Reflections on January 2026

The world is changed.

Last month, I published an essay on here about Catcher in the Rye, a novel I revisit every five years. I wanted to share my love for that book, and to cast something I’d created out into the world, in the hope that it might hook a feeling or a thought in someone else. For me, Holden’s experiences in Catcher bloom with new meaning each time I follow him from his stodgy private school to the smoky, dizzying depths of Manhattan. Catcher is a tricky book, though, as it’s become mired in decades of misinterpretations. People read Holden’s despair, his railing against the binds of time and society, as simple “whining” instead of “grieving on a grand scale,” which is what I’d call it. I fear that Catcher has gained something of a sour reputation for many people, the same way you could once walk into someone’s dorm room, see their big Fight Club poster, and have an immediate understanding of what kind of douchebag they were. Perhaps that’s just my own jaundiced view of mankind speaking, to borrow a phrase from Alan Moore (in his Appendix to From Hell). But tell me you’ve never heard someone say, “I love the film 300,” and you’ve formed an immediate opinion about them. We are social creatures, and our intuition about others is a trait that has evolved to protect us from assholes in social situations. But I think Catcher deserves better.

In the past, I’ve been nervous to tell people just how much Holden Caulfield means to me. It felt freeing to put that essay out into the world, to let go of that fear. And the reactions I’ve gotten from people who also love Holden? Ooooh, deeply vindicating.

In the wake of publishing that piece, I realized I might have something like a newsletter on my hands. People might actually care about my thoughts on, like, a regular basis!? Besides, it feels nigh impossible to sell books these days without shouting into the abyss in every possible way, Substack included. That said, I have never, I’m ashamed to admit, cared deeply for newsletters. I subscribe to newsletters from several indie bookstores that I read (somewhat) devotedly. But most of the personal newsletters I recieve go unread. I’m sorry!! I just don’t have the extroverted attention span to see what everyone is up to all the time!

So, I cannot possibly expect anyone to spend time with this newsletter, knowing I’m somehow incapable of fully returning the favor. I mean, I don’t never read newsletters. I read maybe 5% of the ones that hit my inbox. If you’re already not reading by this point, that’s totally fine. I get it. I’m just wandering the trails of my own brainscape here.

I suppose that’s a question for you: What would you like to know? What do you want to hear about, from me? This Substack is for you, not me. Ha ha! Can you imagine if I was doing this for me?!?! If I was doing something “for me” right now, I would be writing an actual fiction, escaping through the hole in the page, as Paul Sheldon would put it. I wouldn’t be spending any more fucking time in this current mind-state than I have to.

Speaking of which, it feels silly and somehow irresponsible to write any sort of reflection upon the first few weeks of January 2026 without at least acknowledging the chill of despair and abject terror settling into (most of) America’s bones, as our government actively embraces the systemic evil that is, unfortunately, the bedrock of our country. I was raised on stories like Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, narratives that implore us to understand that even the smallest person (literally, in the case of the hobbits) can make a meaningful stand against imperial hatred. I find myself now surrounded by these narratives, in fact, and am thus shocked and furious that anyone could believe what is happening in the United States right now is anything but the activation of a systemic, deep-seated cruelty. Surely, people who voted for Trump like stories, no?

I enjoy sci-fi epics on audiobook. It’s nice to escape while driving or cooking or cleaning. On a whim, I picked up Red Rising by Pierce Brown recently. I knew nothing about the book going in, except that many of my friends have enjoyed it. Sure enough, as I should have guessed from the title, the book is an allegory. Terraformers on Mars rise up against their Roman emperor-esque oppressors. Of course.

I’m returning to narratives that have brought me comfort and joy in the past, too. I started rewatching Firefly for the first time in many years. And I know, I know, I hate egomaniacal assholes who emotionally abuse their casts, too. But the world Joss Whedon has rendered in Firefly is undeniably cozy: The sets are low-ceilinged and warmly lit. The low-budget style puts me in mind of evenings watching The Sci-Fi Channel with my dad when I was young. Best of all, the dialogue is sharp, and the narratives the show explores are starkly anti-imperial.

I don’t know, it just seems like rebellion permeates fiction at every level. Fiction may even, in and of itself, be rebellion.

I feel odd escaping into fiction these days, but perhaps I’ve had it backwards. Perhaps I’m absorbing as many narratives of rebellion as I possibly can, to assure myself all hope is not lost for us. I rewatched Lord of the Rings this month in theaters. I wept more than once! There are a lot of scenes in which one character says, “I have no hope,” and another character tells them to have hope, etc. Even Galadriel says as much, and she knows, like, everything! “Times are tough,” she essentially tells the fellowship. “Things look pretty bleak, not gonna lie. But it’s late. Have some food, take a nap. Things may seem clearer in the morning.”

I know people who love Lord of the Rings who also voted for Trump. How? Why? What do you even get out of the Battle for Middle-Earth that doesn’t translate to the other parts of your being?

Even my own fiction is a rebellious escape. Galloway’s Gospel, my latest novel, is a political story buried underneath layers of fun bits and monster mashes. It isn’t simply about magic pooping pigs. Those pigs are a fantastic power abused by a narcissistic psychopath who twists narratives and religious gospel for his own means, eventually using his own narrative to destroy the society he claims to love.

My aim is that this newsletter brings more people into the escapes in which I find hope.

