Doing Just Fine

October 2025

Dear Reader,

It’s the last three months of the year, and I’m ready to tuck away for winter. I’m ready to tuck away for the entire next year. I’ve sent my latest manuscript off to my agent, and by the time she sends notes back it will likely be too late in the year to submit to publishers even if I could turn revisions around fast. Although I had hoped to sign a book contract this year, I’ve accepted the slower timeline. Maybe it will happen next year. Maybe this manuscript was just for me, to get me through the days.

And then there are the new characters who pop into my thoughts and are ready to pull me into a new story, one that I’ve been thinking about since last year. I have a long list of books I want to read in preparation for the writing. I don’t plan to write the next manuscript on any timeline at all and that feels indulgent.

I’m ready for the short days of winter. By the time this sends, hopefully we will have stopped having days with hights in the 90-100 range. I’ve ordered my planner for 2026, by Sterling Ink, and have started crocheting a sweater for colder weather. It’s strawberry themed, and I hope to get ribbing down right this time. Don’t worry, I have until January before I need a proper sweater.

The days are already getting shorter. I need to light my candle in the morning to be able to see. I have to return from the park earlier in the evenings because it’s getting dark. There is a young wren that has decided a ledge on our patio is the perfect place to sleep. It slips in during the evening after signing a song, just when it starts to get hard to make out what the little grey shadow in the corner is exactly. It’s gone in the morning again before it’s light enough to see clearly.

I also had an unplanned meeting with a young blue jay while I was digging broken glass out of the dirt at the nature preserve where I volunteer. A still fledging bird that felt comfortable enough, or hadn’t yet learned better, to get within inches of me. It started making piles of things after watching me shovel shards of glass. It was quiet while I talked to it, asking where its family had gone. And then there is a young fox with its mother living nearby. Our backyard is its training ground. I gather these lucky, peaceful interactions with wildlife and let them buoy me into the next day.

The sun always rises and always sets.

With love,

Thao

Recent reads:

• ​War Is Not My Mother by Vi Khi Nao
• ​Language Is a Place of Struggle: Great Quotes by People of Color edited by Tram Nguyen
• ​Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets by Svetlana Alexievich​

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