Or, an aspiring writer looking to connect in the era of fickle relationships
I would like to write an essay. A cool, interesting kind that the girlies of all genders can relate to, an essay that speaks through the noise, to the heart, to the soul, and to trauma festering deep in all of us.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer and a screenwriter. I wanted to write all sorts of stories, fictional and non-fictional alike, short stories, long stories, essays, novels and novellas, poetry even, but most of all, I wanted to write something deep, entertaining, and raw. Something that echoes and resonates, and makes people uncomfortable, but others grotesquely comfortable at the same time.
My life has also always been sort of embedded with social media and content creation. I had a relatively big myspace profile, despite being way too young to actually have it. I dreamed of being a tumblr girlie despite being too shy to post my silly tidbits and photographs. I had some fairly popular blogs at one point or another where I shared some of my writings and photographs, although now I think those were too boring platforms for my then too edgy art. I haven’t really adapted well to this new era of social platforms ruling over our lives, but I do know that I want to be a substack girlie now, nothing less, nothing more.
The one that gets thousands of likes, comments, and restacks, the cool, chill writer who churns out a long-form opinion with a snap of their fingers, has a perfectly polished train of thoughts, and shares their turmoil in an artsy newsletter that everyone is impatiently waiting for. I don’t want to be personally celebrated, and I don’t think I can live off my writing, not now and possibly ever, but what I want to be, is iconic.
Effortless, non-chalant, elegant, chic, inspiring, artistic, eccentric, quirky but in that cool way, and most of all, impactful. Someone admired for their original content, which you are at the same time proud and insecure about. But I neither have the required social media following nor the time to cultivate one, I just want to write and connect with fellow writers and readers. So what is this girlie-to-be supposed to do? Do we already have substack influencers who will share their blueprint that I can desperately copy?
I don’t know, and even thinking about it has me a little exhausted. With every new social media platform rollout, and constant changes to the algorithm, it’s been harder and harder to simply connect, either as a writer or a reader. On top of it all, I am also very chalant, quite aware, and suffer from moments of deep insecurity that often feel like tiny pricklings under my fingernails.
Ideally, I would take advantage of it all and write something that resonates with the masses, but most of my writing is just plain odd and my writing style is still all over the place. I’m not a writer by trade but by a need, an almost primal urge to bring the images flashing in my mind to light, in a desperate act to set them free.
A tiny, but quite condescending voice in my head tells me I should be happy with that, grateful even, but I simply want more. So I light my imaginary cigarette, crack all the knuckles in my hand known to man, and beg strangers for crumbs of validation. Please.
