HeyJaredThe Joy Weave
Novelist and publisher. I write about making the books and the music that goes with them—with the cost included. Every other Friday.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 25, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 10, 2026
Latest issues
The Ones That Miss (or The Harmony of Almost) (opens the original)
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Working the problem in yarn, flat on a table, I was trying to find the path with my hands because I couldn’t find it any other way. Which turns out to be what topologists do: a knot is not a picture; it’s a route, and there are questions about routes that fingers answer faster than eyes.I was forty-one, working through premedical coursework I’d gone back for, when I started a canvas called Cardium—Latin for heart. I finished it at forty-six, after several failed attempts.<a class="image-link ima
Resolution and Consolation (opens the original)
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Last week a machine deleted a stanza from one of my songs.I write lyrics in form. This one was quatrains, ABAB, strict pentameter, and the composing software I use to render them simply declined to sing one of them. I found out as I was about to send the album off to distribution—too late to be casual about it, early enough to fix. So I sat with the file open and read the missing quatrain out loud against the recording, deciding whether to pull the whole release back.Then I noticed something I d
Five Gold Coins (opens the original)
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Every family owns one sentence it has polished into gold. Ours is this: in 1939, my grandmother brought out five gold coins from their hiding place, and with them a widow bought her son a doctor’s education.I was named for her—Mürşide—so I have carried the teller’s name longer than I have understood the tale. She was a merchant’s wife in Çandarlı, a small fortified thumb of the Aegean that the Genoese once held and the ancients called Pitane. Her husband kept the town’s general store, farmed tob
Fifty-One Posts (opens the original)
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This morning I deleted fifty-one essays from this publication. Not archived. Unpublished, gone, most of them never to return. I had written eighty-three. I kept thirty-two.I had gone in to fix the byline. It said JoyCanvas Studios—the name of my art studio, not the name I publish novels under—and correcting it was meant to take five minutes. Then I opened the section descriptions and read this, which I wrote a little over a year ago:The spiral does not race—it listens. Its center is not a point,
The Accidental Pastoral (opens the original)
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