the new moon in pisces for writers

and on catapult, the NYT, and creativity

I’ve got a few classes that are open for registration right now! Registration for How to Write a Book Proposal closes on March 10th; it begins the following day. And I have a one-day (online!, 2.5 hour) seminar at the Writing Institute for Sarah Lawrence, Writing the Hybrid Memoir this May.

Hope to see you in class! And now, for the New Moon in Pisces.

Jeanna

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Almost everyone I know is getting their ass kicked right now.

Let’s start with the micro. I left my house three times this week. Once, for writers’ group. Once, to take a walk in my neighborhood, during which I was attacked on the sidewalk. And once, to go back to the gym for the first time in years, after which I fell down a flight of stairs. I’m writing this from my couch, with a sprained ankle wrapped in an ACE bandage and an ice pack wedged between a pillow and my bruised ribs. 

And that’s just me. In the greater literary community, the much-beloved Catapult magazine (and school) was abruptly shuttered last Tuesday, with the news breaking in Publishers’ Marketplace before staff and instructors had been notified. Folks found out their jobs were at risk, or gone, on Twitter. (You can tell an astrologer wasn’t involved; it was on a moon-Mars opposition day.)

There has been so much collective mourning of Catapult, an institution which has generated much goodwill over the years (disclosure, I have published a fair bit there, and have a dear and lasting love for editors Matt Ortile and Tajja Isen). We’ve seen a resurgence of concern for the future of literary mags and small presses; the unpublicized part of the Catapult news was that layoffs included some members of the publisher arm, as well, which was declared “safe” in the announcement.

Nicole Chung, who was no longer on staff when it shuttered, said something so beautiful that really encapsulated the bittersweetness that so many of us felt: 

And then, barely before the news of Catapult’s demise had started to cool, there was a flurry of activity centered around the New York Times last Wednesday.

In an effort to hold the Times accountable for their despicable (and undeniably influential) coverage of the trans community, GLAAD and a group of 1000+ contributors sent coordinated letters of protest (during an idealistic Venus-Neptune conjunction). The Times immediately, roundly denounced them, quite literally saying “we’re really proud of [how we cover trans issues].” They proceeded to publish a Pamela Paul op-ed entitled “In Defense of JK Rowling,” which I will not link to.

At this point, tensions are so high that even NYT employees, such as Celeste Lavin, the homepage editor, are speaking out publicly against their employer. The NYT proceeded to send an internal memo that they “would not tolerate” their own journalists protesting their coverage of trans people.

Unsurprisingly, the Paper of Record prefers conformity over integrity.

If you’d prefer to read a summary of the Times issues, you can read Kelsey McKinney’s (who I’ve interviewed here) breakdown over at Defector, or read GLAAD’s Twitter thread providing a timeline of events.

Alternately, you can just read The Onion, which never misses: It is Journalism’s Sacred Duty to Endanger the Lives of as Many Trans People as Possible. 

This is the context that the New Moon in Pisces arrives in. 

It is very, very clear what the moon’s last waning period has brought. It is all too obvious what the literary community has lost, and faces further threat of losing. It is also clear what many of us are trying, so desperately, to release and change. The institutional obstructions. The money pressures. The tension that so many trans artists live with: how do you create when your life is constantly under threat? And the also an obvious issue for the coverage of trans writers at the Times, which Frankie de la Cretaz (who I’ve also interviewed here) discussed on Twitter:

This winter has brought much loss and reflection, but as Pisces season dawns, marked by an almost immediate New Moon, there is a chance to plant a seed. Truly. I do not speak in metaphor. So much of winter is cold, emotionally, spiritually, creatively if not literally. Capricorn and Aquarius are Saturn’s terrain. That is where we endure. 

But Pisces is Jupiter’s child. We have survived the snowy trek up the mountain to find ourselves in the halls of the gods and the ancestors. The lanterns are lit, the platters are full, the drinks are poured, and everyone you love is here. There are bards singing, artists painting, and much dancing. Here, you can rest and heal the wounds of the mountain while you dream up what you will take back down. 

Judy Chicago “The Dinner Party” at The Brooklyn Museum

Here, you know that because you have endured, more is possible.  

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The New Moon is exact at 1* of Pisces at 2:05a Eastern on Monday, February 20th. This particular New Moon is relatively free from other planetary influence; it is Piscean poetry in its purest form. Music, too, is a very Pisces art form to me: the flow of sound, the emotional connection that lodges in the heart and evokes specific time and place in a way few other art forms do. 

There is a general, by-sign conjunction with dreamy Neptune and artistic Venus, who the moon shares the sign of Pisces with for a mere 50 minutes before Venus departs for Aries, where she plays the part of the initiating activist. Still, Neptune and Venus’ presence, however brief, add an extra “oomph” to this New Moon’s creative capacities, especially for folks engaging in ritual (even just writing/journaling!) around the exact timing. 

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It is sometimes difficult to believe that more is possible. When our favorite magazines shutter because of the arbitrary whims of right wing billionaire nepo babies; when institutional powerhouses that purport to know better commit to supporting that very same right wing. It’s devastating. And it can be hard to believe that our words can make a difference. Where will we put them? Who will care? 

I don’t have any answers. But for me, at least, I know that even when I’m bedridden (again) and things feel all too hopeless that creativity arrives whether I’m ready for it or not. That my willingness and openness is all that’s ever needed. That something about this process, whether it’s the ritual or the disappearance of the “I” or or or, is profoundly spiritual. 

I am guided by a belief — by a knowing — that, for me, creativity and spirituality are one and the same. And that is something that gets me through those long Saturnian winters, through the bad industry news. The writing sustains, even when the profession may not. 

In Big Magic, one of my all-time favorites, Elizabeth Gilbert (a Cancer sun) says the following: 

The guardians of high culture will try to convince you that the arts belong only to a chosen few, but they are wrong and they are also annoying. We are all the chosen few. We are all makers by design. Even if you grew up watching cartoons in a sugar stupor from dawn to dusk, creativity still lurks within you. Your creativity is way older than you are, way older than any of us. Your very body and your very being are perfectly designed to live in collaboration with inspiration, and inspiration is still trying to find you. 

That is the hope of the New Moon in Pisces. 

Wherever you are / no matter how lonely, as Mary Oliver wrote — and whoever you are — inspiration is still trying to find you.

And it will catch you when you’re ready.

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Thank you for reading this edition of astrology for writers. I am a working writer, and this newsletter is only possible because of folks who support my work with paid subscriptions, which, to me, is rather like a Patreon — an indication of support. If you are interested and able, you can do so here.

P.S. Some good industry news from this last week that I didn’t mention was that the Harper Union ratified their new contract (!!!), and that’s because I’ll be doing an entire newsletter on the astrology of the whole strike. More soon.