Maybe this substack was what I needed to move forward, to stop trying to rewrite the last one, to put it in a box and say, okay. I’m done. There wasn’t any point to worrying about a next book. I am, you might’ve heard, problematic. I was convinced I’d never sell another book. No point in trying. The problem is, I have opinions about that too. And I’m just going to keep on talking.
You're right: you really CAN fucking write.
I love your writing. Thanks for sharing it.
So happy you share in this place. I really do look forward to seeing you in my inbox.
As long as you write, I'll be around!
"But anyone who finds an audience also finds those who just need to tear someone down." This. All day long. Gotta go write that in my journal in glitter or some shit.
Love your writing! You’re inspiring me to write as well…so thank you on many fronts. Hope Paris was the most unforgettable trip!
I can't and won't quit you! Write on LH ❤️
It's always a fun ride because the view is different. Thanks for giving me a seat. Skritch Woody for me, please.
Thank goodness you’re here and not that twatter hell. How else would I find out about the butter trick? It totally fucking works. Fuck off pill pockets.
I'm just so fucking happy for you. Thanks for giving us a glimpse of your journey.
You can write the fuck out of things. And into things.
I cannot WAIT for your next book. Pleased as punch for you. And for us :)
And I like it better here than Twitter, too.
Just so happy for you. May it all be grand.
Seeing your Substack in my inbox improves my day.
I've been thinking a lot about audience vs. community...we're all traumatized to one degree or another and seeking community, so we can stand this life... but the social media paradigm forces us all to be one-person stand-up acts. If we're good at it (your writing, my art), we get some audience...we feel seen/heard/appreciated/okay/connected, which is a lifeline...but then the dynamic is skewed by the stage we're on. It's hard to step down from the "platform" and have dinner together. The doors are open...so the family comes in, but so does the douche-canoe who just wants to heckle and throw tomatoes. It's a juggling act. To catch the tomato, turn it into sauce for the pasta...or recognize the woundedness in the heckler. Sorry to go off...your writing is some of my absolute favorite stuff these past two years, and I guess those of us subscribing and commenting are saying, "we're here to have dinner with you" if you want to get down off the stage. I for one am SO proud of you in Paris right now, and your honesty and authenticity keep my own batteries charged. Thank you.