the detriment of her health. She taught us about family, being present to each other’s real emotions, about learning to do work we lOve without sacrificing our bodies in the process. Her 29 year-old son was at the event and wouldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was deeply moving.

Everyone in the room then paired up and got a chance to just see and be seen, feel the attention of another. I was moved by how much laughter and crying happened during this pairing. Each pair shared their own ‘self love front line’, where they know they need to advance their self loving practices.

Finally we brain stormed self love practices together. Here’s the list we started – feel free to add!

Masturbation (‘an orgasm a day keeps the nothing away’)
Shifting relationship to food 
Learning to say no in real time 
Unstructured time to feel myself, follow my intuition  
Notice when I feel alive and happy 
Give myself permission to grow old 
Recognize my body is all I have 
Celebrate self love in self and others 
Jomo…cultivate the joy of missing out 
Self love day!  (Baba’s day – insert your name!)
Sleeping in late 
Waking up early and being quiet 
Silent walks 
Decaf life 
No meeting Wednesdays (or whatever day you choose)
Grow more food 
Care for injuries 
Don’t hate, collaborate
Trust my intuition 
Being in spaces with my community that cultivate healing 
Spending time by the water 
Singing to myself 
Working out 
Playing sports 
Dancing and playing music 
Finding a tree in my neighborhood 
Read more books 
Free writing daily, or often
Less Internet 
Work with clay 
Good one on one interactions 
Making home a safe space 
Animal love 
Feeling land and air 
Let myself be danced by another
Have good sex 
Making out for a really (really) long time 
Put hands in the dirt 

Go forth and love ????????????

black sci fi dreaming (report back from Ferguson is the Future)

so…princeton’s new african american studies department partnered with the octavia butler legacy network to offer up ferguson is the future, a black to the future sci fi love fest extravaganza that took place over the last three days.

there’s a live stream archive, and i live tweeted and instagrammed everything, so i’m not going to cover all of that.

i’m going to instead share the feelings i was left with.

– we make the beautiful moments, we bring the magic with our presence and attention.

– there are many ways to build family, and none of them are fast.

– when the opportunity comes to support other artists, take it. this includes buying things, but also really listening or contemplating the art, dancing to the music, reading the book, seeing the whole.

– be present. when you are actually present you can shape the moment. you can shape by speaking truth, slowing down, letting someone know you appreciate them, suggesting what you most long for, and other small/massive actions.

– children can create the best moments. the 11-year-old and the newborn at the gathering gave me some of my favorite moments of playfulness, sweetness and equality.

– living into your gifts doesn’t take away your humanity. meeting all these sci-fi deities was so humbling. i was daunted at the task of facilitating them, and then i got there, and each one of them was kind, visionary, figuring out life, and just…just wonderful. i miss them all, i want to time travel back to their laughter.

– to love others in this world is to see in them the same humanity and flaw-possibility that i see in myself. it’s liberating.

– we cannot change others, but we can change ourselves and in doing so change everything. complexity.

– mentoring can happen in a moment.

– transformation can happen by witnessing someone else in their wholeness.

– being deep in my life’s work makes me feel beautiful.

– walidah imarisha is a powerful human being who has changed my life and i’m so grateful for her and for Octavia’s Brood.

– i love sci fi, i love black and brown people creating our freedom with zero apologies.

now, finally, sleep.


Flying on September 11.
I once believed I could never do this.
This isn’t the first time.
The number 911 is in my life almost daily, I notice 9:11, am or pm.
I spent the morning on the phone with IRS explaining how I chose not to pay federal taxes into the wars that came after 9/11.
The skyline still looks empty and small to me.
I’m still an anticapitalist.
I still remember hearing my dad’s voice for the first time that day after his office was destroyed and making some new agreements with the universe.
Being an adult at the moment of 9/11 seems a more clear generational marker than any other I know.

(9 sentences.
Or 11.)

37 gratitudes

1. My life.

2. My mother, carrying me, loving every iteration of me.

3. My father, at my back, thinking always of my safety.

4. My sisters. Warrior rock comrades and best friends. So glad you chose this family, with me in it, and have grown it/us with true love.

