All farewells should happen in spring.
Here is a Letter from the Homestead recapping March. Inside: a tender goodbye to Old Linus, checking in on writing goals, what I'm reading, & etc.
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.
Springtime losses.
All farewells should happen in the spring. Easier to say goodbye to an old friend when the days are longer and the hyacinths are fresh. Any gloom you feel won’t be reinforced by the weather. Nothing to look at in springtime except life.
I said goodbye to Old Linus this month, my eighteen year-old cat who I’ve loved since I was a teenager myself. My parents brought him to St. Louis last fall since they were doing quite a lot of traveling, and I became his primary nurse. At my parents’, he wasn’t allowed to sleep in the bed, but the last months of his life saw his mornings cuddled up by my side— no rules in my house. Sheets can always be washed.
It was awful to realize the end was here. He’d stopped eating and drinking; he’d taken to just going limp in my arms and giving me an occasional pained meow. He was tired. He was full of sleep, resting up for the next journey.
I learned an interesting lesson while caring for Old Linus for about eight months. From the moment he was dropped off in St. Louis, I anticipated his death, aware that he was older than any other cat I’d met. I celebrated when he made it to Halloween. Laughed when he traveled with me to Georgia for Thanksgiving. And I was sure he’d live another year when Valentine’s came. He kept on, happy with his favorite things: water from the bathroom sink, baby food jars, and a perch where he could watch the starlings in the black walnut tree.
I daily watched for death while caring for Old Linus. And while he lived, I watched others close to me watch for death as well— two fathers of friends gone after Christmas. And other beloved pets of friends, too. It made me aware of how the deathwatch never ends, something I know in theory, but didn’t feel until each morning I checked to see if the old cat next to me was still breathing.
An appropriate lesson for Lent, of course. Remember you will die. And remember that everyone else will die, too.
But the spring still comes.
Checking in on my “quarter one” writing goals ✍️
In my January newsletter, I listed out three writing goals for the first quarter of 2025:
Goal #1: Finish my new play, WILD NIGHTS: a 1990s sleepover party hosted by Emily Dickinson, during which we hope to see the Face of God.
I finished my first draft in mid-March, and I’m having friends over for a reading in a week. I never know exactly how a play will land until I see people reading it, and I’ve learned that the circumstances of the reading are just as vital as the playtext itself. You don’t just “read a play”; you make people good food, you crank the AC so everyone is comfortable, you buy champagne, and you make sure that everyone is ready to sit down a read your play for two hours.
I really believe this.
Working as a playwright means working in hospitality, especially in the early life of a play. And then if you are lucky enough to participate in the process as it goes to production, you maintain that posture of hospitality. You are the voice in the back of actors’ minds as they rehearse your play. You are responsible for the mini-world they’re living in during rehearsals and production. You better make sure the voice in their heads is a pleasant one.
Goal #2: Write next 30,000 words of new novel project.
My agent asked me to work on the sequel to the novel she’s trying to sell right now (dear Lord, please let it sell). I’ve not done so well with this writing goal. I’ve maybe written 10,000 words in the new year—and every word feels like a gamble since the first novel isn’t even sold yet.
I’m enjoying the work; it’s just going slow. I have some hope for the month of April, though.
Goal #3: Get out of the house to write.
I’ve ventured out a little to write, but mostly I’ve worked (and napped) at home. My late thirties have one refrain: sleep, sleep, sleep.
One thing I’m looking forward to this fall is teaching a dramatic writing workshop at a local college. I’m hoping that being on a college campus and close to coffee shops will make me more inclined to be “out” on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the mornings.
What I’m reading this month…
Open Socrates: The Case for a Philosophical Life by Agnes Callard. Admittedly, I bought this book because of the cover art. Socrates is interesting! The argument about Socrates (so I am gathering) is that it is wise to admit you know nothing and to keep asking questions. Maybe I learned this in Intro to Philosophy in college? I cannot recall. I know nothing. Socrates would be pleased.
Confessions by St. Augustine. I forgot I picked this up years ago from a friend when they were giving away old books. It’s been good Lent reading. I even found my friend’s old Amtrak ticket from 2007 scrunched inside the pages.
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 March.
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.
Artist fee for being a guest artist at a play festival.
Artist fee for directing and dramaturging a staged reading.
An inheritance gift from the death of my granny in 2022. ❤️
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.
I am going to make a lamb cake this year. 🐑
Easter is on the way, and I am determined to make a lamb cake. I’ve bought a mold. I’m watching tutorials. I will be doing a practice round. Maybe multiple practice rounds. Bid me good luck.
Tonight starts a new month.
Yours,
Courtney, Mistress of the Homestead, and Noble Midge 🐈⬛
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And I’m always very grateful to paid subscribers, who help support my work.