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writing:

I’m in the middle of several different projects this month. I’ve been organizing a big event to launch the promotion for my next novel, Untitled Rebelein Project. It’s a standalone thriller/romcom! I’ve also written the first fifty pages of Untilted Sequel since December 16, which I’m hoping to sell soon. Surprise Novel is chugging along nicely since November, and only because I’m writing that one with a buddy, and it’s a total secret, so it feels like something that’s fun and just for us. Fantasy Novella is coming along more slowly than I expected, sadly, because I thought it would be “Fantasy Short Story” and I guess I was wrong, oops. It’s grown in a way that connects it to the worlds in Edenville and Meatship, which perhaps astute readers may be able to clue in on from that conext alone. I’m also kicking around the beginnings of a YA Renfield County novel, and another story collection. I’ve always had a million exciting ideas in my head at once, but now that I’m trying to realize those ideas into a career, this will be the year I figure out how to juggle activating those ideas.

reading:

I read very little these days. I have too much to read, actually, and I often feel paralyzed by all the choices I have. So I’ve been reading Misery very slowly, probably because I’ve seen the movie and saw a stage adaptation of it recently as well, so I feel like I’m wading ponderously through some of the slower-burning beats. The axe scene was very effective, I thought! There’s always some visceral detail in King’s fiction that’s better in prose than on screen—some smell or sensation, some line of dialogue that hits harder on the page. I’ve been enjoying seeing how Annie and Paul’s story unfolds more effectively in prose, versus where I think the movie excelled.

I like to read YA fiction before bed, because the prose is simple enough that my sweepy bwain can focus on it. I’m slooowly going through a re-read of The House with a Clock in its Walls. It’s a lot of fun! Each sentence is so tightly crafted that I really have to focus on what’s going on, or I’ll zone too far out of the story. I only read five pages or so before bed, but when I lay back down the next night, my spatially-oriented memory locks back in surprisingly fast.

playing:

I also found the time this month to play two relatively short video games: The Cabin Factory and The Roottrees are Dead. Cabin Factory was three bucks on the PlayStation store, and I’d highly recommend it for anyone seeking a fucking chilling little narrative. I got full-body chills playing that game, and that does not happen to me a lot! The Roottrees Are Dead, on the other hand, I wanted a bit more from. It starts with the sudden death of a candy company CEO, his wife, and his three daughters. You play as a “geneology genie,” and if I remember correctly, you’re tasked with finding out who in the Roottree family is next in line to take over the company. Obviously, I thought the greater narrative would be focused on who killed the current CEO and his beautiful family. The game makes a point of saying that there might be a Roottree family curse, or a disgruntled member of the extended family tree, or some greater conspiracy afoot. But then the game seems to forget that idea entirely as it dives deep into rabbit hole after rabbit hole regarding the Roottree family tree. The mechanics of the game are designed around using a computer to find information on the Rootrees: there’s a cutesy little search engine, a list of periodicals, library catalogs, etc. I found myself drowning in information every few minutes. I’d find a bit of info on somebody’s third cousin, and would fall, fall, down the rabbit hole finding out who they were, only to forget why exactly I was trying to find out about them. I resorted to using hints…all the time haha. I could never remember what information I even had! Perhaps a more adept mind would find the Roottrees more enjoyable, but I did have a good time piecing together what I could, and the little noises that would bling at me when I locked in certain family members was endlessly satisfying.

I also played Doom: Eternal, thinking that mindlessly killing wave after wave of demons would let me blow off some steam. I think that game just stressed me out more, and gave me headaches. I don’t think I’m very good at that game, either. But hey, even that narrative holds some choice words against the military industrial complex.

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t shout out Horrified: Dungeons & Dragons, the latest spin-off in the series of cooperative board games called Horrified, which my mother and I love playing together. The D&D game is the most effective spin-off yet, in my opinion, and we’ve spent many days sunk into the board together.

watching:

In addition to Lord of the Rings, I saw 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple in theaters, and I thought it was freaking amazing. I think the less I say about it the better, because it’s a good one to go into blind (if you’ve already seen 28 Years Later, of course), but I cannot wait for whatever comes out of that franchise next. I also had the chance to see a special screening of The Goonies, yet another anti-establishment narrative (country club scumbags, fuck off). I saw 2003’s low-budget Dead End, which I found almost obnoxiously slow and simple, sorry. I loved my rewatch of Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, though! And it’s yet another narrative about toppling smug, rich assholes from their stolen thrones of power. K-pop Demon Hunters, I threw on, on a whim, and enjoyed. I feel like animated films like this tend to be tearjerkers (looking at you, Into the Spider-Verse—that one bit near the beginning gets me every time), but I found myself pretty dry-eyed by what Demon Hunters had to say. It do be important to embrace who you are and to find your unique voice! But I felt like I’d seen that bit played out too similarly elsewhere.

I also started watching A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, which is fun because it feels like they plopped a sensitive, warm-hearted boy in the middle of one of the coldest, most brutal fantasy worlds imaginable (Westeros). And on a whim, I turned on English Teacher, of which I blew through four episodes right away. As an English teacher, I laughed out loud at so many of the in-school jokes.

Hey! Ya know that? All of these stories are about resistance, rebellion, and rising up. Even Holden’s story is about rebelling against the beast-machine of society. Why won’t anyone just talk to him? Is everyone so wrapped up in their own phony bullshit that no one has time for anyone else? Is that how we got where we are?

I don’t know what point I’m building to. Just: Read stories this month. Watch stories. “Escape.” And tell me that the mere act of engaging in fiction, in any way, isn’t a rebellion against our reality.

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