A piece I wrote about lightning, and the way it shaped my life, was published by Catapult this week. I’m thrilled.
In the nearly eighteen months that led to this piece being published, I have grown very fond of its origin story, which is fitting because the essay is, in fact, my origin story. It goes something like this.
In September 2020, Ann Friedman, a writer I’ve followed for many years, shared news of a writing group called Beastober, which would raise money for last-minute voting rights initiatives in swing states before the election. I signed up.
The group was hosted by editor and writer Carrie Frye, whose work I admired, and whose welcoming spirit, it turns out, can combat even the most vicious imposter syndrome. Beastober was an all-around pleasure, and within its structure I wrote the essay about lightning that had been roaming my psyche for months.
In the group, I became friends with author Kirthana Ramisetti. We read each other’s work and talked about pandemic life over email. Kirthana knew I’d signed up to become a poll worker for the election, so when she saw novelist Aimee Bender offer to read work for first-time poll workers on Twitter, she connected us. I sent Aimee the essay, and she offered valuable early feedback.
This story wouldn’t be complete without Abby Rosebrock, my good art friend, who offered herself as sounding board several times throughout the process. Then there was Leah Johnson, the Catapult editor who gave me that simple yet powerful gift: She said yes. Her thoughtful collaboration strengthened this piece and carried it to its final form.
None of the tiny acts of generosity that helped pull this essay out of the depths of my heart and mind and on to Catapult are lost on me. Not a single one. They bring joy to writing and turn life itself into fertile ground for connection and growth.
Read The Lightning Strike That Burned Through My Family, my essay for Catapult.
Between you and me—
This week, I got lost in Salt Houses, the story of a Palestinian family uprooted repeatedly by war. Shoutout to the lifelong bestie who sends you books she loves in the mail. I also went head-over-heels for this essay on crying.
In the spirit of being honest, even though it makes me feel a little exposed, I should tell you that I have considered Catapult a dream publication since sometime in 2019. I mean, that’s the truth. I am telling you because I hope it helps all of us keep believing in our inner visions and desires. They exist for a reason. They hold critical information. Follow them; feed them; place them on a pedestal. Make space for them in everyday life. And just keep going.
Thanks to those of you who sent kind and supportive messages in response to my Instagram post on publication day. It means the world!
Till next time, take care out there.
The audio version of last week’s essay, The Currency of Care, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Help us grow! Send this to a friend whose tiny acts of generosity make your life rich, and ask them to subscribe. You can also become a sponsor. Every gesture of support is appreciated.