A Change of Plans

Is there ever really a plan anyway?

Hello Beautifuls!

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A big thank you to

Amy Oscar

and

The Intellectual Investor

for recommending Hello Beautifuls on their substacks!

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I am changing how frequently I post here on Hello Beautifuls. As I write more, I’m realizing I want to publish pieces that are really done, not just done because it’s Tuesday and I made a commitment to post. I want to write better pieces and I want you to have more fully crafted stories to read.

It seems that once

Jeannine Ouellette

opened my eyes to what I could do, I now don’t want to publish anything less. And I have a new writing goal—The New York Times Modern Love column. I’m working on a piece to submit by July 15.

It left lonely not sharing anything with you this week, so here are some bits and pieces of things that I love, that I didn’t create. I hope you enjoy.

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I have this dream of visiting the studio of

Diana Strinati Baur

near the Black Forest in Germany. She makes gorgeous ceramics (and is also a writer and illustrator.) Also look at that silverware. Oh my.

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A poem that is new to me as of today and just slayed me. Those last two lines. Any *WITDers out there who want to do a close read in the comments, come on in!

The Boy

by Marie Howe

My older brother is walking down the sidewalk into the suburban summer night:
white T-shirt, blue jeans – to the field at the end of the street.

Hangers Hideout the boys called it, an undeveloped plot, a pit overgrown
with weeds, some old furniture thrown down there,

and some metal hangers clinking in the trees like wind chimes.
He's running away from home because our father wants to cut his hair.

And in two more days our father will convince me to go to him - you know
where he is – and talk to him: No reprisals. He promised. A small parade
   of kids

In feet pyjamas will accompany me, their voices like the first peepers
   in spring.
And my brother will walk ahead of us home, and my father

will shave his head bald, and my brother will not speak to anyone the next
month, not a word, not pass the milk, nothing.

What happened in our house taught my brothers how to leave, how to walk
down a sidewalk without looking back

I was the girl. What happened taught me to follow him, whoever he was.
calling and calling his name.

*WITD is short for Writing in the Dark with Jeannine Ouellette, the Substack by the inimitable Jeannine Ouellette, mentioned above. This is where my essay was published last month and this is where Jeannine invites us into her world and guides us to be more in touch with ourselves and our writing. If you’re interested in writing, for any reason, please check her out. She is loving, generous, a fantastic teacher, and an incredible writer.

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I just heard the song, “Stop Me,” for the first time while I was in a store yesterday afternoon. I work with words all day long, and I like to have music on while I do it. But, because of all those words I’m trying to get out of my head and onto the page, I have to listen to music that has zero words. Therefore, I rarely know what’s happening in musicland, and I listen to a lot of jazz. A lot. Thank goodness I like it. A lot.

This song came out in 2007, so you’ve probably heard it. I think the video is just awful, but the song it catchy, especially the sampled lyrics at the end from, “You Keep Me Hanging On.” I remember the Supremes version, but the one stuck in my head is the Kim Wilde remake from 1986. Thoughts?

As always, I’d love to hear from you in the comments. It’s one of my most favorite things to be here with you in this space. Come on in, the water’s fine.

xoxox

j

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