My grandfather selling cigars as a young man—just one of the great family photos I dug up over the holiday break.

I’m at one of those strange points in life where “I’m flying home tomorrow” can mean two completely different places. I guess I’m thinking about it because, well—I’m flying home tomorrow: Back to Chicago and back to Columbia!

One of the last things I did before coming to Georgia for Christmas this year was to attend our annual Graduate Open Studios. One night a year, we make our private studios public, displaying our work and speaking to guests about just what it is we do here. The most exciting part, though, is seeing each others’ work. Not to be cliché (though if you got through that post title, you can stomach just about anything), but the Interdisciplinary Arts department really does feel like a family. We work together, hang out together, and see so much of each other that strangely enough, we can easily forget to stop and ask “Hey, so can I actually see that animation you’ve been working on?” In that way, Open Studios always feels like a big reveal.

Guests discuss graduate work at Grad Open Studios

Just three weeks after the event, I was sitting with a completely different crowd in a completely different state, but I was still giving the big reveal. I was finally able to show my most recently published book to my extended family (the literal one this time), and to tell them all about the one that I’m currently writing. I would spend much of this holiday time in Georgia doing research and intensive writing for this project, which focuses on my grandfather. I’m trying something new this time: I’m writing the entire book in a shareable Google Doc, and I’m giving the link to anyone who asks to read it—no matter how far along in the draft I am.

This also means that anyone who asks can leave comments on the text and see any other comments left, which has resulted in the most delightful clash of communities imaginable. I’m a firm believer in having as many editors as possible look at a piece of writing before it’s finalized, and this Google Doc is my proof of concept. On page 2, my professor agrees with my mother’s suggestion to change a sentence. On page 13, my roommate asks a grad student in my cohort to clarify her comment. On page 14, my sister asks that I include a childhood memory that I’d forgotten—but another professor is unsure whether I should. It’s the strangest collaboration between my two “families” imaginable (and very apropos to write about on a blog called “Marginalia,” I might add.)

There’s something else important happening tomorrow besides my return to the Windy City: This new book’s deadline. The writing is nearly finalized, the pictures almost perfectly placed. As I sit in my childhood bed putting together my newest book like a puzzle, I’m thankful to have such supportive communities in both halves of the country. Bring it on, 2016—I’ve got backup!

Pasting text and photographs into a dummy version of the final book