A never-ending January...
A Letter from the Homestead recapping January. ✍️ Inside: how a play cheered me up in a dark January, first quarter writing goals, and lipstick pics.
Emily Dickinson called her Amherst home “The Homestead.” I lovingly call my apartment in St. Louis the same thing (though I definitely get out more than Dickinson). This monthly newsletter is my attempt to work through what it feels like to put down roots as a writer in my own Homestead.
The January blues got me— but watching my friend perform my play got me through the last days of the longest month.
We had a genuine snowfall this January in St. Louis. At first, it was lovely. Snow! So pretty! Everything slows down for a while! But the freezing temperatures kept the snow and ice scattered on the ground until (checks watch) the start of February.
Normally, I love the stillness of this time of year. The quiet gets me writing and working, warm in my apartment and cuddled by cats. But this year, the snow did not agree with me. January was hard.
The bright light of January was watching my friend Marcy perform my one-person play The Pavement Kingdom. All the way through the end of January, I was a total grump, but the 55-minutes that Marcy took the stage for this play were golden. It reminded me how often our own creations can be instruments of grace to our own souls.
The Pavement Kingdom was my first attempt at writing a one-person, monologue play. I began thinking about a project like this when I first saw the original Fleabag monologue—not the series, but the monologue-play that Phoebe Waller-Bridge first performed at EdFringe. After making it through the writing of my own monologue-play, I’m convinced that it’s a meaningful writerly challenge, especially for actors.
I’d love to see more actors use their performance instincts to guide them in writing their own pieces. A solo-play is more about spinning a yarn than writing “a play.” It’s also a great exercise in self-editing. You can’t include everything in a solo-play; you have to make decisions about the exact story you’re telling. It’s not a therapeutic exercise. It’s a play.
All of this to say, I was a grump for a lot of January. The early days of the month held a lot of loss for people close to me. And the weeks of cold and ice didn’t help.
But I found my lightness again after watching my friend perform, a performance brought to life by our director Rachel and stage manager Celeste. How lovely to know that the work we make can save us when we need it.
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Side note, if you are a performer who wants to experiment with writing a solo-play, check out my free workbook! I had a grant to write this playwriting workbook last year, and it’s free to download on my website.
My first quarter writing goals for 2025 ✍️
For 2025, I’m making an effort to think of my writing projects in terms of quarters. My work year naturally falls into these divisions anyway, and I want to make the most of that rhythm. I’m getting a little better at figuring out how long writing projects take, so hopefully this plan is a good one. (Let’s hope!)
Finish Wild Nights: a sleepover hosted by Emily Dickinson, during which we hope to see the Face of God. I have a Regional Arts Commission grant to complete this play and do some workshopping. I’d like to have a reading scheduled by April. So far, I’ve trucked along through the first 20 or so pages of this sleepover play. I’m aiming for a 75 page script. I’ve spent a long time thinking over this project—when January arrived, I was ready to write. Originally, it was going to be Emily Dickinson’s Funeral Home, but I like the tween girl sleepover conceit better.
Next 30,000 words of new novel project. My agent asked me to go ahead and start drafting a sequel to the novel she’s currently trying to sell. Last year, I wrote about 30,000 words of this new project (that’s the first third of a 90k novel project). In quarter one, I hope to write the next 30k words.
Get out of the house to write. I just get too sleepy at home. And boy do I love a nap. This quarter, I want to get in a rhythm of leaving my house to write. Coffee shop, library, etc. Anywhere that doesn’t have my bed.
What I’m reading this month…
Life after Life: A Groundbreaking Exploration of Near-Death Experiences and the Transformative Insights into the Afterlife, Backed by Scientific Study and Personal Testimonies by Raymond Moody. In my new Emily Dickinson play, there’s a lot of talk about death. This is an older book about near-death experiences. Very spooky. Very cool.
The Waste Land (and other poems) by T.S. Eliot. Did you know that T.S. Eliot’s childhood home in St. Louis is now a parking lot owned by AT&T? I didn’t. The metaphor (of “the waste land”) is almost too good to be true, maybe even too easy. I have the beginnings of a play idea for this. I think I’m finally ready to write a St. Louis-specific piece. Maybe this is the idea?
How I made money this month $$$
I believe freelance artists should be more upfront about how they support themselves financially, rather than maintaining the illusion they are fully supported by their art (they usually aren’t). This is me attempting to live out that principle. So, here are all the ways I brought in money to the Homestead for the month of January.
Teaching artist work for Prison Performing Arts. Teaching a weekly writing workshop on Zoom and teaching Spoken Word regularly for two men’s prisons. Also going to rehearsals for Little Women Town.
Playwright fee for The Pavement Kingdom.
Paid Substack subscriptions. Thank you to all of my paid subscribers. It means the world to me you make a financial contribution to my work.
February is here. I hope you find some lightness now that January is behind us.
Yours,
Courtney, Mistress of the Homestead, and Old Linus and Noble Midge. 🐈 🐈⬛
P. S. Do you enjoy Letters from the Homestead? It would mean the world to me if you shared it with a friend.
And I’m always very grateful to paid subscribers, who help support my work.