This year, I focused less on journalism and more on getting back to my roots of essays, short stories, and book writing—certainly time well spent. I spent the past few years building my journalism chops, mostly in pursuit of research for the book I’ve written. Now, I feel that pull to hunker down again, re-connect with the art of it all, and write what calls rather than what pays. (Although pay is certainly nice.) So here’s a look back at what did hit the presses for me this year!

“This Small Town Kolache Family Wants to Become a Dynasty” for Texas Monthly

I will never pass up a chance to write about kolaches, especially when it’s for Texas Monthly. Thank you to my editor, Kimya Kavehkar, for patiently waiting as I chased this surprisingly elusive story.

Last fall, I returned to my hometown of La Grange for the ultimate small-town experience: watch a high school football game, ride the Ferris wheel with my crush at the county fair, and catch sweets tossed from floats rolling through the downtown parade. Except when I reached out my hand to catch a flying morsel, I hadn’t caught candy—I caught a kolache.

I watched fellow paradegoers mow down their own kids to get the airborne pastries, and when I bit into my own hard-won catch, still warm from the oven, I wasn’t surprised about the fervor. The kolache came from Weikel’s.

“With Love from the 56,” for Nashville Scene

Last year, my car broke down and put me out on my ass for a few months. So I fell in love with the bus. Thank you to editor, Kim Baldwin, for making this essay really sing!

The bus forces me to slow down and plan ahead, but not too much. You’ll get there when you get there. I never thought I lived in a walkable city until I was forced to walk in my city. On my walk, I see trees, I hear birds, I wave to neighbors. I literally stop to smell the roses, because why not? I’m in no hurry. My chains to the rock of time have been torn asunder by the almighty WeGo, and I am a devout apostle.

“Thank You For Finding Me,” for Longreads

As a teenager, I met a stranger who changed the course of my life. Twenty years later, I went looking for him. I just learned this one was Longreads second most-read original of the year! I seriously owe a big portion of my writing life to editor, Peter Rubin, who is never afraid to take a chance on me.

I don’t remember much about the tour, but I remember the tour guide. I remember he was also the bus driver. I remember he was dark-skinned and had an accent neither of us could place. I remember his name—John.  I remember that he was affable, knowledgeable, a great storyteller. I remember that most important of all, he saw me. 

“The Healing Power of Social Friction,” for Noema Magazine

Is your local karaoke dive actually the key to saving democracy? I make a good case for it in this piece for Noema! Thank you to Jesselynn Cook for her incredible editing on this piece. She’s the DJ to my song.

This was the magic of Crossroads. It had no one identity and belonged to no one group. Bikers decked out in leather would mingle with gays decked out in crop tops and spandex. Cowboys would two-step with college students if someone was singing a country song with a good beat. My pal, Hutch, would bring down the house every night with his rendition of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Shoop.” We lived for the part when he sang the lyric, “Girls, what’s my weakness?” and the whole bar got to shout back: “Men!” 

Two interviews for the Screen Porch: Destiny O. Birdsong + Adam Ross

Thanks to the Porch’s blog, Screen Porch, I have the opportunity (excuse!) to interview authors I admire and who I want to learn from. This year I got to sit down with Destiny O. Birdsong to talk poetry, writing paths, and making a living from art; I spoke to Adam Ross about how good stories take time.

“Pig,” a story for West Branch

I finally (FINALLY!) fulfilled a long goal of publishing a story in West Branch, Bucknell’s literary journal. I’ve been submitting to them for a decade now with personal rejections and close calls. I’m so glad my story, “Pig,” where the tables get turned on a cat phishing scam, found a home within its pages.

You won’t be able to read this one online, but you can read it if you purchase the journal! Here’s a snippet:

Harriet didn't think it was ever supposed to be fun. Everything in her life was an obligation, a check on a never-ending to-do list, including those evening calls to her mother. Her mother was lonely. Harriet knew lonely. But she'd at least found her way out of the abyss. Hassam's status went green—available.

It’s crazy to look back on this year and see this list of bylines and interviews, not counting the reviews for Bookpage, the hours of drafting the earliest stages of Book 3, the hours of revising Book 2, the podcast interviews, 3 writing retreats, and even a journalistic piece that got scrapped after it was fully reported and drafted (RIP to the piece about the Southern Movement Committee’s successful youth-led bid to create Nashville’s first Office of Youth Safety).

I mean, shit.

I don’t know what next year will bring, but I have hopes for more adventures, more writing-inspired travel, more photographs, more dinner parties, more laughter, and more celebration. In fact, I demand it.

I hope your 2025 was one to remember and I hope your 2026 brings new, wonderful memories for your scrapbook.

In the meantime, please enjoy a year’s worth of writerly parting shots:

So long, farewell!

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Venmo: @lisa-bubert)