Danielle Mohlman

And when I sat down with my best friend-dramaturg extraordinaire Sara on Monday to just be around each other, she asked what changes I'm going to make. I'm sure I buried my head in my hands because the next thing she said was off the cuff and truly incredible. "What? You don't want to think about football and rape right now?" The truth is I knew exactly what I wanted to work on. There's an inauthenticity to the queerness that I want to iron out -- a change I made because I listened to my writers group way too literally. There are those NFL prospect/football-y things (which are minor, yes, but they serve the play on this new level). And I want to work on the character of Alex, the best friend to our protagonist. When I was trying to figure out how to thank my cast for their time, talent, and energy, I sat down to write thank you notes. And there was a lot to be thankful for. But the note that I remember writing most clearly was to Madi, the actress who played Alex. I was fully aware that I hadn't given her a whole lot to work with. (I'm a work in progress and so is this play.) So I thanked her for her trust and for her patience. "I'm the Alex in most of my own relationships," I wrote, explaining why this character is important to me. And while I know not every character can be a main character -- especially in a cast of seventeen! -- I mentally vowed to flesh out that role. Because she doesn't have to just be the best friend. I don't see myself that way. And this character shouldn't either. 

As is turns out, my doctor did too. Because when I showed up for blood work this morning, there wasn't a lab order. And immediately, my desire to have everything organized superseded my fear of having blood drawn. I was on the phone with my doctor in seconds, and my (incredible, wonderful) doctor was able to get the lab order delivered electronically. The lab tech, at the beginning of her day and, if the lab's hours were any indication, not anywhere near the beginning of her week, was annoyed with me. And I get it. I would be too. While I was getting the paperwork sorted out, she went and drew someone else's blood. She had a schedule to keep and a 30-something with too many layers of clothing and a clear fear of her own blood wasn't going to get in her way. When she emerged, she raised her eyebrow, silently asking me why I was still there. "Let's check one more time." After confirming my legitimate need for blood work, she led me into an exam room. "I have to tell you," I said, "this whole blood test thing makes me very nervous. So I won't be looking." Her previously annoyance with me vanished. "It's okay," she assured me. "Whatever you need to feel good." Mid way through the extraction, my eyes closed as I breathed through the tourniquet, I heard her ask, "How are you doing?" And I, knowing in the moment that this wasn't an answer to her question, nodded as my breathing became deeper. There was a stranger on my side. I tell you this story not because I want you to relive one of my most irrational fears along with me, but to share that human beings are malleable – that interactions with others can change us or change them, or both. Many of us are gearing up for a stressful holiday: Thanksgiving. And while there's no known cure for those post-turkey blues, I want to make a recommendation: listen to those around you, ask for what you need, and be kind. We all owe that to each other. 

The Traditional was a forward facing hug; my personal favorite, but one that lacks panache in his eyes. The Leave Room for Jesus, which looks like you would imagine, and The Let Me Love You, which is the most awkward side hug in the history of the world. The Needy required him getting on his knees, wrapping his arms around my legs, and shouting "Don't leave me!" with so much drama I was worried the neighbors would check in. He added The You Smell Nice to his vocabulary when he noticed me burying myself in his armpit. And even though that clean post-shower scent had faded, the name felt appropriate. I asked Jeremy if he enjoyed hugs, since he provides me with them so frequently. "It's hard," he said. "You're so short, so it's like I'm not being hugged at all." Then he had me put my arms around his neck, like we were about to start slow dancing to non-existent music. "See this is nice," he said. "I like this hug." This morning, I'm wondering if I feel the same way kids do. There's a comforting presence in my home who can wrap me up in their arms and make me feel simultaneously like a burrito and like I'm being protected from something intangible. And for a moment, I sat in the calm reassurance that I would literally never grow out of that.  

I’m still halfway through both Call Them By Their True Names and Good and Mad, but I’m loving both and fully intend to write about them soon. 

It's been a while since I shared my freelance work with y'all, so bear with me. On Quirk Books, I ranked my favorite Sabrina the Teenage Witch books, paired horror novels with spooky podcasts (cornering that horror-meets-real-life-horror market all day every day), came up with some book recommendations for the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend characters, defended some pretty badass sidekicks, came up with some out-of-the-box hangout activities for you to try with your friends, and (my personal favorite) explored the advice of Carrie Fisher. On the arts journalism side of things, I wrote a feature for Encore Stages on female playwright-director pairings on Seattle stages and interviewed Seattle Children's Theatre's artistic director Courtney Sale. 

As I watched the news pour in on Saturday morning, I was hit by a heavy wave. But I took solace in the fact that, at least when I left to meet a friend for brunch, the gunman was in custody and there were no reported deaths. We all know how those numbers quickly changed as the story developed. And while my initial reaction was one of hatred -- hatred for this man who targeted this community, my community -- I hadn't completely processed the sheer weight of the situation. That evening, as I waited for the soup on my stovetop to fully actualize into a meal, I walked across the street to buy a loaf of bread. The shelves were picked over, but one of the empty spaces stopped me cold: a placeholder for challah. I walked home and, before I returned to my cooking, looked at my husband and said, "The world is a scary place." We've restarted our monthly Shabbat dinners and while the timing is a coincidence, my plan is to honor the victims of Saturday's massacre at our table. If you're looking for a monetary way to honor the victims and their families, there's now a GoFundMe page set up to benefit Tree of Life and the families affected. And in the wake of our president's hateful rhetoric and policy, our transgender friends and family could use our support. The National Center for Transgender Equality is a great place to start. My heart goes out to all the families sitting shiva this week. 

There is comfort in the familiar. I'm writing this with The Big Sick on in the background. I haven't seen this movie in over a year, but as I watch this movie, every joke, every heartfelt moment, every sweater that Holly Hunter wears feels like a warm hug. Some weeks I can fight this patriarchal oppression with my art, some weeks I just need familiar rom coms and recharge time. Brett Kavanaugh has been shit for my creative writing. Every time I sat down to work on Rushing last week, I worked on a freelance piece instead. It's been great for my productivity and horrible for my discipline. Can both things exist simultaneously? I've also been watching lots of Parks and Rec. The logical step is to say that I spend a lot of time wondering what Leslie Knope would do, but I'm not. I'm just letting it all wash over me, creating mental GIFs of my favorite moments. I thrive on half-watching these episodes, even though I would hate it if someone half-watched something of mine. There's no good way to wrap this up, except to say I hope everyone is registered to vote. 

I’m experimenting with cross posting my TinyLetter dispatches here on my blog. If you want these tiny personal essays sent directly to your inbox, sign up here.

I’m going to sit on the last book I read this month because I don’t know how I feel about it. And in a year where I’m striving to only share the books I love, I just don’t think it made the cut.