5. The gift of writing, the place I know myself.

6. My loves, my woes, my partners, each of you have grown up my heart – you orient me all the time towards my highest self.

7. Finn, 8. Siobhan, 9. Mairead and 10. Summer. 11 & 12. The Unnamed.

13. Emergence – surrendering to, and falling in love with, change.

14. Octavia’s Brood. When the time comes, I’ll die satisfied.

15. Facilitation. Giving me, over and over, hope for humanity and earth.

16. Somatics. Teaching me I’m more than my trauma, and letting me experience so much aliveness.

17. Black lives matter. This work, in my lifetime? Thank you all.

18. Dreaming, for the wisdom and wonder. I can’t believe so much of my waking life is spent dreaming and making dreams come true.

19. The places where sky meets water. The sound of summer. The first snow. The wild and calm ocean. The forever stars. Heart beats. This particular planet, this particular universe.

20. Grief – carving me out over and over, making me so spacious inside.

21. Tarot, pendant, horoscope, guides, witchiness and intuition…it helps so much to not know anything, but with some sense of patterns. I love being magical.

22. Sugar. You’ve gotten me to here. No hard feelings. I needed you.

23. Adela, Lisa, Mia, Anna and other healers who have made my body more whole.

24. Weed. Whiskey too. And moderation.

25. Pleasure, in every iteration.
Being a body of nerves in a sensual world and saying yes. (And, I’m learning, no.) Being prolific and alone, laughing with others, complete release, anticipation, joy. Yes.

26. Reading. Reading voraciously. Grateful for the physical and emotional places I’ve been through pages. Playing scrabble (and bananagrams) for the love of words.

27. Happy style: the celebration of my gorgeous body through clothing and adornment.

28. The privilege of traveling freely in this beautiful world. Feeling home in so many places, with so little.

29. Song – singing just for me, singing to heal, singing with others. Song/poems that measure moments in my life (both sides now, all is full of love, purple rain and adore, man in the mirror, a song for you, 22nd century, misty blue, strangefruit, cheek to cheek, home and so on)

30. My ghosts and ancestors, so thick with me these days.

31. Dancing.

32. ‘Never a mistake, always a lesson.’

33. The writers who shaped me, and left room for me.

34. Beyonce. The women artists, mothers, athletes, activists, and academics who keep me looking up and ahead.

35. The unknown. Ok, keep surprising me.

36. Complexity. I know nothing, I know everything. I am nothing, I am everything.

37. Self love. This shit is exquisite.

something rotten

i came home from a summer of writing on the west coast feeling like a late blooming novelist, centered in what i am here to do. i opened a cabinet in my kitchen that i immediately had to close again. there was something terrifying and alive and putrid in the cabinet, something that had been growing in my absence. i didn’t want to ever look again, to know what was inside, to smell it….no. no no no.

but i live alone and there isn’t really a service to do this kind of thing for you. so an hour later i had on rubber gloves, a face mask, and half a tube of clorox bleach wipes to scrape the bag of rotten and transformed potatoes and maggots and flies out of the cabinet and out of my home.

i did it. i neither fainted nor threw up. and i can’t stop thinking about it.

it feels exactly like the emotional work i have been up to for some time. going past what the world sees, opening up all these doors down deep in my psyche, in my memory, in my choices, in my heart. finding the places that i want to slam shut and run away from, and instead reaching my hand, my attention, in.

it what i feel when i walk around my neighborhood now in Detroit. there are fences and strangers everywhere, people smiling as they get their cars valet parked, patrols every other block. there is so much rot under these new developments. i miss the place i moved to. but when i open the cabinet, i have to really think a lot about being a gentrifier, dipping in and out of this place as it’s face changes – how am i perpetuating this? how do i divest from the erasure and displacement of Detroit?

