My favorite thing my kid does is ask to read a book.

When we (used to) go to Target, he asks to see the books before toys. At bedtime, he piles seven to eight books in my lap and climbs up, scrambling over my knees and hard covers featuring Elmo, excavators, and Olaf. When Martian Mickey turns up on our daily Clubhouse binge, he runs for his Mickey book to flip to the page with Martian Mickey and holds it proudly to our TV, a mesh of screen and words meeting in his little, perfect mind.
 
I know I’m very lucky. I know I need to invest time and my energy into this new love of his. I recently read a quote that was something along the lines of: teach a kid to love words, and he’ll always have the want, and capability, to teach himself.

We’re living in a new world. That much is apparent, though none of us can define it yet. I don’t think any of us can even see the light at the end of the tunnel – it’s not ours to see yet, and that’s beyond bone-chilling. I don’t know what this means for my family, for my kid, for my husband and me in terms of our dreams, let alone our employment. I’ve found myself reading even more in my rare quiet moments (and during our daily Clubhouse binge) because I need every piece of sanity I can find.

What I am absolutely certain of: my baby is watching me. I know that, and its part of why I read in front of him. Momma has no answers outside of what’s for dinner – and it’s not like he’s asking for anything beyond dinner anyway – but he will, eventually. I don’t have answers. I don’t even have the questions yet, I don’t think. But I know where to find peace, and I can pass that along to him.

At least that I can do. ​

Three weekends ago, I spent 2.5 days reading All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven. That half day was a Monday morning when I took vacation from work, got my kid ready for school, and sent my husband off with my son so I could crawl back into bed and finish the book.

I had to. I HAD TO.

But  you should know this isn’t a book review.

A quick recap of the book, with no spoilers: Violet Markey is a teenager, mourning her recently deceased sister, and struggling with mental health issues that lead to her to the top of a clock tower on her high school campus. Theodore Finch is a classmate, unsettled, unhappy, beautifully-eloquent boy who is also at the top of the tower, toying with the option of jumping.

For a brief moment – the briefest - they save each other.

This could be another YA book (or Netflix movie, as it is), but … its not. Violet and Theo have stayed with me a long time, longer than a lot of characters stay with me after I race through their pages, appreciate their voices, they’re author’s lyrical words. Finch, and especially Violet, became real to me in a way that I dream of my characters becoming real in my readers heads. And here’s why:

They ARE real.

As I’ve been out, living my life the last few weeks, I see teenage girls walking down the street near my house, grasping hands over black ice on sidewalks, huddled in Sherpa jackets. Long shiny hair waving along spines, short tight curls sticking up to the clouds, muffled only by beanies. Teenagers in Starbucks, midrifs bare even though its February and South Dakota. Glasses slipping down noses as they drink iced coffee – I wonder what their drink of choice is. Talking with friends, fingertips to throats in laughs, chins pointed to the ceiling as they giggle. I picture the girls in their classrooms, eating dinner with their families, aimlessly texting their dumb, dumb don’t-they-know-how-lucky-they-are boyfriends/best friends/siblings/co-workers.

What are the girls thinking? How do they know how to look so effortlessly cool? Someone’s listening to her, right? When she opens her mouth to share the real problems in her head – that dumb, dumb boyfriend, the lost sister, the clueless Mom, the bad grade, the guy who catcalled her on the street where I saw her – somebody’s listening, right?
Please, god, someone be listening.

Violet has the picture-perfect life on paper. Perfect, cool parents. Friends who will do in the meantime, as she waits for college. A successful website she runs with her sister. And it crashes down in the most tragic way possible. And there at the edge of the world, at the edge of everything, there’s Finch.
​
 “The thing I realize is, that it’s not what you take, it’s what you leave.”

Violet thinks these words near the end of All the Bright Places. With Finch, Violet visits places all over Indiana for a school project, and part of the challenge is to leave parts of themselves, trinkets, representing head space, memories, jokes. The concept of leaving something behind obviously takes on larger meaning, as it should, and that’s the one large part of this book I can talk about that doesn’t spoil anything. For as much as these girls, these-almost adults need someone to be listening – please, god, someone be listening – these girls also need to leave parts of themselves buried in their friend’s heart, under their mom’s skin, chap stick smeared on a Starbucks straw, cells from their fingertips on shoelaces and on doorknobs as they storm from the room.

