The Men Who Feel Too Much Learn How To Hide It
Not every quiet man is empty. Some are carrying entire worlds internally.
Personal essays from Joseph and curated reading lists from the world of Loverboy, Still. New pieces from Joseph land in the Newsletter first.
Subscribers get personal letters, behind-the-scenes notes on the writing, and essays that never appear on the site.
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Subscribers get personal letters, behind-the-scenes notes on the writing, and essays that never appear on the site.
Not every quiet man is empty. Some are carrying entire worlds internally.
Some stories are written to entertain. This one was written to understand.
From the Library
Curated supplements to Loverboy, Still — reading lists, deep dives, and themes for readers who want to keep going.
Lately, life has felt like one long conversation between who I was, who I am, and who I’m still trying to become. And the strange part is, none of them have completely left the room.
Listening is harder than it sounds. These are the books that taught me how to hear what's underneath the words—and why silence matters as much as speech.
I was at a coffee shop in Echo Park last week when someone asked where I was from. I said Brooklyn and they asked which part. I said Bed-Stuy and they nodded like they knew what that meant.
I was in the car last week when a song I hadn't heard in years came on. Not a good memory. Not a bad one. Just one that wouldn't let me drive straight.
Two people can stop having the same conversation without realizing it. One is speaking from impact, the other from intention — and somewhere in between, defense quietly replaces curiosity.
Brooklyn raised me, but these bookstores across the country are holding space for the kind of fiction I wrote. Here's where I send readers when they ask where to find my novel—and what to read next.
There was a moment this week when someone asked me how I was doing and I almost told the truth. Almost. Then something in me clicked back into performance mode.
I've been thinking about the specific violence of being told your softness is a problem. About the years I spent trying to harden myself into something more acceptable.
I've been thinking about the difference between being present and being helpful. How love asks you to just witness sometimes, without fixing anything.
There's something about hearing a writer read their own work that changes the experience completely. The pauses land differently. The silences carry weight.
A reader asks whether this book is meant to be read solo or shared. Scout breaks down what the experience actually feels like — and who it's really for.
five days after turning 40, the back end of men’s mental health month — sitting with what June actually asked, in the quiet.
I've spent years learning that tenderness isn't weakness — it's the hardest choice any of us can keep making. Here are the books that held me steady while I figured that out.
I've been thinking about what people hear when I say 'loverboy' — and what I actually mean. It's not about romance. It's about the specific way some men carry love like a wound.
Forty, today, out loud, on the page — because if I don't say it here, then where. An out-loud letter on the 39 years that paid for this one.
The hardest conversation a loverboy has to have with the people he serves: the price went up, it's staying up, and that's not greed — that's respect.
Heard a line that stopped me cold and made me sit with two truths at once: your time is the most expensive thing you own, and the season you're in right now won't last forever. Spend accordingly.
A reader asked: do I read it, or do I listen to it? Which one's the real way? Here's the honest answer — neither, both, whichever fits your life.
I was on the phone with someone I care about this week and realized mid-sentence I had no idea how to say what I actually felt. The words were right there. I just didn't know how to let them out.
I was in Echo Park last week when someone asked where I'm from. I said Brooklyn without hesitation, then caught myself — I've been out here four years.
I wrote Loverboy, Still because I kept seeing the same man in different rooms — loving hard, losing quietly, never quite understanding why. Here's what the book is really about.
Some books are meant to be read. Others are meant to be heard in the voice that shaped them. A listening list for readers who want presence, not just performance.
Some questions don't get asked out loud. They wait until two in the morning. "Am I crazy for still wanting to marry them?"
Intimacy in fiction isn't about what happens between bodies. It's about what happens in the space before touch — the wanting, the hesitation, the breath held too long.
There's a language spoken on Brooklyn corners that doesn't make it into MFA workshops. I grew up fluent in it—and it's what I tried to write into Loverboy, Still.
I wrote Loverboy, Still because I kept meeting men who loved too hard and quietly — and nobody was writing them. The loverboy isn't broken. He's just carrying something the world never taught him how to set down.
Memorial Day in Brooklyn isn't about cookouts. It's about the names we carry — the ones we lost too soon, the ones we couldn't save, the ones we never got to say goodbye to.
A reader asked if Loverboy, Still is book club material. Scout (the AI concierge) breaks down what makes it work — and what to expect going in.
The best stories about cities aren't told in straight lines. They spiral, double back, unfold the way memory actually works — which is why so much of the literary fiction coming out of NYC right now is built on recursive time.
I grew up in Brooklyn and wrote my novel from LA, but the borough's literary landscape is still the one that raised me. Here's where I'd send you to find the best contemporary fiction — and the community that makes it matter.