‘you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land’
warsan shire

rotten is how it feels looking at the picture of aylan, the syrian baby that washed up on turkey’s shore. i could imagine how he felt in his parents’ arms. i sat with the picture of him and wept, overwhelmed. in this case, opening the cabinet and reaching into the rotten place doesn’t just mean pointing at europe…it’s sitting with my role in this – how long have i been skimming over news from syria? why did it take this image to make me pay more attention? what can i do? i signed the petitions, but what else?

there is so much that is rotten in this world right now, so much we don’t turn and face. i mostly focus on the miraculous, beautiful, evolutionary…but it’s not for lack of seeing. it’s out of desperation, out of a need to grow something good in this violent and unfair world.

and then as always i wonder: what can we do to manage all of this simultaneous crisis and trauma?

i don’t know. to a humbling and quieting degree, i don’t know. i am learning to heal, learning to write the rotten honestly, learning to see myself in the dark.

but also, i have only just gotten the cabinet open, i am only just looking inside.

my #blackaugust575 haikus

This was my third year participating in Black August 5-7-5, a black liberation spiritual practice month. Here’s what I created:

Aug 2

Sun all up and close
Warm your broken heart on us
We are all black love

Moon when night has come
Let the violent tide roll out
We reflect all life


Aug 6

Took my black out wild
Set her free on the mountain
She won’t stop howling

Bare black and cold sea
Before and after scorched sun
She can’t stop howling

Rode waves and forgot
To be cautious or withheld
She howls with laughter

The universe knows
My name, my gifts, my shadows
She has been calling

I’m naked, again
Beginning it all, again
First: my life matters

Then: our lives matter
Our failure and forgiveness
Opens the future

Then: our time matters
Go wilder, go in on joy
Massive black love joy

– #blackaugust575
From British Columbia


Aug 7

We grieve babies
Braid their names into our hair
Sing them new stories

Memories don’t sleep
We tell our grief to the moon
She gives us ocean


Aug 8

Always Anyanwu
Telling Doro ‘be gentle
You’re killing your heart’

We swallow the years
We learn to heal from within
Our children will win


Aug 9

We wish you were here
We wish you were a stranger
August always child

We love you so much
We remember your story
We send you on home

– for Mike Brown


Aug 12

Arrested black girl
Head high, hands high, deep center
Walks with dignity

– for Ferguson


Aug 13

Sitting in silence
And then sun salutations
Now I am ready


Aug 14

Stand in the circle
Let your dignity shine bright
You have that blackness

Stand in the circle
Cast yourself wide as ocean
You of these people

Stand in the circle
Place yourself in the lineage
You are right on time

Stand in the circle
Tell me what you came to do
With your black body

Now move, change, center
Change change change change change change change
With brilliant blackness

– towards a Black Somatics
#blackaugust575 #blacklivesmatter #blackbodiesmatter


Aug 16

Now Julian Bond
Becoming ancestor now
Get that deep rest now


Aug 18

Black love remembers
Outside of this time and place
Our miracle selves


Aug 21

Black girls in the woods
Naked again in daylight
Sun and tree love us

That hippy ass shit
Will get us all the way free
The berries are sweet

Don’t forget the earth
When you have a prayer to lift
Press all the way down

Don’t forget your skin
When you have to carry dreams
Cast them into black


Aug 29

Swamp heat knows our names
Trees remember our black weight
The water our taste


Aug 29

Let go with the moon
She moves oceans, she’ll move you
She’ll lift your burden

10 random and possibly funny reflections from my hedgebrook retreat

1. my favorite is when i am being all brave and going along in nature and then something scares me. the moment when i jump out of my skin and then have to crawl back in and self-soothe, every time, i find quite humorous. like:

mood: brave
fact: a sound happens in the woods
reaction: jump directly and painfully into a tree, twisting around slow motion matrix style to confront the monstrous face of evil
actual fact: a tiny bird hops again and becomes visible to me. i giggle self-consciously, then it flies away.

