Cannon Beach, Oregon, July 2022 —
Dear Dreamers,
Hello! I’ve missed you. I just returned from the incredible Tin House Summer Workshop in Portland, OR. I’ve never been that far west before, nor have I ever seen the Pacific Ocean, so that alone was worth making the trek for. On Thursday, when we had a break from lectures and readings and the like, my friends Eliana, Felix, Lucía, Dana, and I made our way to the beach, where several of us (including your Howdy) swam into the freezing water, letting it wash over us, something akin to baptism. I needed that. The vastness, the shock of the waves, and my own thudding heartbeat reminded me that yes, despite it all, here I am. I remember grabbing Felix’s hand and turning him towards the water, screaming LET LIFE IN! which, in hindsight, feels a bit melodramatic, but didn’t at the time, and I can’t bring myself to regret it. Lucía and I swam out and came back to the sand together, yelling to be heard over the clatter. Then, we hugged. Simple, incredible. That night, I slept quietly, strangely. If I dreamed, it was of a large dark stag with one antler, a pattering rain, and the taste of melon and sand.
This all to say, there will be no dream this week, but we’ll be back on schedule on August 4th. I also wanted to say — thank you so much for your support. I couldn’t do it without you. This newsletter, and all it involves, is one of the best/most fun/worthwhile parts of my life. I even met a reader IRL (!!!) if you can believe it, so a special thank you to Emily.
If you’re really missing your regular dream transmission (and I’d be honored if you did), you can read a piece I did for Syllabus here. It is described as follows:
Autumn’s syllabus is a gothic tale of ghosts and grief, inflected with wisdom, optimism, and humor. It recounts the author’s homecoming to rural Oklahoma, where she moves into her late father’s house. We oscillate between the grounded reality of wood stoves, spray paint, and old leather couches, and the wild world of visions, faith, and dreams. The piece is a patient, gentle manual on survival and starting anew, and embracing all the wonder and heartache of the everyday.
And also has a bit about my ~process~!
Dreams are a kind of migration from what lies beyond to what is in the here and now. That is why they come easily to you, that is why they fill you up until they trickle out of your mouth like a mountain spring. A long time ago, you knew that your gift was dreams. Interpreting them, seeing them, tasting them, slipping into them like water through a sieve. No one told you this, but it seemed the most obvious solution to the truths you knew about them, the ones you had yourself, the constant, pulsing pressure of the —
As always, I’m hungry for YOUR dreams — so send them along. I’m open to all that come across my path, but I’m especially thinking (right now) about dreams involving friendship, love/sex, and fraught landscapes. If yours doesn’t fit that criterion, please just send it along anyway — each and every one is a gift in itself. The dreamland email is sadboyhowdy@gmail.com and you can start your letter with Dear Howdy, or whatever suits your fancy. I look forward to reading everything you send!
Speaking of reading, I’m going to end us with a reading list that you may or may not be interested in, but before that, a Reminder. Your comments, questions, email responses, etc. keep me going! Please don’t hesitate to send them. Okay. Until the next. I’m sending you a dream of a glitteringly golden sun, a red Adirondack chair, and a soothing, calm voice. Hey, it says. There you are.
See you on the other side,
Howdy
what howdy is reading (a list):
Body Grammar by Jules Ohman
Acts of Service by Lillian Fishman
A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley
I Hold A Wolf by the Ears by Laura Van Den Berg
The Incendiaries by R.O. Kwon (a reread, a delight!)
“To Paradise” Isn’t About Gay Suffering: It’s About Daddy Issues, Disability, and Homonationalism by Benedict Nguyễn