A time of allergies and longing

Dearest Bookworms,

Ragweed is the scourge of my immune system, apparently. I found out the hard way and will be wearing a biohazard suit next spring when I pull it all out. Our peach tree suddenly burst into fruit, and we gave them away en masse. The most glorious peaches you can imagine are those eaten fresh from the tree. Now the juniper berries are ripening and their scent is delightful, and rain and cooler weather has come at last.

Lately there has been a pile-up of medical expenses, and so a pressing need to find a second income. That’s how, in my 40s, I’ve entered the gig economy online, which is like old-fashioned freelancing mixed with construction bidding mixed with an oddly enjoyable sense of playing a text adventure game. I did get a private translation project I’m excited by (Spanish to English).

And all this is to say … hello! It’s been a moment, hasn’t it? My co-writing companion and I are getting back on track this week, and my little forced break from seeing Quin has made me miss him all the more. Last I saw him, he was meeting a new client to see if they might make a good match. He hasn’t yet spent a night in his new home in Santa Barbara, but he’s found a bar to drink at. His client liaison and new business manager is a caring and careful trans woman named Holiday. I miss them all. I look forward to writing alongside E. this Thursday; we are far apart and meet up to write via Zoom.

I’m grateful to be able to write to you again! How are you? What are you reading? I’m on the lookout for domestic stories about trans couples, if you know of any — or, not necessarily couples, but at least one trans character. Trans domesticity is where I want to go.

So I would love you to write to me, if you have a book to recommend — I’m at [email protected] — or for any reason. Whenever the going gets tough in my life, I try to remember it’s tough for others as well. And not everyone has a list of bookish friends to write to.

Bon courage: you are loved and mighty.

~ AR.