Desert Dreaming

Some updates, some complaints, and a brand-new paperback

Not yet, but soon.

I write to you from the end of a year that has managed to wring me out every way except—somehow—creatively. I have had work drama. I have had visa drama. I have had book drama. I keep finding myself in high-stakes scenarios that call for me to scrape the barrel on my reserves of diplomacy and grace. And then demand I do it again.

Now, at this ragged end of it, I have something glowing to look forward to. I am in the midst of (temporarily) folding up my life in New York as I prepare to spend the next few months in Las Vegas, working on my new book, Tough Love. I adore Vegas. I got married there a couple years ago. Then my husband and I went back a year later just because of how much we liked it. Now we get to live there for a few months. I have people there, and beloved haunts, and an apartment right by one of the greatest independent bookstores I’ve ever visited. And—best of all—time to write.

I’m in the thick of all the unsexy parts of prep, like calling car insurance companies and asking them to perform a risk analysis of my life and decision-making, which is tantamount to paying a big faceless entity a whack of money to do in six-month increments what I’ve been doing for free every day of my life. I am eyeing warily all the bottles of sauces and dressings in my fridge that I’ll have to prematurely dump before I make my exit. One of the items on my to-do list is simply “buy a car (lol).”

I’m reminded of the opening lines from an essay that I love, by my friend Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer, in Hazlitt—“There has been much grief. Change does not slip around me with ease. I do not go gently.” Yes. Then comes the turn—“But little by little, I become convinced. I have seen something new—a glimmer of truth in the rent fabric of my universe—and, just as they say, once you see, you cannot unsee.” It’s an essay about desire; about cracking open the hinge on your life so you can cram more life in, the kinds of things you actually want to stuff it with rather than just the material that, through the accumulations of time and habit and convenience, happen to be there. I do not go gently, either. (To put it mildly.) And yet, I don’t think I’ve ever been as ready to upend my day-to-day as I am now. To see something new.

Maybe I’m being dramatic because every time I go to the desert, some big, life-rearranging thing happens to me whether I plan for it or not. Exhibit A, I went to the desert and got married. Exhibit B, I went to the desert and got laid off. Who knows what will happen this time?

The book; that’s what. I’ve not felt this in love, this obsessed, with a project before. Somehow, in these bleary and compromised days at the butt-end of the year, every moment I steal to sink into the manuscript feels like opening a door on an entire world and falling in. I lose hours to it; hours I really ought to spend meeting deadlines and calling insurance companies. But it’s so much more interesting than real life. And so much hornier! (Presumably. I don’t know what your relationship with your insurance company is like.) I’m reading psychoanalysis again, which I haven’t done with any regularity since I picked up a Freud obsession in undergrad, and the theory is astonishing me all over again with its capacity to rearrange my brain, illuminate hidden pathways. The desert feels like a good place to do this kind of discovering, I think.

While I’m there, my ornery, wisecracking, beloved firstborn, the essay collection Some of My Best Friends, is coming out in paperback. Earlier this week, Debutiful generously ran a cover reveal and a Q&A in which I got to go long on the process. I’m very grateful for the space. My answers to those four little questions are, no lie, some of my favorite writing I’ve published this year. Here’s a taste:

And here is the sharp, brilliant cover that we landed on. The Debutiful Q&A gives a sense of the journey it took to get there.

What I didn’t a chance to include—and which I’ll reveal *exclusively* here—is that the Canadian edition also got a new cover! The subtitle matches, but it’s a totally different concept. I think the friendship-bracelet conceit is so playful and clever, and I dig the chunky serif font. And it has a fancy “Globe and Mail Best Book” sticker, which is a huge honor (or honour, as they’d spell it in Canada).

I’m so lucky that this book gets a second life in a sleek, more affordable format. I hope the new subtitle does its job, clarifying the book’s focus and tone and helping to bring it to a new audience. And I hope that, if you didn’t pick up a copy the first time around, you’ll consider preordering it for its release date on February 27th, 2024. Part of the reason I feel so lucky this book gets a second shot is because sales were modest on the hardback. I hope the lower price point and lighter format help bring a verve and vitality to this one’s life that the previous iteration didn’t have. Your preorder would legitimately move the dial and make a difference to the future of the book and, by extension, my career.

If you’re in the US, here’s the Bookshop link. In Canada, my publisher’s website can help you find your local independent bookstore (for whom the holiday season is critical) by location.

Anyway, thanks for reading this far and for sticking around. Next dispatch will be from the desert.