No one reads this (meaning in the general broad sense, not the five or six dedicated subscribers. Or seven? Plus Gerard, whatever he is), so…why do it? I don’t know. As an “author” looking for more readers, I suppose I think I need it (???). Lord knows I keep blogging, then deleting, then blogging, then deleting, an endless cycle. How long will I keep this Substack this time? I don’t know.
My time away from Social Media taught me that I need less Social Media in my life, but *none* kinda sorta cut me off from a lot of good info - calls for submissions, great stories to read, other takes on the current events, funny Reels, etc.
It also cut me off from this ridiculous notion that thanks to Twitter, we almost reflexively end up sharing what we think about *everything* as if it’s an imperative. But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not, it’s not, for fuck’s sake it’s absolutely not.
“So if you don’t like it, don’t read it.”
That’s like going to a concert but sticking your fingers in your ears during the songs you don’t like. Or the drum solo. Do people still do drum solos?
Whatever. I’m just saying it’s not a good thing to just dump all of yourself online. Especially if you’re an artist. People end up caring more about the “platform” than the art, including people who claim to be artists.
Puritanical tendencies, from any particular POV, are mostly terrible, limiting, reductive, and boring.
Are you still reading this?
I’m probably not going to mention this post on Twitter, because ugh.
So in 2023, as a writer, I found a lot of new homes for my short stories, including some dream journals. I also got rejected A LOT. Including by one mag I thought was a shoo-in. But hey, I got into Best American Mystery & Suspense after only twenty years of trying. Well, that’s not true. I didn’t try for a lot of those in-between years.
I “lost” a novel, sort of. I guess. I mean, I know where it is, but it’s in limbo and you might never read it. But I might write another novel. The urgency I used to have about writing novels has evaporated. I always thought, if not the current one, then the "*next* one is the breakout novel, so the quicker I finished, the closer I was to whatever I thought being a successful writer meant to me back then.
I don’t want that anymore, though. An agent, a big four (three, two, one…) publishing house, a big advance? Meh. What I figured out is I’m bored by breakout novels. I’m bored trying to write something an agent, for once, actually “knows how to sell.” When I’m excited about a story idea, it’s because I know it’s a banger. I also expect fewer than a hundred people to actually read it, and even fewer to actually like it. So, yeah. Lowered expectations.
I say all of that to say this: I found peace in 2023 by turning the noise down. I found a better reason to write. I found satisfaction in smaller things. And I don’t owe anyone my interior thoughts.
I’m pretty sure I’ve watched the Ocean’s Trilogy about twenty times this past year.
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