This year, I immersed myself in reading essays. Not enough, of course (because my self-critic is always screeching "never enough!"), but the good news is I've stayed consistent about it. I created a Twitter thread of 10 of my favorite essays I've read this year, with the understanding that no, it's not an all-encompassing list, [...]
Everything goes.
Right now I am re-reading Joan Didion's "Play It As It Lays," a novel she wrote in 1970, and one I return to every year or every other year. One thing that fascinates me this time around is how masterful she is at structure. I think it's something I missed before, how deliberate she was. [...]
If you want overly-personal letters from me …
... sign up for my TinyLetter. It's called "hello, dearest," and it's really just a way for me to practice essaying in the form of letter-writing, which is one of my favorite mediums. I'll send you love letters about writing, art, creativity, life, grief, joy and all the bits of ephemera in between. >> Sign [...]
“My little flower, where are you going?”
That’s the name of this painting my brother did. I found it this weekend, in a box of art supplies my mother salvaged from his apartment. The title is written on the back, along with his signed name. It’s a nod to the Italian song “Piccolo Fiore” by Vittorio Merlo, a rough English translation of [...]
I have a new essay up at one of my dream pubs
Let me get this out of the way: I'm really not a cool kid, so I'm just going to let the awkward fangirl in me hang out. I love Catapult literary magazine, and pretty much all of the work they're doing, honestly. The writing is diverse, engaging, and spans a variety of perspectives and topics. [...]
On learning to love the work
I’ve fallen in love with my work again. Deeply. In a way I haven’t experienced since finishing my MFA eight years ago. I long for it when I’m at work, or driving, or doing something that takes up most of my mental capacity. I’m always thinking about it, pining for it, itching for the chance [...]
2017 in the rearview, and a pilgrimage to my childhood home
The day after Christmas, I loaded up a rental car and drove back home, alone. Not Ohio home, but original home: the place that bore me, that contains just over a third of my life’s memories.
‘Do you hear that?’ It’s joy and chaos, both
It’s normal, around each holiday, each milestone, each moment we are expected to come together with family, to remember those who are no longer staunchly in the land of the living.
A tripped wire in the universe
"All I wanted was for the summer — that terrible season of loss — to end."
A few notes on gratitude & the holidays
Love and thankfulness start in the kitchen. The Italian parsley drying on the sink. A half lemon left over from dressing the food. A bulb of garlic, inquiring eyes, and finally, a beautiful bird prepared by my mother.
ashley bethard 