The room is back. I was away for a minute — moving, no WiFi, life in boxes. But the light stayed on, and now the microphone is warm again. Literally. I finally got a real mic. A Snowball Blue. No more skull headphones. So if I sound different tonight, that is why.

Today: "The Overcoat" by Nikolai Gogol. Written in 1842, in St. Petersburg, Russia. A clerk named Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin has one threadbare overcoat. When it falls apart, he saves every kopeck to have a new one made. The names are absurd. The bureaucracy is absurd. But underneath the satire, there is something real: a man who wants dignity, who wants to be seen, who freezes in the Russian winter and dreams of warmth.

Gogol wrote comedy, but he never forgot the person underneath.

I read whatever you send me — fragments, poems, screenplays, journal entries, 3am thoughts, any genre. Real or imagined, anonymous or named. No judgement, no critique, just your words out loud. Your first yes.

[email protected]

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: ⁠⁠⁠⁠wwfyby⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠@writtenworksforyoubyyou⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Website: ⁠⁠⁠⁠writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co⁠⁠⁠⁠

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

No story this week. I'm moving, the WiFi is gone, and the room is in boxes.

Instead: a personal note about why I started Written Works For You, By You, what I thought it would be, and what it became. The silence, the submissions that didn't come, the dead voices that became the point. The dog who got me through it. The notebook I found while packing.

The room moves with me. It always has. It always will.

Back next week with "The Overcoat" by Gogol.

Send me your words: [email protected]

I'm still listening.

A journal found in a house in Baltimore. Dated September to October, 1922. A man named Tom receives a letter from his lost friend Arthur, gone ten years, and goes to find him. He doesn't know what he's walking into. Neither do you.

M. Humphreys wrote this — but that name hid a woman. Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes, writing under a man's name because the world didn't think a woman could write this kind of horror. She wrote about Jack the Ripper, about murder, about the darkness in ordinary houses. And she had to do it in disguise.

The horror here is not blood or monsters. It's time stopped. A friendship frozen in decay. The inability to leave, the inability to save someone already lost. The smile that isn't a smile. The blue complexion. The fact that Tom stays for a month, knowing something is wrong, unable to act.

I read whatever you send me — fragments, poems, screenplays, 3am thoughts, any genre. No judgement, no critique. Just your words, out loud. Your first yes.

[email protected]

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: ⁠⁠⁠wwfyby⁠⁠⁠.

Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠@writtenworksforyoubyyou⁠⁠⁠.

Website: ⁠⁠⁠writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co⁠⁠⁠

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

You know the need. A place to sit when the night is long and the heart is hollow. Somewhere with light, with someone who doesn't rush you. Somewhere to be alone without being lonely.

Hemingway wrote this in 1933. An old man in a Spanish café, drinking alone. Two waiters watching him. One young, impatient, wants to go home. The other older, and he understands — the need for a clean, well-lighted place against the dark.

I read whatever you send me. Fragments, poems, 3am thoughts, any genre. No judgement, no critique. Just your words, out loud. Your first yes.

[email protected]

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: ⁠⁠wwfyby⁠⁠.

Instagram: ⁠⁠@writtenworksforyoubyyou⁠⁠.

Website: ⁠⁠writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co⁠⁠

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

You know Alcott for Little Women. This is the Alcott who wrote in the dark.

A young woman, trapped in a house with a man who smiles while he takes her voice. Who tells her she's mad until she almost believes it. Who locks her away for speaking the truth.

It's heavy. It builds slowly, like a room filling with water. But the fear underneath is the fear of not being believed — and that's older than 1863.

Send me what you wrote — fragments, poems, 3am thoughts. I'll read it back to you. No judgement, just air.

[email protected]

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: ⁠⁠wwfyby⁠⁠.

Instagram: ⁠⁠@writtenworksforyoubyyou⁠⁠.

Website: ⁠⁠writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co⁠⁠

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

A warm room for your words, whatever they are.

Today: Alexei Tolstoy's 1839 folk horror, "The Family of the Vourdalak." A father hunts in the Serbian woods and returns... not quite right. The oldest son sees it first. But the house cannot hold what it has become.

One voice, one microphone, no performance pressure. Just someone reading to you in the dark.

I read whatever you send me — fragments, poems, screenplays, 3am thoughts, any genre. No judgement, no critique. Your first yes.

[email protected]

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: ⁠⁠wwfyby⁠⁠.

Instagram: ⁠⁠@writtenworksforyoubyyou⁠⁠.

Website: ⁠⁠writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co⁠⁠

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

A warm room for your words. This week: Chekhov's "The Bet" — fifteen years of solitude, a piano, and a mind left alone with itself. A meditation on time and what we become when no one is watching.

Written Works For You, By You is a weekly podcast where I read your writing back to you — fragments, poems, screenplays, 3am thoughts, any genre. Submissions always open: [email protected]. Not sure if it's good enough? Send it anyway.

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: ⁠wwfyby⁠.

Instagram: ⁠@writtenworksforyoubyyou⁠.

Website: ⁠writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co⁠

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

A warm room for your words.

We hit a thousand streams this week. A thousand times someone opened the door and sat down. Thank you for being here.

Next week: 'The Bet' by Anton Chekhov — fifteen years of solitude, a piano, and a mind left alone with itself. A meditation on time and what we become when no one is watching.I read whatever you send me — fragments, poems, screenplays, 3am thoughts, any genre. No judgement, no critique. Your first yes.

[email protected]

Leave a five-star review for a shout out:

Reddit: wwfyby.

Instagram: @writtenworksforyoubyyou.

Website: writtenworksforyoubyyou.carrd.co

Available on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio, and wherever you listen.

The room is open. I'm still listening.

Welcome back.

O. Henry was a pharmacist, a ranch hand, a bank teller, and a fugitive before he was a writer. He wrote this while he was hiding from the law, and you can feel it — two kidnappers who think they've got it all figured out, and a kid who absolutely refuses to cooperate.

It's funny, it's ridiculous, and it's somehow deeply human.

O. Henry sent this out into the world not knowing if anyone would read it. They did. They still do.

If you've got something you're not sure about — something funny, something weird, something you wrote at 3am and almost deleted — send it to me. I'll read it out loud. Anonymous or named. I'm still listening.

Website: WWFYBY

Instagram: @WrittenWorksForYouByYou

Reddit: WWFYBY

Email: ⁠⁠⁠[email protected]

And if you leave a review or a comment, let me know — I'll give you a shoutout in the next episode. Every voice helps this room grow.

Season 2 opens with Matthew Pelton — the writer who gave us "Dear Mr. Supertramp..." during the break. This time: four friends at a boarding school, one last night, one fire. A goodbye that doesn't feel like a goodbye yet.

Check out his website: Website: ⁠Quaywood Productions

Recorded in one voice. One fire. One promise: "No matter how many slices you end up eating, I'll be there for all of them."

Season 1 left us in the woods. Season 2 starts here — with old stories, new voices, and the door still open for yours.

Submissions always welcome. This is Written Works For You, By You.

Instagram: @WrittenWorksForYouByYou

Reddit: WWFYBY

Email: ⁠⁠[email protected]