Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Kate Horowitz. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.
Kate, thank you so much for joining us today. Let’s jump right into something we’re really interested in hearing about from you – being the only one in the room. So many of us find ourselves as the only woman in the room, the only immigrant or the only artist in the room, etc. Can you talk to us about how you have learned to be effective and successful in situations where you are the only one in the room like you?
Transparency and authenticity are key. When I speak up as a disabled person and ask for accommodations or call out inaccessibility, I’m advocating for myself and people like me, but I’m also intentionally modeling humanity and courage. I’ve heard from peers and loved ones that my honesty and willingness to rock the boat have empowered them to speak up for their own needs. Knowing this motivates me to keep being brave.
There’s a lot of pressure on marginalized people to just take what we’ve been given and be grateful. It’s uncomfortable and often dangerous to say, “This needs to change.” But when we do, we make this world safer and more possible for everyone.
Great, so let’s take a few minutes and cover your story. What should folks know about you and what you do?
I’m an essayist, poet, and science writer. Each kind of work feeds the others: my voice as a science writer skews toward the lyrical and poetic, and my poetry is often inspired by science and nature. The subjects of my work—birds, trauma, sea creatures, space, medicine, animal behavior, chronic illness, nature, gender, recovery, disability, monsters—flow into one another in ways that surprise even me sometimes. I especially love interweaving information with personal stories. Readers tell me my work is magical, clever, startling, genuine, delightful, and strange, and that it makes them feel seen and understood. If something I write helps a reader feel a little less alone in this world, I’ve done my job.
My Substack newsletter, small magic, started out as a way to update readers when I publish new work, but it’s really taken on a life of its own. Each month in the newsletter I reflect on the state of my heart, my life, and the world around me, and share links to new publications. But the most popular section is “tenderness toward existence days,” in which I share a curated list of weird (and real, if silly) minor holidays for readers to celebrate over the next few weeks.
After a very long hiatus, I started drawing again last year, and it’s become an amazing outlet. I now create illustrations for most editions of small magic and for some of my other writing. I call my drawings “bad art”—not because I dislike what I make, although there’s plenty of room for improvement, but because it frees me from the constant pressure of perfectionism. Bad drawings feel like play, not work, and they still bring me (and other people) joy.
Looking back, what do you think were the three qualities, skills, or areas of knowledge that were most impactful in your journey? What advice do you have for folks who are early in their journey in terms of how they can best develop or improve on these?
Curiosity goes a long way. Getting excited about something new or unknown, asking questions, following a thread, and then sitting with what you find is a great skill for science writers, for sure, but also for poets, and essayists, and humans in general. When I lead a haiku workshop, a good portion of the time is set aside for students to go outside or sit by a window and just notice things, to train their attention and observation skills.
Being able to receive, absorb, and integrate feedback is another crucial skill. There’s only so far we can go alone; after that, we need input from others who know the subject, or who know us, or both, and we need to be able to accept their comments without getting defensive. My best writing is my best because I asked wise, trusted readers for their thoughts and took their responses seriously.
However: I think it’s equally important to trust your instincts, to know when to disregard other people’s opinions. This is something I’m still learning. Over and over again, I find that my intuition knows what’s best for a poem or essay (or other life decision). When I tamp down that gut feeling and take advice that doesn’t feel quite right, my poem/essay/life suffers for it. It is important, and difficult, to remember that I’m the authority on my own writing and experience.
What do you do when you feel overwhelmed? Any advice or strategies?
As an autistic person with sensory processing issues, I get overwhelmed pretty easily. Most of my strategies involve withdrawing from the churn and finding support for my senses, my nervous system, and my whole body. I use headphones to block out sound and sunglasses to dim bright light. I stop (or try to stop) scrolling social media and reading the news. I splash cold water on my face, take a cold bath, or wade into the ocean. I go somewhere to be alone. I open a window and feel the wind on my face. I do some kind of strenuous exercise, if I have the energy. I listen to nature sounds or watch comforting cartoons.
These adaptations address only acute overwhelm, the kind that can lead to burnout or shutdown. Larger-scale overwhelm is another story entirely. But I believe that tending to our bodies and nervous systems has to come first. We can’t make wise decisions when we feel like we’re chewing on an electric fence. Step one must be to regulate.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://katehorowitz.net
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kate_swriting/
- Other: https://katehorowitz.substack.com/
Image Credits
Tye Newton and Kate Horowitz
