*As always, you can find writing prompts + recommended reading at the bottom of this email. There’s also early bird pricing through December 31 on the first 2025 DIVE cohorts [with a Tuesday OR Thursday option this year!]. DIVE is a cozy and supportive seasonal writing group I’ve been leading in collaboration with via Creative Fuel Collective since the fall of 2022. You can find more info + sign up for forthcoming DIVE cohorts right here + in the post below.
I feel like I took a deep breath in early November, put my head down to meet some personal and professional deadlines, made three pumpkin pies when I originally meant to make one, and looked up to find a festive and now officially wintry late December staring back at me.
In between my last missive and this one plenty of Notable Things have happened, including a book I’ve been marketing lead on since March publishing to lovely fanfare and a litany of supportive, top-tier media bookings—something that isn’t ever guaranteed in publishing, and certainly not within the memoir genre, celebrity or otherwise.
I’ve worked so hard this year, on so many book-related projects [for other people primarily and for myself in ever more consistent fits and starts, too], and I’m looking forward to the sort of rest only intentional, prolonged time away from my desk can bring. It’s a gift I’m giving myself: Time to rest. Time to slow way down. Time to be, no strings or to-do lists attached.
We already had a handful of inches of snow on the ground in recent weeks, and then a foot of fresh powder fell here in our beloved mountains over the course of a recent weekend, so it’s undoubtedly fitting that our mornings as of late have been centered on visiting x-country ski trails in the lingering predawn darkness.
Being outside in the cold makes each of us happy for different reasons. I always bring notebooks and books and my watercolors. I always talk to the moon, talk to the trees, feel giddy and grateful to be able to ski for the first time since nearly tearing my Achilles tendon two summers ago. Matt and Toya either merrily skijor [something that really is amazing to see; picture below], or Toya gets to run off-leash and all-smiles while Matt gets to ski without worrying about her stopping abruptly in front of him to delight in some new and enticing smell.
Being outside in the cold and snow before we start our bustling work days is a gift we give to each other. It’s a gift of time and movement. It’s red cheeks and tired lungs and shaky legs and a sense of satisfaction as we all return to the trailhead after our various adventures. It’s intentionality in action, and I can’t think of something we need more.
Snow fell in steady sheets the day I started writing this letter, too, and I took every opportunity I could to run outside in between calls with authors to wander snow-lined streets, smile at lopsided snowmen, and play very stunted games of "fetch" with our snow-loving pup, Toya [with this much snow on the ground her beloved tennis ball doesn't so much "bounce" as it "plops merrily before mostly disappearing"].
Friday marked my last week of work before a long anticipated holiday break of sorts, where the publishing house I work for will shutter from Christmas Eve until New Year's Day, and the majority of our marketing department is committed to being out a bit longer than that [good for us! I say]. I took my last work call for the year on Thursday, and I won't take another one until Monday, January 6 [hallelujah!].
I'm in the mood to celebrate. I want to fling myself down into the snow and make snow angels until I can't feel my butt and then run inside for hot mugs of chai and cocoa with fancy marshmallows. I want to bake cookies and pies and Yorkshire Parkin and macarons. I want to curl up in the corner with a stack of beautiful books and read them as slowly and as leisurely as I'd like. I want to catch up with friends, hear and share stories; I want my days to be peppered with long hugs and steady bursts of laughter.
One of my favorite parts of December in the northern hemisphere is what it offers us: A chance to gather, to celebrate reaching the end of another year, to fill rooms with twinkle lights and candles in direct and intentional juxtaposition of facing our shortest days and longest nights, a chance to watch ridiculously cheesy and endlessly optimistic holiday movies while wrapping thoughtfully curated gifts for loved ones in “wrapping paper” adorned with Jeff Goldblum’s face.
[Fun fact: For as long as I can remember delighting in giving gifts, I’ve also delighted in wrapping said gifts in sales catalogs and/or with pages from assorted magazines I have lying around. 10/10, forever recommend.]
December offers us so many gifts of reflection, too.
December, even with all of its bustling and hustling, offers us space to breathe. If we can stop for a moment to accept the invitation, that is.
In between the can-certainly-feel-nonstop merry-making, celebrating, baking, traveling, selling, buying [I like to reframe it as “supporting” especially when it comes to procuring handmade art], and the general “making a list and checking it twice” of it all, December practically begs us to sit quietly with ourselves, our accomplishments, our challenges, our will-hopefully-do-better-next-times.
It gently dares us to shout our wins from the rooftops, even as it’s giving us permission to drop the curtains on the year behind us as soon as we’d like, no fanfare or future resolutions required.
Maybe you want close the year with fanfare. Maybe you want to make entire lists of resolutions. I love that for you (and for me, too). I think there are a litany of valid and seasonally-aligned reasons so many humans delight in making resolutions this time of year. They’re the same reasons we enjoy reading holiday recaps from loved ones, delight in a good year-in-review, strive to send cards to celebrate the passing of one year into the next. We’re a highly ceremonial and community-oriented species. Nowhere does that reality feel more pronounced to me than in December.
December isn’t judgment, it’s gratitude. It offers us all space to be cheerful and space to be silly and space to be warm and space to get cold and space to focus on the year ahead of us and still plenty of space to think about the year behind us, too.
It offers us tangible opportunities to look and see where and how we can support the people in our communities both near and far who might need help during the coldest months of the year. December really does want us to feel it all.
What have we learned? Where can we plug in? Where do we want to grow?
December wants to know. I do, too.
RECOMMENDED READING FOR THE MONTH AHEAD
Poetry:
“The Laws of Motion” by Nikki Giovanni
“There Are Birds Here” by Jamaal May
“Yellow Glove” by Naomi Shihab Nye
“December Notes” by Nancy McCleery
“Full Moon, Rising” by Jonathan Holden
DIVE 2025 — TUESDAY + THURSDAY COHORT OPTIONS
The first 2025 DIVE cohorts will officially kick off in late January, and you can snag early bird pricing through year’s end—perfect as a last-minute gift for yourself and any other writers in your life. We meet via Zoom three times a month for the first three months of the year, with curated weekly check-ins and writing prompts from me in between sessions. I’ll also be available to meet one-on-one to talk through your writing goals and help troubleshoot ways to alleviate any places you’re feeling stuck.
Whether you want to start a consistent journaling practice, finish a manuscript, try your hand at writing in some different styles and using a variety of prompts, fine-tune your writing skills, get used to sharing your writing aloud—or simply want to be a part of a monthly space centered on intentional, supportive time to write—this is the group for you!
WINTER 2025 [JANUARY-MARCH], the TUESDAY cohort will meet:
Tuesday January 21 // 4-6 PM PT
Tuesday February 18 // 4-6 PM PT
Tuesday March 18 // 4-6 PM PT
WINTER 2025 [JANUARY-MARCH], the THURSDAY cohort will meet:
Thursday January 23 // 4-6 PM PT
Thursday February 20 // 4-6 PM PT
Thursday March 20 // 4-6 PM PT
All writing experience and genres welcome. No matter where you want to go with your writing, I’m here to help you get there. Have questions? I have answers! Please feel free to reach out anytime.
REFLECTIVE WRITING PROMPTS FOR THE MONTH AHEAD
What is this December offering you? There are no right answers here [which means there are no wrong answers, either]. Write whatever comes up for you.
What can you offer this December in return? Again, no right/wrong answers.
Follow-up prompt: Pick something that stands out to you from your response to this prompt [maybe you made a list? pick something off it!] and make a plan to turn the thought into some sort of gentle action.
Seasonal ATTENTION Disorder. Make a list of things you notice [nouns and verbs, thoughts and feelings] throughout these last days of the year. Write about what this holiday season looks and sounds and smells and feels like to you.
Follow-up prompt: Write about a holiday of yore, one from your childhood, maybe, or any holiday memory that swims to the surface.
When you look back at the last year, what are you proudest of? Don’t be afraid to toot your own horn.
Looking back at the past year, what’s something you’re glad you learned? Make a list, perhaps, or maybe try telling a story centered on one thing you learned.
As always, I recommend sitting with each of these prompts for at least ten minutes at a time. Set a timer and try to keep writing without stopping or self-editing or even trying to steer yourself a certain direction. I’m a firm and longtime believer that when it comes to prompts like these, wherever you end up on the page is precisely where you’re meant to be.
Do you know someone who would benefit from receiving regular writing prompts to their inbox, who might delight in reading some intentional rambles about words and water and the power in finding our respective and collective (voices +) senses of place?
I’d love it if you’d share this post and Kerrtopia with them.
Kerrtopia is a free offering, though I've turned on paid subscriptions for this newsletter if you have the means to support it now or anytime in the future. It's not necessary to pay to read, but it is of course very much appreciated. I’ll likely be adding some special content for paid subscribers down the line. Thanks for reading, and for your ongoing support. I’m grateful you’ve found me here, grateful we’re here together. You can also find me on Instagram + on Bluesky.
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