In early 2021, as a prelude to The Suburban Abyss, I self-published the “lost” first (and thus far only) issue of Desperation Fanzine, a collection of nonfiction writing documenting a certain self-effacing, self-flagellating state of mind I was in after turning 40, particularly as it related to my lack of “success” as a writer.
I feel like the things we did in our twenties relate to our accomplishments later on in life in the same way that a blueberry relates to a barrel cactus. When we are young we recognize that they are both round but by the time we’re grown up we fully know not to try to eat the barrel cactus.
Well said all around! And as your friend said, “there is need for so many,” I too have been learning that there is an audience for everything. And that, no matter our influences, our own voice carries into our work.
Part of why we love people is this vulnerability to share the parts of us that the world needs more of to shine and light the way for anyone who is alive. It is a gift you have been given to sculpt your experiences and thoughts into digestible snacks, treats, meals. Dishwashers be damned.
Your dalliance with poetry in your 20s didn’t fail, and I hope you don’t shred anything. Here’s to the cosmic accidents, and inevitabilities, and trying hard to say them.
I feel like the things we did in our twenties relate to our accomplishments later on in life in the same way that a blueberry relates to a barrel cactus. When we are young we recognize that they are both round but by the time we’re grown up we fully know not to try to eat the barrel cactus.
Well put.
Well said all around! And as your friend said, “there is need for so many,” I too have been learning that there is an audience for everything. And that, no matter our influences, our own voice carries into our work.
Totally. It's silly for a writer to think they shouldn't try just because so many have already done it so well.
Bravo!
Part of why we love people is this vulnerability to share the parts of us that the world needs more of to shine and light the way for anyone who is alive. It is a gift you have been given to sculpt your experiences and thoughts into digestible snacks, treats, meals. Dishwashers be damned.
Thank you. I love you.
Your dalliance with poetry in your 20s didn’t fail, and I hope you don’t shred anything. Here’s to the cosmic accidents, and inevitabilities, and trying hard to say them.
If I shred anything, I’ll let you peek at the 💩 first.