Crossposted from my Substack newsletter.
Dec 09, 2025
It is dove-blue dawn, and I’ve just come from the monstrous turquoise tome that is my handwritten journal, having bulleted out the events of the last several months, possibly in an effort to explain to myself why it had been so long since my last entry.
The list did the work; I was satisfied that it wasn’t laziness, at least. I would like to do better. More handwritten journal entries, more letter-writing, and more writing and reading poetry. These carved-out pleasures. These slow-glass tasks. Things that take space and can’t be crowded. Things that require fewer piles at the periphery.
Meanwhile, awards eligibility posts abound, as they should at this time of year. A friend (Cat Valente? Amal El-Mohtar? One of “them goblin girls.”) once called such posts “good housekeeping,” which tickled my fancy at the time. I would’ve been in my mid-twenties, and learning more about the chores of a career, versus a life in art.
But housekeeping? I could do that. Somewhat cheerily, even. If sloppily.
What’s the best, best line from Howl’s Moving Castle? It’s about Sophie, housecleaning: “She was remorseless, but she lacked method.”
Re-framing an awards post as a necessary chore, rather than an unsightly boast was helpful.
(Just like re-framing a selfie as an act of, I don’t know, honesty, self-expression, feminism, the female gaze. That was helpful. One would hear a lot of grumbling about solipsism and self-concern and “kids these days.” But that was long ago, at the start of smart phones. Ha—like Charlotte from A Little Night Music: “Dear Miss Armfeldt, do regale us with more fascinating reminiscences from your remote youth.”)
I suppose I could just stick the “awards post” housekeeping here, in the middle.
The only thing that came out this year from me was Saint Death’s Herald.
THE THUNDER SAY TA-DA!
This fall has been a waterfall of travel: Phoenix for my Mima’s 95th birthday, New Mexico to house/dog/cat/guinea pig-sit for Tiffany Trent, New Orleans for Penny Shaw’s wedding, Philadelphia for PAX Unplugged; and of welcoming guests to New York: my aunt and uncle and cousins in September, Will Alexander for his Sunward tour, Jessica Wick’s visit to see Patrick Wolf in concert for his Stations of the Sun tour; and of events—readings, panels, running games.
Then, in late November I was hospitalized for acute pancreatitis.
I say “late November” like it wasn’t just a few weeks ago.
I feel like it was a life-changing event, but of course it’s too soon to say.
Let’s say then, I have been intent on making life changes. And the follow-up appointments aren’t done yet. So… we’ll see. How kind everyone has been. How sweet and urgent and supportive. How I love this community of friends and family and far-away folks I only know through the net. (The great spider weaves us all.)
Tonight my mother arrives—at midnight, the Witching Hour. The heat turned off in our apartment last night. The hot water tap ran icy cold. Of course, on the coldest day of the year. When else should it fail? I hope it returns for her visit. If not, the electric blanket! The hot water bottle!
I’m more than a third through writing the first draft of Saint Death’s Doorway. Such a different experience from writing either of the first two books in this series!
I’ve been trying to make it as LUDIC as possible, and taking delight in the weird process of writing rather than, as I’ve done in the past, being tortured by it. Ah! Writing in my 40s! What a difference!
I challenged myself to write a locked-room murder mystery/courtly politics drama thing. But then it got MUCH weirder than that. Keeping myself entertained, at least!
My friend Carla recently brought me a Literary Oracle Deck, with each of the cards being characters and their archetypes. (For example: Jo March as “Passion.”_
The one I drew for Saint Death’s Doorway? Frankenstein’s Monster as “Creature.”
It was such a perfect card for this absolutely bonkers book that I laughed out loud. And yet, for all my knotty plotty machinations, I’d never even CONCEIVED of the major Mary Shelley vibes running through this book.
But of course they must! As they must through any major work of necromancy in fantasy and horror! Ha!
Thank you, Saint Mary Shelley, Maker of Monsters. You deserve a Secular Saint candle for this one. And a prayer of your own.
As for upcoming events, dear New Yorkers and New York-adjacent. There’s next week:
In Person: Brooklyn Books & Booze at Barrow’s Intense
Where? Barrow’s Intense Ginger Liqueur NY Tasting Room: 86 34th Street Brooklyn 11232 (Industry City)
When? Tuesday December 16
What Time? 7-9 PM
Readers: Yours truly C. S. E. Cooney, Georgia DAy, David Gerrold, and Keith R. A. DeCandido
Virtual: The Bravery of Hope, with C. S. E. Cooney and Caskey Russell
When? Thursday December 18th
What time?
December 18th, 7 PM GMT / 2 PM EST—MY TIME! / 1 PM Central / 12 Mountain / 11 AM Pacific
Join Caskey Russell of the AMAZING The Door on the Sea and myself as we explore the “Bravery of Hope” in Fantasy worlds in crisis.
Where? Crowdcast! Watch FREE wherever you are in the world. Live or on catch up geni.us/SPCSECCK
About the Author:
Caskey Russell is from Seattle Washington, and has lived in Oregon, Iowa, Wyoming, and New Zealand. He is a father, a professor, a musician, and an enrolled member of the Tlingit Nation (Eagle / Kooyu Kwáan) of Alaska.
About Door on the Sea:
The first in a new fantasy series inspired by the folklore and culture of the Tlingit tribe of Alaska, The Door on the Sea is the Indigenous answer to fantasy epics such as Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle and J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, in which a bookish young man must lead a mismatched crew on an adventure to retrieve a weapon that could save the future of their people.
C.S.E. Cooney 