I began writing The Starsailor Newsletter as a joke that I assumed no more than six people would get. I was poking fun at moms the world over who send out family newsletters full of garbage that no one in their right mind could possibly care about. I wanted to continue that tradition.

The first issue was intended to make light of a decade of feeling sad. It was also supposed to explain my then-erratic behavior. I would be walking around the French Quarter, or downtown Austin, or wherever, and I’d call someone at three or four in the morning because of how much pain I was in. I wanted badly to hear human voices. I think it ended up scaring my friends—or at the very least confusing a great deal of them. I must have called everyone I knew, and I seldom got an answer. So I left spooky messages. I’m sorry about that, everyone.

Since then, The Starsailor Newsletter has transmuted into a mass of self-indulgent tangents and disjointed narratives about sad girls and food and airports and love and friendship. It has become something that I look forward to sitting down and writing. But my desire to create them isn’t for my enjoyment so much as it is a necessity to say something—to throw it at the ceiling of the universe and see if it sticks.

This dumb thing is a platform for sharing sad little stories with people who matter. The only thing I’m good at is getting into horrible situations and then having the patience to write about them in a surreal and sometimes nauseating way. Thank you for enjoying the only thing I’m good at.

•     •     •

If you’d like to receive The Starsailor Newsletter in your inbox every week or so, please email me and I’ll add you to the list. I’ll even say nice things to you, if you’ll let me.

Archive: