The first days of a new year always feel tender to me. Not loud. Not triumphant. Just… open. Like a room with the windows cracked, letting in air you didn’t realize you needed. 2026 is already shaping itself into a year of careful attention—attention to who we are, who we’re allowed to be, and how easily those things can be taken for granted. I’ve been thinking a lot about safety lately. Not just physical safety, but the kind that lets you breathe without bracing yourself. The kind that doesn’t ask you to shrink, translate, or justify your existence. Writing has always been my refuge when the world feels sharp around the edges. When systems feel too big, too cold, too sure of themselves. Stories let me imagine gentler structures. Kinder ones. Or at least places where resistance begins quietly, with a person noticing that something is wrong. I’ve been working—slowly, deliberately—on a new story set in Aria. Some of you may recognize the name. It’s a place I return to when I need to beli...