Violet, I’d say, finds a way to leave pieces of herself behind, mostly in a lot of ways she wouldn’t want to have to do. I have no amount of real understanding of Violet’s struggles throughout this book – she suffers far more than she should have to – but her heart. It’s so encompassing. We obviously don’t see her beyond the last page, but I hope that she doesn’t let anything, or anyone, narrow the path in. 

So.

You married a writer.

Oops.

I mean: congrats. You did the right thing. I assume love was on the table, plus it’s a nice thing to be in love with a perpetual daydreamer. I mean, the dishes won’t get done, and you can forget about laundry EVER being folded unless you do it, but hey. Dreams. They matter.

Here’s the thing about marrying a writer: we’re pretty typecast as introverts, obsessed with hiding our Google search histories and nurture unhealthy obsessions on the whether or not the oxford comma has a place into today’s writing (um, yes.) That typecast is usually spot on, but in a lot of cases its not, so take this with a grain of salt. Unless I just described your partner. In which case: continue on to find tips my husband and I have navigated to make our marriage functional and joyful.

• Don’t interrupt a writing writer. Its so.freakin’.hard. to get into a mental headspace quiet, but loud enough to foster creativity and actually hear your characters living; don’t strip your partner of that time invested.
• Offer ice cream (or treat of choice) when an agent or publisher says no. Writing is more no than yes, for every single person in the industry. It sucks. No one likes it. Be a comfort.
• Laundry. Just know it’s your lot in life. We mean to help. I swear it. But…it just doesn’t happen.
• Romance is hitting the bookstore on your way home at the end of a date. The thrill I get opening a book store sends chills down my arms. No joke. The smell of dusty worn paper, or crisp cut paper, there is nothing better, truly.
• Never complain the number of books in the house. Yes, many of us could start our own library. Yes, the tower of book next to the bed side lamp blocks the light, and likely the sunshine, but whatever. Having a book to reach to is as necessary as breathing.
• Don’t talk through movies or television shows. Your partner is likely enjoying it at face value AND also dissecting character development, and pacing, and setting, and why it’s working (or not).
• Be open with mundane details. When they ask you to describe something (your coffee, a new beer you’re trying, your first day of kindergarten – what you remember of it anyway), they’re taking mental notes to apply elsewhere, at some point.
• Wear a sleeping mask and/or earplugs. Falling asleep with the bedside lamp on or listening to fingers tapping computer keys. Just the way it is. Consider adjusting that book pile next to the lamp to aid in a darker room.
• Prepare for people to say dumb things. When in social gatherings, if you feel like someone is about to ask your partner if they’re “the next JK Rowling”, distract someone. Anyone. Light a curtain on fire. Just grab his/her hand and sprint away.
• Finally: time. Give it to them. They’ll come back to you, weary and likely a little sleepy, but so refreshed (or drained, but refreshed) that it will make the entire Star Wars trilogy you just spent Saturday afternoon watching by yourself worth it.

Don’t be intimidated. Yes, writers take bits and pieces from their lives and weave it into their work – it’s what the point of writing is: telling stories grounded in truth. Take it as a compliment. You’re your partner’s truth. Revel in it.

And do the laundry.

Listen, if you’re here, you know how I feel about words.

Oh. You don’t?

I LOVE WORDS. I love the way they rise and fall in a sentence like a breath, or a heartbeat. I love how they inform, inspire giggles and tears, and make people feel safe. I love how they give me solace, as I let them fall from my finger tips and hit a page, documenting everything I want to remember always.

But most of all, what I love about words: access. Access to stories, to education, the encouragement to just keep trying to be better than we are.

One obvious and delightful place to access words – your local library.

