What Am I Even Supposed to Be Writing Here?
I built a creative hierarchy of needs in my head. Now that they’re being met…what do I even write?
Exactly one year and eight days ago, I became a writer.
Armed with a meagre, but affirming, grant payment in my account and a six-month-no-negotiating-just-writing-full-time-O-KAY???? devil-may-care attitude, I got to it. The novel, that is.
With a solid 50,000 words already in the bank, I bought sticky notes to visually structure the plot. I took obsessive notes on character and motivation at my local coffee shop. I made a list of research materials. And then…I stopped.
All things considered, it was a good stopping point. The first draft exists in all its weirdly timed, half-developed-characterized glory, 70,000-some words that need major restructuring and line editing, but it is here. It’s here right now, peering at me – kind of mournfully? – from a blue Mac desktop folder (don’t worry, I also have a copy in the cloud and on an external hard drive). In fact, I can almost hear it. Its voice is hoarse, choked with dust, weak.
Like, when are you coming home, Mama?
I have no good answer.
Should a Substack be an emotional dumping ground? Probably not, but I grew up oversharing on the Internet so there’s no real point in stopping now, and here’s the honest truth: I write because I love writing. And here’s another truth: I write because I want a lifestyle that allows me choice, pleasure, and safety.
There are artists out there who have a passion for craft, an unabating drive to create for creation’s sake. Artists for whom this creativity as a vocation, an unavoidable and be-fated existence, regardless of whether such a life brings them financial stability or critical success.
I have dreamed of being such an artist. I have postured as one, and alas, I am not one.
I am an artist that likes a gel manicure. I am an artist that likes a 3 pm nap. I am an artist that wants a pat on the head and a gold star. And lately, I am an artist who does not make “art”.
Writing, to me, was a dual enterprise. On one hand, if I was a writer-writer, I could do what I loved all day, which is write. And on the other, if I was a writer-writer-writer (meaning, one that made money) I could do all the other stuff I love all day, which is get a little matcha.
And not have to deal with an early-morning office commute or annual performance reviews.
About three weeks into full-time writerhood, opportunity tugged at my sleeve. It’s disingenuous to say, “one thing led to another, led to another, and all of the sudden I was a full-time freelance marketer”, because as much as opportunity tugged, I responded. It was exciting to set up my website and make pitch documents and start content projects again. And, notably, make money, on my time.
Perhaps, I reasoned, I could still be a writer-writer, and also a writer-writer-marketer. I could support myself, work the hours I wanted, and afterwards, have the time and headspace to tackle the novel.
And anyway, the novel-in-question was taking a brief siesta. After all, any writer will tell you a piece needs time to marinate, right?
At time of drafting this newsletter, my beloved novel has been marinating for approximately 10 months. If this novel was a literal chicken breast, it would be nothing, eaten away in a Ziplock baggie of its own juices and lemon vinaigrette.
Meanwhile, my pantry is well-stocked with a selection of Trader Joe’s pre-packaged goods, including the non-dairy creamer I enjoy with my morning coffee while answering emails and the Joe-Joe’s I indulge in while I draft brand documents. I set my own hours, my own fee, and still have time left over to read in the afternoon or go to a yoga class or make a Target pitstop just for the helluva it. In short, I’m the happiest and calmest I’ve been in a long time…but how can that be possible without writing?
To be fair, I haven’t given up all creative pursuits. To supplement this once-in-a-blue-moon newsletter, I’ve launched a podcast (Broken Spine Social Club, if you aren’t listening…what the fuck?!) all about books. The same part of my ego that purrs when someone asks me about my in-progress novel was stroked by a polite comment I received recently at a wedding, courtesy of one of my former MA coursemates.
“It’s good to see you’re still in it,” he said, it being general literary criticism and analysis.
And from that perspective, I suppose I am. I read. I think about reading. I think about writing. And ever so slowly, I can feel the urge to write myself creeping up within me.
Maybe what’s needed is not the all-consuming urge to create, but a personal allowance that creativity can (and should) look many different ways.
Certain circles cringe when influencers call themselves “content creators”, but is lifestyle influencing really so different from writing for 2000s glossy mags? Didn’t we all want to be an Andy (Devil Wears Prada), Andie (How To Lose a Guy In Ten Days), or Jenna (13 Going on 30) –the beautiful, intelligent noughties rom com heroines who strived to balance serious writing with “silly” things like looking fucking amazing in butter yellow or eating a truffle butter grilled cheese? (PS fuck you Nate, literally the worst of the 2000s rom com boyfriends)**
Promoting the pod has put me on The Internet in a real(er) way than before, and at times, filming my Instagram Reels and TikToks feels…really stupid sometimes. It feels Not Serious.
On reviewing my writing career, so much of it has taken place at the altar of institutional literature: getting published in the right journals, being awarded the right funding, attending the right launches. If I ticked all of those boxes, I could have my time and my freedom, with the added institutional creative “gold star”. I would not be a sell-out.
In doing so, the pursuit of the right kind of creativity masked the thing I actually wanted: simply, ease.
I’m working on being more honest in my self-worth and I’d like to allow myself this: I deserve a nice apartment with nice things that I love where I can eat good food and take a nap sometimes.
This is not a farewell to my novel. Still, it marinates. I’m just working on the side dishes right now.