zoe on thursdays is a monthly newsletter sharing zoe’s most recent fiction & non-fiction writing, a reading recommendation & a writing prompt.
Dear reader,
My body has been so many places in the past month it’s pretty hard to keep track.
There was the drive across the country with my dog, Sunny. It was supposed to be poetic. There was a moment somewhere in Indiana when flocks of birds 50-300 deep kept crossing south over my sunroof. That was poetic. Mostly it was just perfecting my order at McDonalds, trying to avoid conversation with the odd 11:00 pm hotel clerk, and confirming for sure that I never want to live in St. Louis.
There was the blur of arriving in New York.
There was the long layover in Paris where I fell asleep listening to other people celebrating Christmas in the apartments above, below, and beside me. There were sounds of popping champagne and babies exclaiming at a room of low voices singing. It felt like everyone in the apartments around me were perfectly executing any image your brain creates when combining the words Parisian and celebration.
There was getting to see my best friend get married in Dubai. Remembering what collectivism can feel like as I watched sisters and parents grandparents kiss eachother goodnight to go downstairs and next door, knowing they’ll return in the morning. I remember the great white sharks in a tank next to h&m at the biggest mall I’ve ever been to. I remember walking home at 2:00 am from celebrations on new year’s eve to people removing fresh flowers from a sidewalk strip and replanting their light pink replicas.
Jetlag makes me feel like I’m living backwards. The first Thursday of the month when I typically post this newsletter passed without my noticing. It’s also the first newsletter I feel hesitant to post. So much in my life is in flux right now, it feels hard to say anything for sure. I didn’t make any new years resolutions just a short list in my Notes app of things I hope will happen this year. A tattoo of a koi fish, morning pages almost everyday, a novel draft.
Eleven truths and a lie
after Willa Tellekson-Flash
Every day I open a Safari tab and ignore the big red message that I have compromised passwords in a data leak.
I just learned that generations (gen z, millennial) don’t exist outside America.
I tried to be so nice to myself that I put myself in my own noiseless cave. Smooth walls with no key.
After a year of listening to the playlists Taylor Swift songs to cry to and Taylor Swift songs to scream sing alternately for a year, I made a playlist of new music.
I noticed I brace my body when I’m in a place where lots of men will look at me. Why? The worst happens when I’m not looking.
My friend said, being with him is like knocking on a door to a nice place, it might even feel like your home but no one will come to the door.
I love champagne.
My childhood was so lonely. My childhood was so perfect.
When my pants are slightly too low for my tank top and my sweater is slightly too cropped for my tank top I'm inconsolable until I can sit down.
I told my mom that social isolation kills people faster than anything like smoking a pack a day . She corrected me that it was loneliness. You can be around many people but if you don't show them who you are, you'll still be lonely.
I want this all to be more beautiful somehow.
something to read & something to write
something to read:
Every year, I put together a list of poems that I read over and over again. This one was particularly special. Also! My sister just started a substack. She’s an amazing writer and writes about topics like queerness, psychiatry and motherhood. Give her a follow here.
something to write:
Grab a paper and pen or open a blank google doc or a new tab on your Notes app. Set a timer for 30 minutes and write your answer to this prompt. Don’t read what you’ve written and don’t stop writing until time is up. Eye Contact: Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.
Thank you so much for reading :) See you on the first Thursday of February!
Love, Zoe
I love that you are taking on a draft of a novel. What a bold move. I recently heard someone say that short stories are like swimming in the pond where you can see the edge and novels are like jumping in the ocean.