Duh, right? I grew up riding my purple Schwinn ten blocks to the municipal library (a block away from the house L. Frank Baum lived in while in Aberdeen – fun little piece of knowledge), and after I called my parents from the pay phone in the lobby, I entered Alexander Mitchell Library, and could finally breathe. I want my kid to know the same feeling (minus the pay phone, because it’s the 2020s now). We take him to the library a couple times a month, and I’ve been wondering if its time for him to get his own library card. Here’s what he – and you! – have to look forward to at our local libraries:

Outreach from Birth: I’ve been shocked by what our local library provides as outreach to get kids and their parents in the doors from birth on. We used to take our kid to Baby Story Time. All these new parents sitting in a circle, babies in laps, singing Itsy Bitsy Spider and wiggling tiny ankles in beat to the delightful librarian’s acoustic guitar. Babies see new faces, and so do Mom and Dad. We weren’t alone. It was a good reminder. Now we do Toddler Story Time, and admittedly, a lot of that time is spent chasing the offspring back into the reading room for a book and crayon time, but the premise remains the same: kids’ butts in library is a good habit started early.

Free Wifi: My office gets old. Sometimes, I need a change of scenery, or away from a coworker or five, and the library down the road is my go-to (after a requisite stop at Starbucks). There’s free wi-fi, there’s quiet, and even if I’m working on my day job, being surrounded by books gets my blood flowing a little faster. Plus, it feels like I’m playing hooky, and that’s fun.

Librarians Know Things: Like, all the things. Need to know Jane Eyre’s middle name? A reliable free place to do your taxes online? The one person, who wrote that one book, that was referenced on that one TV show on NBC in 1995 that wasn’t Friends? They already know it – or even more importantly, they will help you find it. Sometimes, we all need a resource. Your local librarians are there for you.

This is obvious, but Library Books Are Free. Let me say that again: Library. Books. Are. Free. Did you just get through with Kondo-ing your house? Do you just not have a lot of storage space? On a tight budget? Just like to browse the stacks? Hit the library!

Community Connections: People use the library as meeting spaces all the time. Book clubs and writing groups. Community service planning meetings. Speakers leading workshops and brown bags. All of these take place in library meeting rooms. People pulled together to make the world better, in a library. Love it.

I Like It Quiet: The world is a loud place. Phones dinging, traffic roaring, people talking, doors slamming. You can still hear all that in a library, but it’s muted, somehow. I don’t know if it’s a magical bubble of peace and clouds that separate you from the outside world, but it’s a perfect respite from the noise.

Seriously, access to education is crucial, especially right now. Invest in yourself and see what your local library has to offer. 

Fun fact about me. I don’t have a lot of close friends.

When I was a kid, I was super insecure about it. My mom told me it was fine. “Quality over quantity, Stephanie,” she’d say as she brushed my hair and I’d spill my worries onto our living room carpet. “The ones you have mean something to you.”

My mom, as most moms tend to be, was 100% spot on. Her words stayed with me through high school, college and into adult life, and I found strength in her wisdom. I picked up the close friends I needed to fulfill me, let go of those that had their own path, and twenty years later, stand tall with the people I know who have my back.

My purpose now, as we all continue to evolve into the people we’re supposed to be: make sure my friends know without a shadow of a doubt that they’re loved. How do I do this?

GALENTINES.

Oh, Galentine’s. As far as I know, the very special holiday, celebrated on February 13, began with NBC’s Parks and Recreation, one of the most perfect shows about friendship of.all.time. (Unapologetic Leslie Knope gal here.) Leslie draws together her merry band of female friends for breakfast to celebrate all that is wonderful about being a woman: finding comfort in each other’s quirks, realities, and talent. (And mosaics of each other made from crushed bottles of their favorite diet soda. NM. Just watch Parks and Rec.)

A dear friend and I began celebrating Galentine’s before it was part of the cultural lexicon – it’s the ONLY trend I’ve ever gotten out in front of  - with waffles, love letters stating each other’s awesomeness, and books noted with quotes in which to flip through and gather strength from when the days are too much. I’m a firm believer that while my friend and I were tight before, the annual tradition, and the warm feelings that grew from it, tied us together through her move to another time zone, changes within our families, and the general reality of time passing. She is mine, and I am hers. My very own noble land mermaid. (Seriously. Just watch Parks and Rec.)

Obviously, Galentine’s isn’t for everyone. It’s cool. Find your equivalent. Drinking beer and watching football? Ultimate Frisbee? Making those super cool ginormous fat yarn blankets that everyone is making right now? Grab the women you most care about and go do the thing that puts you both at the most ease.

The point about the best fake holiday in the world is this: take care of each other. Straighten each other’s crowns. Have each other’s backs. We need each other in this life.