Sometime in mid-August, we got our first egg. That egg, the one pictured. A milestone. A mileegg. Some of my dearer friends have made full fun of me, considering me to be a reactionary fool. Don’t get chickens when egg prices are up. Inevitably, the price will fall (true) and you’ll have spent a stupid amount of money on getting chickens that you’ll never recoup (partially true). The thing about this critique that I find most interesting is that since we cannot really put cash value on joy, joy is never taken into account when we talk about why we might want to invest in something. We also can’t quantify motivations… not really.

In the end, though, my friends are right: Getting the chickens didn’t save me money on eggs. Getting chickens gave me more chaos and responsibility, and don’t I always want less of those two things?

I do.

But:

Last week, my mom came over and I presented her with seven eggs from my chickens. I put them in a carton I’d saved from so many months of raising hens incapable of laying. One had a father still on it. All were unwashed, laid within 2 days of each other. I apologized for not yet having a full dozen. She didn’t care. I also gave her shishito peppers and a couple slicing tomatoes from the garden.

Planting seeds and raising chickens saves me not a cent. Joy, though, is priceless. Pride, too. I was proud of those eggs. I’m proud of my tomatoes. My shishito peppers are fucking delicious. So are the thai peppers and the jalapeños and habaneros I’ve been growing. And when I crack an egg for my kiddos in the morning, and that deep orange-yellow sets against the black of my cast iron… I know I’ve got something no one can take away.

There is something particularly precious about all of the pleasures, joys, and fundamentals that can’t be taken away right now. Fragile, precious, and shrinking. I hope that you, too, are making a list for yourself. Hold fast to your abundance. Define it in the language of your heart and your soul.

I feel badly about neglecting this here digital space, but I have been forced to confront this life of mine in the most unflinching way. School started. Activities started. My nonprofit’s Fall programming started up. I taught a class and another class is starting up shortly. Opportunities for submission opened up, which meant quick revision. I still haven’t had a chance to mail my post-Clarion thank you notes. I thought I was going to bang out 5,000 words a week of my novel (hahahahahahaha hahahahaha hahahahaha) and started getting up at 5am to give myself that extra hour of work time. I’m at the point where I feel like whenever I accomplish something, it spins off two more things. Those things spawn yet more things. Those spawns leave less time for other things that need doing, triggering more mess, confusion and delay.

Especially in the house.

Oh this house and all its many neglected corners. A pile here, a pile there. Who lives here and how the hell did this stuff get here? We’ve had a parade of house guests and visitors, so somehow I’ve kept up with (some) of it (while just finding new hiding places for other things). But the holiday season looms. It looms. This Sunday and as many Sundays as I can manage between now and Thanksgiving, I’m instituting a 2-hour “no one is at their computer or playing video games but passive music or on the TV screen while you clean is fine” time to get all of us to so something about these many piles of clutter and neglect. Because I know who lives here and it ain’t just me. Many contributors made this mess. Wish me luck. Per usual, it’ll be more work getting everyone else to help than it will be to just do it.

But I’m getting older by the second and “I’ll just do it” comes with less and less of a roar than it used to.

I am writing (novel draft sits at 25,000/80,000ish words), I am submitting (2 submitted on Wednesday, 2 more to be submitted next week!), and teaching (see below!). I want to tell you I’ll be blogging more. The spirit is moving and I have a lot to say, but oh the time. The time. But perhaps next week, I’ll have something more, because I have thoughts about a critique I got for a story and I’m thinking about writing it out. We’ll see.

But I do want to share that I’m teaching a bunch this Fall and if you have any time at all, I’d love to see you in a class:

• I’m teaching a GrubStreet’s signature 6 Weeks, 6 Stories starting this October and I’d love to see you there. We read stories and write stories in response. While I’m a Speculative writer and that’s what I love, this class is open to writers of all genres and we’ll be reading all sorts of genres, so please come see me!
• I’m teaching a 4-week class specifically about writing stories that center around food with StoryStudio Chicago starting in November. This is for writers of fiction and nonfiction. We’ll going to work on how to capture food on the page, but also pair it with memory and storytelling. I just love how food shows up in our psyche and I’d love to spend time with you writing about it!
• Want to learn more of the basics of storytelling? I’m teaching a How to Write a Short Story class with GrubStreet in December. This is for anyone who just wants to get started with storytelling and doesn’t know where/how to begin.
• I’m teaching 2 classes with StoryStudio Chicago in 2026: A class on governments and institutions in speculative fiction in January and a class about how to draw inspiration for stories from music in March. More when I’ve got details fully confirmed!
• And! If you are a writer who misses the madcap vibe of NaNoWriMo in November, consider joining my nonprofit, the MetroWest Writers’ Guild, for our fun writing challenge, MetroGameO, in November! I need to get our info on our website next week. (So. Much. To. Do.)

Meanwhile, stay safe, keep writing, and declare for yourself a bit of abundance. Whatever gives you profound joy today, I hope you name it and treasure it.

Until the next time, take good care.