I’ve made no secret over the past few years that I’ve struggled with creativity and its place in my life. I’ve intermittently gone through periods where I was ready to give up on any sort of creative work whatsoever. I’ve felt imposter syndrome and I’ve dealt with feelings of inadequacy, indolence, and fear about doing any kind of creative work.

This year, I attempted to do something about it. I had originally started 2019 with a mission to create whatever I wanted and bundled those things up into quarterly zines that I would release on the changing of the seasons. And as winter slipped into spring into summer and into fall, I did make things. Slowly, and with excruciating trepidation, I drew things, I wrote poems. Simultaneously I was plunging the depths of my soul, processing the death of my grandmother, working through a decade-long depression, and understanding myself in ways I never had before.

My plan to release things quarterly didn’t quite work out how I intended. But as the year closed out and I sifted through what I had made, I realized that there was enough. Out of the cruft and the maudlin detritus, I pulled out these poems that I felt particularly fond of. (Don’t worry, they’re still incredibly maudlin.) This little zine now exists as proof to myself that I can make something, slowly but surely, and bring it to completion.

This collection is a signpost to myself, evidence that I can complete something of my own volition without the threat of deadlines or external obligations. It’s a love letter to a previous version of me, proof we’re still breathing, still working on our shit.

The title of this collection comes from a quote by Sarah Hepola that has been a bit of a mantra to me when I feel like giving up. Every poem in here is a brick and I’m laying them down one at a time until I can take another step forward. At times, this process has felt unbearable; at times, self-indulgent, at times, it has felt magical.

Change is not a bolt of lightning that arrives with a zap. It is a bridge built brick by brick, every day, with sweat and humility and slips. It is hard work, and slow work, but it can be thrilling to watch it take shape.

— Sarah Hepola

If you would like to read this little zine, there are a few options:

• Download it on Gumroad for pay what you want.
• Support me on Patreon for $1 or more a month.

If you do read it and anything resonates with you, feel free to reach out. I make no promises; I hope you’re finding your way too.