mood: little red riding hood in the snow
fact: an invisible wolf knocks me down and nearly swallows my head before i can scream, ‘viva la revolucion!’
reaction: set hypothermia timer in my head and decide which parts of my body can be self-sustenance.
literal fact: i tripped and fell in snow and my sister saw it and helped me. (throwback self-shame)

mood: harriet tubman heading north
fact: a sound happens in the woods shortly after i see a mysterious poop on the path
reaction: immediate django on all nearby leaves that might be hiding coyote
tangible fact: a chipmunk darts across the path, totally not scared of me at all in spite of my size and reasoning advantages.

mood: jane goodall on an evening walk
fact: spider attacks me, trying to get me to drop my flashlight
reaction: ‘i’m melting!!!! no but seriously, where is my pocket knife to x cut my face when it bites me, and where is an australian to suck the venom out? foiled!!! give my fancy shoes to my nibblings, it’s over!!!’
truthy fact: spider is minding it’s business in tree. and actually spider yawns in my face.

2. i got high (whidbey island dispensary right by goose market, no card needed!) and went for a walk in the woods. it was outstanding. everything in there had something to say and it felt personally wonderful to me, the way the light pierced the trees, the pine needle carpet. i felt far away from the world, and safe, even with all the wildness, or perhaps, finally, because of it.

3. janet mock stayed in this guesthouse before me. and gloria steinem, alice walker, naomi shahib nye, ursula le guin. no pressure.

4. a bird flew into the window over my desk today. i’d heard the sound before but never up close enough to realize what it was. i ran outside and there was the stunned bird, shaking it’s head as if trying to get it’s tiny brain back into a pinball slot. i talked to it soothingly until i had an internal moment of realizing that the gigantic monster i am to this bird might not be soothing no matter how much i coo. then i looked around and saw another dead bird.

reaction: run away screaming.

i returned and saw that actually all around my guesthouse is a little nature graveyard. there are other dead birds, mice-rats and creatures under the brush. i thought, life really is death. i came back with a busted up seed cracker for the bird and tossed it his way. when i returned later he was gone. i then considered this whole diversion research, because i do actually need to understand the sights and smells of decomposition for my novel. thanks collaborator bird, i hope you are alive.

5. there is a mood to what i am writing: it is grief stricken and terrified. as i write it i am comforting myself as i do immediately after a death or crisis – cookies, ice cream, butter on bread. even biting my nails. consuming the world. i feel a little guilt around this until i remember what i am writing about, what place i am taking myself to every day, who i’m spending my days with: ghosts of beloved people and places. i am having a crisis response in the midst of being immensely well nourished, well rested and cared for.

i should write a book about a woman on retreat the next time i go on retreat, to reap the full benefits.

6. dreamt i had a conversation with drake. about serena. it went like this:

me: i am really pleased with the direction you’re moving in.

drake: i’m sayin! she’s fantastic. she makes me laugh.

me: she’s the best.

drake: yeah and she is the best at something that takes actual skill. not charm. i’m the best at charm. but she is the best at something that requires physical, emotional and mental superiority. woe on fleek times legend.

me: there is justice in this world, that you see that. and she’s gorgeous.

drake: unbelievable. like unbelievable. AND farrakhan dissed her publicly for her outfits!

at this point we both do that thing where you spread your hands and shrug like, ‘does it get any better’?

me: don’t mess it up. be worth her attention.

drake nods seriously.

7. i wrote a novel. i wrote a fucking novel. i drafted it during nanowrimo last year, and then worked it over, and over, and over…such that now i could imagine other people reading it for feedback. there are sections of it i understand. i did that. late blooming novelist, new title.

8. it is hard to color outside the lines and communicate. it is hard to be inside of a particular and beloved box, to have become something else while inside the box, then to be reaching out with words that only transmit by moonlight. when someone says, ‘what are you doing?’…i am writing, i mean, a story, i am a sorceress, it’s about magic and grief, it’s about america, it’s 713,000 metaphors for gentrification. and you?

9. my world is so small. everyone i meet is basically my first cousin by love, art or movement. thus my love stories have no endings, and every world has to be infinite.

10. everyone please read ursula le guin’sthe birthday of the world, from the foreword to the last word. we might need a reading group on the story ‘paradises lost’.

so all that to say: all women, do hedgebrook at least once in your life.