Recurring dreams and other things we do in the dark
Recurring dreams and other things we do in the dark
Dear Friend,
I have a recurring dream that I'm the new kid at school and can't find my classroom no matter what I do. Sometimes the ink is smudged on my timetable. Sometimes I don't have my glasses and can't read the numbers on the doors. Maybe I took a right at the end of hallway when I should have gone left. Or maybe the room just doesn't exist. I’m looking for room 104, and while I've found 102, 103, and 105… 104 is nowhere to be found.
The dream always ends the same way: with me giving up. Because I know that even if I do manage to find my classroom, I can't go in. I'm late, and everyone will stare at me. Even worse, I'm new.
Anxiety dreams are pretty common. My husband's recurring dream is that he discovers he's one credit shy of finishing university, and therefore never graduated. But he did graduate, 26 years ago. My recurring dream feels more literal. I really was the new kid in high school – five times, in fact, in a span of three years. Twice, I started at the new school after the term had already begun (October and February), which was, to put it mildly, awful. Zero stars. Do not recommend.
Every time I had to start over, it was terrifying. Especially for a girl like me who was naturally shy, painfully self-conscious, and screaming on the inside.
It was a stressful time in my family back then, and despite having a memory like a steel trap for every other stage of my formative years (going all the way back to when I was three years old and belting out Janis Ian's "At Seventeen" into a mic at a party), I don't remember a lot of the details of my life between the ages of 16 and 18. I blocked so much of it out. What I do remember is being 19, and throwing out all the journals I'd filled during the worst time of my life down the garbage chute of my apartment building.
A couple of months back, while poking through an old storage bin filled with stuff I hadn't seen in years – childhood trinkets, yearbooks, sheet music for 90s pop songs I used to play on the piano – I found a gray binder full of letters written on lined three-hole punch paper.
They were written by me, to my best friend Annie, when we were 16. We were in separate schools by then, and I'd write to her every day, and give them to her whenever we were able to hang out. She saved them all in this gray binder, and at some point years later, she must have given it to me to read. But I don't think I ever did read them. Somehow the binder got packed away, and we both forgot it ever existed.
Until I found it again. I flipped to a random page and saw this:
As I skimmed through the letters, two things struck me. One: I was brutally sad during that time, filled with grief and terror and rage that would manifest in my writing decades later. And two: I was always going to be a writer. There was never anything else I wanted to do.
So now I finally know the answer to the question I get asked whenever someone reads one of my books: Jenny, why do you write such dark stuff?
Because in my books, she finds the classroom. In my books, she walks in late even though she's terrified. No matter how dark life gets, she turns out okay. She might make a million mistakes along the way, but her life, in the end, gets better.
Things We Do in the Dark in paperback
Things We Do in the Dark is out in trade paperback today! This is, admittedly, my favorite print format. Light enough to carry around, but big enough that my aging eyes can read the text comfortably. If you haven't had a chance to read it yet, I hope you pick up a copy!
Thoughts about the new book
Yes, there will be a new book, I promise. I'm still writing it, and per my very inefficient process – which, if you're ever interested, I'll tell you about – I'm currently at the 80,000 word mark, which is about 80% of the novel. Yay! But I full-out hate 50,000 of these words, so… ugh.
While it's not a great feeling to be at the I want to print this book out on paper just so I can light it on fire stage of a first draft, I accept that this is my process, this is my normal, and all will be fine.
And my editor actually knows what I'm working on this time around. It might seem nuts, but this was a huge step for me. I've always been a skittish writer, afraid to tell people what I’m working on for fear they might… laugh? Smirk? Grimace? Cringe? Unintentionally react in a way that makes me doubt my idea and, while we’re at it, all my life choices?
My ideas are like candles in the wind – one accidental sigh and they’re snuffed out forever. Thankfully, I have an editor who understands this about me. He treads lightly when I’m in a first draft stage, which I appreciate more than I could ever express. And whenever he decides to retire, I will cry like a baby, which will be incredibly awkward for us both.
That being said, I'm only skittish about my book while I’m writing it. Once I have a complete draft, I want ALL the criticism. Rip it apart and tell me everything that sucks. Show me every opportunity I missed, tell me when I've gone too far, tell me when I haven't gone far enough. Show me all the places where I was lazy, where the writing didn’t land, where the story could be stronger. If I’m not two degrees away from dead when I turn in that final draft, then I didn’t work hard enough.
I have never cried over an editorial letter.
Yet.
The Revenge List
My friend Hannah Mary McKinnon’s new thriller is out today!
Here’s what it’s about:
They say life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. But all she could see was regret.
The people in Frankie Morgan’s life say she’s angry. Emotionally stunted. Combative. But really, who can blame her? It’s hard being nice when your clients are insufferable, your next-door neighbor is a miserable woman and the cowardly driver who killed your mother is still out living it up somewhere.
Somehow, though, she finds herself at her very first anger-management group session—drinking terrible coffee and learning all about how “forgiveness is a process.”
One that starts with a list.
Frankie is skeptical. A list of everyone who’s wronged her in some way over the years? More paper, please. Still, she makes the pointless list—with her own name in a prominent spot—and promptly forgets about it…until it goes missing. And one by one, the people she’s named start getting hurt in freak accidents, each deadlier than the last.
Could it be coincidence giving her the revenge she never dared to seek…or something more sinister?
If Frankie doesn’t find out who’s behind it all, she might be next.
Congratulations, Hannah!
(Admit it, you were hoping to see a list of all the people who’ve wronged me. But no, I would never tell. I hold all my grudges in secret so they fester, like a normal person.)
Happy News
Things We Do in the Dark is nominated for two Thriller Awards! Best Hardcover Novel and Best Audiobook. Of course, the moment I saw the shortlists, the Eeyore in me immediately thought, "Well, that can't be right," followed by, "Well, I guess that's two chances to lose." (Remember how my superpower is diminishing all the good stuff that happens to me? Yeah, that.)
But then I mentally slapped myself out of it. So many amazing books are eligible for these awards, and to snag a nomination in any category is a massive honor. I know it's a cliché to say that I'm thrilled just to be nominated, but I really am just thrilled to be nominated. I’m also looking forward to my annual trip to NYC for ThrillerFest in less than two weeks from now, where I get to catch up with so many friends.
As for the Debbie Downer/imposter syndrome thing, I'm working on it. Stomping on my own happiness serves me not at all, and I'd really love to be able to enjoy my career while I still have one. After all, there are no guarantees in publishing, and just because it's going well now doesn't mean it will last…
Dammit, I just did it again. Shut up, Jenny, and say thank you.
Thank you.
xo Jennifer