I'm Trapped Under Something Heavy
Current Situation
I have five essays open. None are finished. I am trapped under the heavy prospect of possibly being terrible at this. Oversharing, undersharing, unfunny jokes, offensive jokes, or, the worst, just being an embarrassingly basic writer of the Hallmark After-School Special ilk. (She's Got a Brain Disease, but a Heart of Gold!”)
Much of what I’ve written is in “The Dustbin,” a Word document of text swept up from the cutting room floor. I almost called it “prose,” but that is too generous. “Text” seems more accurate. Just words strung together, forming sentences that don’t fit anywhere. They add to the word count ticker that tells me that I’m producing something for all the fuss I’m making about wanting to write and be a writer.
This substack experiment is as much of a writing practice for me as anything else. I have no agenda. Why I am choosing to share my writing is a bit of a mystery, just as why anyone would read it. I love the process of creating and polishing. I love writing and rewriting. I find myself incredibly entertaining - mostly, if not entirely, because I tend to make bad choices in the most hilarious and dumbest of ways.
If you like the writing, awesome. I’d love to hear about it. If you don’t, you can fuck right off, no worries at all.
Given that the writing I present may actually suck and will 100% not be as polished as the first post, I feel the need to write a disclaimer, so I gave CHAT GPT the following instructions:
“Write a two-paragraph legalese disclaimer that the writing you are about to read may suck and if you have an erection for more than 8 hours go to the emergency room. If you have vomiting or excessive discharge from any orifice, stop reading immediately.”
You will notice that CHAT GPT changed the 8-hour erection to a 4-hour erection. I disagree with this medical assessment and I was a failed pre-med.
So, here it is. Pretty sure it won’t will hold up in court.:
**DISCLAIMER AND ACCEPTANCE OF TERMS**
The reader is hereby forewarned that the forthcoming written material is presented on an "as is" basis, with no assurance regarding its quality, coherence, or relevance ("Perceived Quality"). Any dissatisfaction or objection arising from the Perceived Quality should be expected, and by proceeding to read, the reader voluntarily accepts this risk, waiving any claims against the author, publisher, or their associates.
Furthermore, the reader is cautioned that any physiological reactions resulting from the engagement with this material, including but not limited to sustained erections exceeding four (4) hours, vomiting, or excessive discharge from any orifice, demand immediate medical attention. Such symptoms could indicate serious health risks. The author, publisher, and all affiliated entities are not responsible for any medical issues, injuries, or discomfort that may arise. If such symptoms occur, discontinue reading immediately and consult a healthcare professional. By choosing to continue, the reader indemnifies the aforementioned parties from any claims, liabilities, or damages resulting from their interaction with this material. Engaging with this content signifies your agreement to these terms.
The marvelous Joanna Russ wrote, “Leaning her silly, beautiful, drunken head on my shoulder, she said, ‘Oh, Esther, I don't want to be a feminist. I don't enjoy it. It's no fun.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I don't either. People think you decide to be a radical, for God's sake, like deciding to be a librarian or a ship's chandler. You ‘make up your mind,’ you ‘commit yourself’ (sounds like a mental hospital, doesn't it?).’ I said, ‘Don't worry, we could be buried together and have engraved on our tombstone the awful truth, which some day somebody will understand: WE WUZ PUSHED..’”
By which I mean: YOU WUZ PUSHED (to write). So write. Don’t let the delete key or the “file away forever” file be your voice. Publish here and let that internal critical editor be damned!
And if you return to what you’ve published here and edit it further, you will join the pantheon of writers who have done so forever. Do you think anyone who collects their newspaper columns, essays, articles for a book never goes back to polish and, in some cases, to “kill their darlings”? Think again, dear writer.
You have plenty to say and I know you have courage. And if I have to send my cat to beat up that internal critical editor, I will!
Glad to have discovered you when you're just getting started. Here to cheerlead if you need it. I also have too much in my head and not enough in the world. You're not terrible at all and if you were, no matter. Still just do it.
At risk of oversharing (isn't that why we do this shit) - I'm likely about to undergo a boyfriend-breakup so I guess my creative renaissance from heartbreak is imminent! Yay!