It took me a beat to publish this post because this is what I do with my personal projects: I procrastinate. Give me your creative endeavor and I will reach for the sun moon and stars with it. My stuff? I’ll come up with every excuse not to do it. A few of my fav:
I don’t know what to say
Takes too many drafts
What if I hurt someone
No time
There’s the laundry, the lint in the rugs, the dogs need a bath, who cares about my stories.
All boring, been there, tired excuses - the same ones most writers and artists use when they shut down their creative pipes, muddying the water.
My friend, former classmate, and screenwriter you should know (if you don’t know her name yet, you will, like soon) - Ali Garfinkel - is constantly throwing essay ideas at me, about my own life. They’re excellent seeds, and should further remind me of the rich soil I need not travel far for, ideal fertilizer for a dope ass Martha Stewart-esque metaphorical garden. And yet…
Insert Ali’s eye-roll here, followed by an exasperated, I don’t know, write anything, write about this, write about notes!
Notes. We had just been discussing notes. Network notes, voice notes, sticky notes, notes to self, notes from our loved ones. Notes App litter. All the notes everywhere all at once. I even bought myself an old school journalist voice recorder for notes because the App on my phone isn’t good enough. Why is that you may be wondering? Well, because it’s on my phone, and so know thy self, and knowing thy self, I know I will open Instagram at a red light if I think I have enough time. I do not have the will power to stop the influx of images, words, videos - a digital wasteland I bring upon myself. And so on my little walks through the little park near my little home, I take my little recorder to record my little notes to self so my little attention won’t get the best of me.
These notes need to be planted, watered, given the space to grow. But I am a stubborn gardener. Oh my God I would rather do anything else than to tend my garden of words. Which makes no sense because nothing brings me more peace than having written.
I’m so over myself.
Here's another note: maybe not every single thing on my Substack, read primarily by my supportive cousins and friends (hey fam!) needs to be deep and vulnerable and sprinkled with spiritual Easter eggs. Cause I don’t want to draft one essay 23 times. I just don’t. But left to my own devices I will. I will draft an essay so hard it actually gets good.
It has to stop. Sometimes simple is okay. Nothing special is just fine. The point is to keep going. So here it is, my super duper nothing special post about notes. Just getting it out of the way so it can be followed by more.
Hysterical b/c it RESONATES!!! Please keep posting!
Well Said. Keep moving forward one step at a time.