A writing space dedicated to fleeting thoughts in between places, by yours truly

Introduction

Dear reader,

I have started and then ended a lot of things, but the words never left my fingertips. I began writing in journals in English so my Vietnamese parents couldn’t understand my most intimate thoughts. Then I grew up on the internet, discovering blogs, making spaces that would be mine and my feelings’ only.

I changed and grew a lot, both as a person and in my writing. Luckily, both growths happened hand-in-hand. And luckily, I have found words again and again in coffee shops in London. Instead of going through with a simple mailing list to let you lot know what’s been going on, and what’s new, I have found a new appreciation for this kind of Substack newsletter landing straight to my email and reading them when I can. (I have subscribed to a few of these.)

Next to my main projects (novels!), this will be a way to hold myself accountable to write. I've been writing for years privately, and have too little sleep and too many words pouring out of me.

I am lucky enough that people getting to know me in this part of my life can tell that I’m a writer, next to an avid reader. It wasn’t always like that – sometimes people would look at me weird when I told them that I’m writing. I can tell them what I do as my day job (currently, as a barista) but sometimes I love to tell them I’m doing writing as my main job instead (even though it generates little money, I am self-published, after all). And when someone asks me what I want to do with my life, the answer is very clear. The answer is always the same but sometimes I get the feeling it doesn’t seem enough (for others). But no matter what, I am a writer. I know this for sure.

I just wanted this letter to be a way of me saying Hello and that I'll be here doing this, and these letters will be archived for you to read whenever you fancy. I hope you join me. I am so grateful if you do. I can’t promise how much or little I will be writing to you. But I’ll be here.

Hannah