👻💖six months of rules for ghosting

It’s February 20, and as of today, Rules for Ghosting has been out in the world for six whole months!

It feels very weird to be recognizing a fun and exciting milestone at a time when everything seems to be increasingly Awful And Terrible And On Fire (Sometimes Literally). But at the same time, the moments when things are increasingly Awful And Terrible And On Fire (Sometimes Literally) can actually be the moments when it’s most important to find things to celebrate.

So, in that spirit: A few things that I have been incredibly proud of over the first six months of Rules for Ghosting’s published life!

First up: Rules for Ghosting was apparently a big fave for Olivia Waite (the romance fiction columnist for New York Times Book Review) because she gave it a bunch of attention — R4G showed up on her list of the best romance novels of 2024, as well as a few others, and I got the absolute bucket-list privilege of being featured in the print edition! She also shared these lovely words, which made me cry:

R4G also spent a week on the USA Today bestseller list, got amazing reviews at BookPage and Shelf Awareness, snagged some coverage from LitHub, Geek Girl Authority, and Book Riot, and even ended up on a year-end from the Chicago Review of Books!

Rules for Ghosting was also chosen as an honor book for the Association of Jewish Libraries Jewish Fiction Award! I’ve always been proud that Rules for Ghosting is as much a love letter to Jewish ritual as it is to queer community and found family, but for a book to very clearly say “Jewish rituals should be inclusive to trans and gender-nonconforming people and they should be honored as who they are no matter what” and to be recognized for that by a Jewish library organization was both surprising and touching.

Finally: I GOT FANART! The fabulous @alongwaytostar drew me this beautiful art of Jonathan and Ezra, and captured them so perfectly.

As lovely and validating as all of that has been, the absolute best part of having Rules for Ghosting out in the world has been the responses I’ve gotten from readers. Folks have reached out to share so many personal stories of how Ezra’s journey connected to their own lives and experiences, trusted me with so much truth and vulnerability, and offered so many kind and beautiful words. It means so much to me that people see themselves, their lives, and their stories in Ezra and in Rules for Ghosting — I set out to write a book that would make people feel seen, and I’m so proud that it seems to have worked.

so: now what?

Let’s get the big thing out of the way: It’s real scary out there.

I’ll be honest: Most days right now, I have trouble remembering the last time I didn’t feel sad, and scared, and tired. I’ve had to put some really strict time limits around my news consumption and social media use, because the Awfulness is super overwhelming, and as a parent to small kids, there’s only so much exhausted horror I can hold at any given time before I cease to function. I see a far-right administration trying to dim the light of kids like my brilliant, gender-creative older child; I see my bright, happy, borderline-ginger toddler in the faces of babies lost on both sides of a horrible war. There are so many hearts broken and breaking, and it feels impossible, more often than not, to be anything but heartbroken.

But also: The world goes on. It has to. And we go on with it.

As I spent the last few months finishing up the first draft of what I hope will be my second published novel, I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be writing queer books right now. Each moment feels more uncertain than the last, and jokes about “if we’re even still allowed to publish queer books by the time this is ready to go to editors” feel a bit less like jokes every day. It’s hard not to dissolve into the “what’s the point”s, the “why bother”s, the “does it even matter”s.

But at the same time, and maybe much more importantly: For every “does it even matter,” there’s a “This is precisely the time when artists go to work.” There’s a “Let this radicalize you, rather than lead you to despair.” There’s an “Art in the face of tragedy is not frivolous.” There’s a “No darkness lasts forever, and even then, there are stars.” 

There’s a “Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

So, amidst everything, amidst the constant sadness and scaredness and tiredness of it all, I am trying. I am doing the small things. I am writing more gay books. I am reading: More romance, more poetry, more stories that remind me to be tender, to be loving, to be soft, to lean into the humanness of touch instead of turning myself to stone. I am sending care packages to friends and doing crafts with my babies. I am calling my representatives and editing fundraising emails for my local trans advocacy organizations and sharing books with my friends. I’m printing photos for the “oh shit it’s time to run” bag and making sure my kids’ schools have a plan for what to do if ICE shows up and taking my antidepressants. I’m looking for moments of delight and ways to find more whimsy and trying to drink more water.

I’m trying, because what else can we do?

As much as I wish I did, I don’t have a set of creativity for good questions right now. Mostly, that’s because I think at this moment, any creativity is creativity for good. Creativity lights up the places inside us that still want to make something, to do something, to build something up instead of tearing it down.

And so much is being torn down, my loves, so very, very much, that these are the moments when we should be creating without pressure, without overthinking, without fear or hesitation or judgment. If you have it in you to bring your inner editor to your work in these moments, by all means, do so — but if you don’t, then please, put their voice away.

Make something. Make anything: A meal, a poem, a painting, an altar, a paragraph, a photo, a cake, a plan, a zine, a phone call.

Make something as permanent as a sculpture or as fleeting as a pot of soup. Make someone smile. Make someone laugh.

But keep creating. The good will follow.

some housekeeping

So, in case you somehow missed it (because everything is full of Nazis these days): Substack is full of Nazis!

I don’t monetize this newsletter, and don’t plan to, but I’m also not particularly interested in staying at the Nazi bar. (Obligatory disclaimer: I understand there are folks whose financial security is dependent on Substack income — this is not a judgment, you do what you can here in the End Times.) I’m not totally sure how or when I’ll be leaving this platform, or to where, but it’s something on the horizon. If you’re interested in sticking with me (and I hope you are!), please consider subscribing to Creativity for Good through your email, rather than just following on Substack. That way, I can bring you with me to wherever our next destination has to be.

On the subject of scheduling, you may have noticed a bit of a break in your regular Creativity Q&As! Folks are (understandably) very much at capacity right now, so interviews are taking a back seat for at least Q1. I’ve got some feelers out and my fingers crossed that we’ll be picking back up in April. In the meantime, I’m hoping to be back with our regularly scheduled newsletters on creating and creativity for good (along with reflection questions, resources, and more) next month.

And hey:

Thanks. 💜

resources, links, and further reading

spotlight on: doing something

• Some Actions That Are Not Protesting or Voting (a rolling document, originally adapted from a list shared by Frontline Medics)

• Adding More Whimsy (my new favorite Instagram thread — full of ideas, or just a lovely thread to read when you’re sad)

• How to be your own light in the age of Trump (originally published in 2016, but no less relevant, and with a beautiful journaling exercise at the end)

• Making a Plan: How to Take Action Where You Are (a workbook co-created by Mariame Kaba, co-author of Let This Radicalize You)

• 7 Ideas to jumpstart community practice (a simple and lovely list from at )