Unquiet
Things

I have finally done the thing. You know, that thing I’ve been promising to do for approximately forever? The bookshelf tour. It’s happened. It exists. On YouTube. Right now, as we speak.

Filming in 97-degree Florida heat required a mid-filming costume change. I had to ditch my regular shirt for a midriff top from Reve Brewing (their trippy Feed Your Head IPA design) and put my hair up in a little sprout like a goth radish because I was literally melting. I was weirdly excited about finally owning a midriff shirt at almost 50, thinking, “who gives a fart if anyone sees my belly?” But then came the sad trombone: turns out I have a real short torso, so no one was going to see my belly anyway.

A little preview of what awaits:

You’ll get to see the books I gift most often (spoiler: it’s always Salt is for Curing by Sonia Vatomsky), my collection of Time Life Enchanted World books that shaped my entire aesthetic sensibility as a child, and the gothic romance novels I bought purely for their cover art and have never actually read because the print is too small.

There are art books, folklore, and mythology, my witchy business shelf (that’s the technical term), and the three shelves of books I’m currently selling. I’m keeping mostly nonfiction, art books, science, esoteric studies, philosophy, memoirs, and essays. Things for reference and research. I don’t typically reread fiction (I can think of three examples: Dracula, Rebecca, and Harriet the Spy, and I haven’t reread those in years). I want new stories. My time on earth is limited, so those fiction books are just taking up space and collecting dust. Some of those are brand new, never read…which represents an opportunity for someone else to discover them properly.

You’ll also hear about my recent writing adventures (my Rue Morgue column!) and my summer social media break that’s been gloriously freeing. Plus, I share some very exciting news about the new book I’m working on, which is in that same wonderfully weird vein as my other art books.

I forgot to include several things that probably should have been included in the tour. Like my Goodreads challenge progress (I’m at 92 out of 100 books for the year), or a screenshot of all my NetGalley ARCs, or the wheelie cart under my desk that houses the physical books I’m currently reading. That cart is where I keep my nonfiction books, which I read at my desk during the workday, because I find them easier on my eyes. Fiction reading happens in the early morning or evenings when I’m on the couch, the words at a different height and level from my eyes, with more dim lighting. Currently, the cart contains a biography of Hilma af Klint, a book of poetry by Lisa Marie Basile, The Transcendent Brain, How to Disappear: Notes on Invisibility in a Time of Transparency, and Scent & Subversion.

Since I mentioned a few books in passing during the video, I thought I’d share the full thoughts here as bonus content. I briefly discussed The Argonauts and Bird by Bird – here are my complete takes on both:

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson: The Argonauts is like trying to understand a conversation happening in the next room if the room was underwater and the speakers were having a dialogue in a language you don’t know, and then you realized they were actually talking to themselves. This profound disorientation is exactly how Maggie Nelson weaves together musings on Barthes’ idea of love as a constant renewal, Judith Butler’s theories of gender performativity, and her own intimate experiences of partnering with Harry Dodge and becoming a parent. I didn’t recognize half the references, and there were moments when the academic language felt like an impenetrable wall. And yet. Nelson captures something true about the raw, uneven texture of human experience—the way love transforms us, how we struggle to articulate our most intimate experiences. She writes about pregnancy, partnership, and queer family-making with an honesty that cuts through academic jargon. I’m not sure I fully understood everything, but I felt like I was witnessing something important—a story that kept slipping between my fingers every time I thought I’d grabbed hold of it. What does it mean to love someone? To become a parent? To exist outside traditional stories? Nelson explores these questions by diving into everything from avant-garde film theory to psychoanalytic texts, scattering esoteric philosophical breadcrumbs that make you feel simultaneously incredibly brilliant and profoundly stupid. Something about the Argonauts and replacing ship planks, something about becoming—I’m not entirely sure I understood it, but it felt like she was asking: Who are we when we change? When we love? When we exist in ways that challenge how others see us? She doesn’t give you neat answers. Just more questions, more uncertainty.

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Annie Lamott is a treasure trove of wisdom that transcends its categorization as a book on writing, offering a raw, honest, and often hilarious look at the creative process. Lamott’s self-deprecating humor and personal anecdotes create a work that’s as entertaining as it is insightful. Her unflinching acknowledgment of the neuroses and setbacks that plague writers resonated deeply with me – not as a soothing balm, but as a weirdly addicting, pricklingly poison ivy for my spirit. I cannot count the times I cackled whilst reading this book; equally, I lost track of the number of times it moved me to tears.

Also: Writing is hard. I want to hear about how hard it is! One reviewer complained that Lamott made writing sound as painful as passing a kidney stone, and while he disagreed with that takeaway, I sure don’t. So I appreciate having that struggle, that difficulty, validated, even (especially) in snarky, petty, but also really encouraging and inspirational ways.

I underlined the hell out of this book. So much of this advice is good for not just for the writing life, but just…navigating life, itself. Here are a few things she said that I am still thinking about…
Her assertion that “being enough was going to have to be an inside job” hit me like a revelation, echoing my own recent struggles with seeking external validation, particularly through social media. This idea resonated with me as I continue to grapple with building my self-worth, rather than relying on likes or followers.

The author’s emphasis on giving from the deepest part of yourself, and finding reward in that act of giving itself, felt revolutionary in our often results-driven world. As Lamott puts it, “You have to give from the deepest part of yourself, and you are going to have to go on giving, and the giving is going to have to be its own reward.” Publishing and recognition doesn’t solve everything. In fact, it hardly solves anything. It’s a reminder that I need to focus more on the (painful) joy of creating itself, rather than constantly worrying about how my work will be received. But I’ll admit, I often find myself wondering what the point is of writing something if I’m not sharing it. It’s a tension I’m still grappling with – the pull between creating for its own sake and the desire for my words to be read and acknowledged.

This metaphor of writing as a ‘little lighthouse’ really struck a chord with me. It made me think about how my own writing might impact others in ways I can’t predict or even imagine. It’s a comforting thought when I’m struggling with self-doubt – that even if I can’t see it, my words might be illuminating a path for someone out there.

Finally, and maybe most of all, I love how the book’s title comes from Lamott’s childhood memory of her brother struggling with a bird-watching report. It’s become a sort of mantra for me when I’m facing overwhelming tasks, not just in writing but in life generally. ‘Bird by bird’ reminds me to take things one small step at a time. When I’m staring down a daunting project, I try to remember this approach – break it into tiny, manageable pieces. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, it helps me feel like I’m making progress instead of drowning in the enormity of it all. This, and the crappy little elf advice, are probably the most helpful writing suggestions I know.

I also mentioned several artists whose work is featured in my space, and I’ve had the opportunity to interview all of them for the blog over the years. If you’re curious about their creative processes, you can check out my conversations with Alyssa, Lupe, Becky, Han, and author/poet Sonia Vatomsky.

So yeah, this is me, hot and cranky, giving you an authentic glimpse into my actual lived-in space where books exist alongside creepy dolls and commissioned art and the general chaos of someone who prioritizes interesting objects over organizational systems. Witness my heat-addled ramblings about folklore and poetry and books that fall apart from being loved too much. And if you see anything on those selling shelves that catches your eye, you can find it in my Pango bookshop. Seriously, please buy my old books! If I have to schlepp them across the country next time we move, it will kill my soul!

What are you reading lately? And what’s your own philosophy about keeping vs. letting go of books? Tell me in the comments.

Later, weirdos.

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