An honest open letter

Where I’ve been and where (I hope) we’re heading

If you want to know what it’s like to survive cancer (for me, anyway), it means every time you catch ordinary beauty, you jaw-drop marvel that you’re still here to see it. THIS SUMMER SWAMP AND SUNSET, my Lord and my God.

It’s been a month since I last published here. Summers are for sabbath, of course, and I’m still close enough to cancer that no one notices much when I take time away.

But this time it’s been harder to figure out how to come back.

Now is a new season. Not just the turning tide into autumn, the darker mornings and the golden light creeping earlier into afternoons. Not just back to school, the tricky transitions of relearning how to shape our days with new schedules for seven people.

But finally, finally I am feeling well enough and strong enough to step back into work in ways I haven’t done for months and months—the better (or worse) part of two years, truthfully. 

This is the time I’ve been longing for, the bright carrot dangling before me through relentless rounds of chemo and so many surgeries. I craved exactly this: to create anew, to write full-time, to turn up the heat on projects I’ve left simmering, to bring a new book (ok, more than one) into the world.

So I’m wading into the waters of book writing again (as you might be able to tell, both by my absence here and by the muddle of mixed metaphors in these paragraphs). It’s thrilling and terrifying, uncertain and unknown. On good days I think: this is going to be the best book I’ve written. On bad days, I wonder if I will have the strength and time to bring it to completion.

But one thing I know for sure: the way I write here needs to change, if I’m going to bring this book to life. 

A mysterious beloved child left this note on my typewriter, which actually sums up the process of first-drafting quite nicely

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The Holy Labor started four years ago, in the summer of 2020. Before that, I wrote a monthly newsletter, and before that, I wrote regularly at Mothering Spirit. 

From the beginning, all of this has been given for free.

Many motivations brought me to that decision, and along the way, paid subscribers here and here made my work possible. I could keep everything open to everyone, because there was enough.

But now that our family is coming out of two years of cancer treatments and reliance on one income, this simply isn’t possible anymore.

So starting this September, I’m changing the model and rhythm of The Holy Labor. I’ll write two essays a month, one for everyone and one for paid subscribers. I’ll also continue with the Wednesday round-ups of others’ holy labor, free for all each week because sharing others’ good work is one of my favorite things on this planet.¹

My deep hope is that you will decide to become a full subscriber here, to continue reading all that I write.

I struggled mightily with this decision over the past months. I understand what it’s like to feel the frustration of the paywall, to want to read more, to know that you can’t subscribe to everything based on your budget. I’m in the same boat, which is part of why I need to make this decision.

In the 15 years since I started writing, the vast majority of my words have been given away for free online. While this brought countless gifts, connections, and joys into my life, it’s also not a sustainable model. In the past, I was working part- or full-time, or doing enough freelance writing and speaking to make publishing here a delightful side gig, supported by just-enough subscribers to keep everything open for all. 

But my life has been irrevocably changed by cancer. One more big surgery still looms ahead this fall, so life is far from “back to normal.” For my calling as a writer to continue—and grow—I need to make changes of my own, too.

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Two important notes before we go (and next Saturday’s essay is begging to be edited).

First: a tremendous thank you to every one of you who reads these words. Your responses, your encouragement, your shares, your financial support—everything you have given me in the past four years (and for a few of you, from the very beginning) has shaped me into the writer I am today. In ancient words that still serve us well: I thank my God for you, and every time I pray for you, I always pray with joy (Phil 1:3).

Second: I realize that a paid subscription, even at $5/month (or $4/month if you choose the yearly option), will simply not be possible for some of you. When I say that I get it, know that I, too, have been the recipient of Substack “scholarships” from writers whose words I wanted to read but could not afford in certain seasons (

Sarah Bessey

&

Erin H Moon

&

Claire Swinarski

, I’m looking at you with gratitude).

So if you cannot swing this now, but would still love to read both essays each month, simply send me a note at laura@laurakellyfanucci.com. No need to explain your circumstances: we’re adults and I trust you. I’m honored that you regard my words so highly that you’d ask for more! Moving to more of a paid model is a means for me to support my family and fund my new book; it is not intended to close the door for anyone who wants to enter.

One year ago this week, I wrote these words on the softness of God. Turns out that in the opening chapter of my new book, I’m writing into the same truth: that the God I encountered through suffering and grief and cancer is a softer, stronger, wilder, and more wondrous God than I ever knew on the smoother side of life.

I want to share this unexpected epiphany with more people, and each of you is helping me to make that happen.

Thank you.

1. In the weeks I send out an essay for paid subscribers, I will send an excerpt to everyone. This is not meant to be an annoying tease, but simply to show you what I’m writing in case those particular words happen to be the ones you might need now. If you decide to subscribe for $5 just to read them and then unsubscribe after that month, I absolutely will not be offended! Every ounce of support helps make this work possible.