Midnight Missives are late-night notes, passed from me to you. It's not a "newsletter." Think of them as a chat with a fellow writer friend, when the armor comes off. "A night," as Jewel says, "without armor."
This is a space for creative interrogation, for late-night thoughts on art and writing and being a woman in those spaces and being a human in the universe and how it all fits together. I feel like I’m most expansive late at night, that midnight hour when truth comes for a visit. And muses. And stars. I like the idea of spending some of those midnight minutes with all of you.
I will never try to sell you anything here. No coaching or classes or books.
I will never be making announcements or reminding you to sign up for something or anything like that. (Except to sign up for the missives themselves, if you haven't already).
All missives will be sent at midnight, in whatever time zone I’m currently in.
Sometimes you won’t get a missive for days and days. Then, one week, there might be three. Sometimes you will read them, and sometimes you won’t bother. Sometimes they will be hella long or just a haiku. No boxes, man. We’re breaking free.
I promise to be honest, raw, real. They will not be polished. That doesn’t help me or you. I’m writing for me, and I try really hard not to bullshit myself, which means I won’t bullshit you. Raw thought crystals.
My hope is that after you read these, maybe late at night, maybe not, you’ll put all these words aside, sit quiet and do like Whitman does in his poem, "A Clear Midnight":
THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
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