Year in review, part 1
It’s been about a year since I started this substack. So let’s do one of those year in review posts. Since of course I went long and it won’t show up in email otherwise, we’re going to cut this into two posts. So, a year in review, part 1.
This first thing you need to know is I didn’t want to start a substack. Not only because I’m a profoundly lazy person and I didn’t want to give myself more work, I wasn’t going to write anymore. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was going to do. But after the absolute mindfuck that is publishing a book of deeply personal essays, I was done with writing. But I’m also full of shit. So I kept writing about why I was done with writing.
I sure as fuck wasn’t going to write about my life anymore. Maybe if I just wrote about my grandma, or Dolly Parton… Which is how this came about. I liked that I had a place to put it. Though obviously I wasn’t writing anymore.
I’d forgotten that I like writing, the writing part. But since I had to post something either way, I started playing around on here. Low stakes. Why not. All my weird obsessions with TV shows no one watches. Write about those. I could start by talking about Alone and just see where I ended up. And if it didn’t work, so what. I do it anyway. Might as well post it.
I don’t exactly enjoy everyone knowing I’m insane but it’s better than the terrifying alternative of anyone assuming I’m normal. So why not admit to watching the same tv show for years.
The point is, I was clearly done with writing. I didn’t have anything to say. Or I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t even know what I’m thinking. It’s why I write it out. Sometimes it kind of ends up making sense or I like the way it sounds.
Sometimes, often, I’m pissed off or scared and can’t sleep until I write something down. This was one of those 3am get it out so it’ll stop replaying in your head and maybe you can sleep.
This too:
Didn’t always work. I started using this thing to fuck around with sentences and structure, something I’d usually do in a notebook. It’s fun to play with cadences, switch the words around, like taking a picture from a different angle. But I still haven’t figured out what to do when too many people think I’m talking to them about anything at all. It’s the problem with writing nowadays, part of why I was fucking done—hard to forget someone’s reading it when they’re right there in the comments.
So maybe if I can’t quite quit writing, maybe some things I should keep in a notebook until I’m ready. Or at least until I learn to stop being mad when it’s misinterpreted.
Something about this trip I took to Shamrock for a Texas Highways story… I saw how much I missed talking to strangers and hearing their stories. Made me think I’d enjoy driving around in a van, talking to strangers. As long as I didn’t have to write about it.
The first time I read this I didn't re-read each of the posts referenced because I was like, yeah, pretty sure I already read that before. But then I went back and read it again and read each of them when I came to them and it was a whole different ride. Nice.
This is hysterical (in the funny way not the sexist way) I don’t exactly enjoy everyone knowing I’m insane but it’s better than the terrifying alternative of anyone assuming I’m normal.