My thoughts on Substack, writing, and the past two years of publishing work.
2024 sucked. I wish I could articulate that differently, but it’d be dishonest, and I don’t think my writing should be dishonest.
The reasons it suffered are numerous, but I have also come to some realizations that even though it was difficult to get through, it served a purpose. At the beginning of this year, I made a point to be more accepting of situations and people as a whole, and the past 12 months have shown me that if that was something I wanted, I would have to work for it.
It’s hard to see how growth can cause issues. Because of how self-help books and the industry as a whole operate, we often overlook just how much improvement takes.
Think of your body and how tough it can be to get in shape after years of sitting around doing nothing. You have to build a foundation before you see actual gains. Some are dedicated enough to endure the pain and the struggle of diet and exercise, and some get frustrated when they don’t see the results soon enough. As someone who has been on multiple fitness journeys through my life, I know that the stuff you can see visually body-wise comes after all the little shit to get you able to push yourself. There are these moments when you hit those plateaus, and you have an easier time getting through a workout. It’s all those weeks and months that led to that point. The only thing to do in those cases is celebrate and then move forward by making the workouts more challenging.
Personal growth is similar. The huge hurdles come at the start, and you eventually get past those, but it’s not like the pressure goes away. It’s a continuous progress that I’m not sure will ever end. There’s no point where I wake up and go, wow, only this much farther to go. That’s the difference between a physical transformation compared to a mental one. You can always count the pounds you lost, but it’s hard to realize that you gained some of your marbles back.
The main thing I struggle with is dealing with uncertainty. That old inferiority complex comes back in spades when I can’t see what’s coming around the bend. I think the way to handle that is just being more open with people, but that has its challenges as well.
I wish communicating came easy, but it doesn’t. Even sharing this space with people I know is difficult. Having this space at all is. Hardly anyone I know reads my work. There are numerous reasons for that, but the biggest one I’ve gathered is trauma. There have been plenty of instances in my life where people I needed to trust failed me, or even worse, tried to change or control me. That left a wound that never fully healed.
Part of that wound opened up this year. Times when I felt unseen or unwanted played with my emotions and I became a slave to them. In years past I would run from these feelings. This was the year when I finally learned to confront them.
Letting anxiety and sadness wash over you isn’t easy. I don’t think it’s as noble as others make it out to be. In truth, I believe that situations that cause these emotions should be dialed back if anything, but that isn’t a realistic approach. Wishing and hoping things will get better is different than facing the hard truth.
I’ve been struggling for so long that being surprised at how low things can get seems silly. I know others have their lives filled with happiness and abundance, but I’ve rarely felt that way. The times when I’ve been surrounded by people are few and far between. I am coming to terms with that. It isn’t a bad thing, and it’s not a good thing. It just is.
I chase ideas of what things are supposed to look like, but the amount of knowledge I’ve gained by writing for the past few years should have shown me that progress is progress. There are times when I work on something and after reading it a day later, I realize that it just won’t work. It sucks, but those stay in my Google Docs and collect dust, maybe never to be read or seen again. That doesn’t bother me. So what? One wasted night or week writing something that didn’t work out. Boo Hoo. At the least, it showed me what not to do going forward.
Why I don’t take that same approach with other elements of reality is perplexing. I love forcing shit. It makes me feel good to get that validation. It’s like proving someone wrong. Ha! I did it, even though you said I couldn’t. It’s an immature way to look at things, I recognize that. But allowing things to go with the flow causes my anxiety to go haywire. I keep thinking I’ll miss out on things, and old regrets that have lingered for decades pop into my head. Remember this time or remember this person? It’s the same thing again.
That mindfuck grabs you by the hair and throws you into the abyss. I second-guessed myself too much this year. For a period, it felt as if every move I made was the wrong one. Professional and personal issues compounded into depression. I felt looked over, which I suppose I shouldn’t, but at some moments this year felt like I was alone on Mars while being in the company of others.
Everything feels flimsy and fragile like a strong gust of wind will tear it to pieces. When my father passed, I started to realize how delicate life was. The last few years have reinforced that knowledge. There is now added pressure to make the most of life. It’s not ideal, either. Shit just doesn’t work like that. It’s like trying to control the ocean. Very small sections are manageable, but to control the entire thing is madness. I think that’s where my biggest issue arose from.
I did not enjoy feeling isolated. Those moments opened up opportunities to ruminate rather than self-reflect. There’s a difference. Rumination comes from fear while reflection comes from kindness.
I think being kind in the face of it all is how I want to handle this. There were times when I was angry or frustrated with how things have gone, but I don’t think it was productive, other than allowing me to be angry about things. That’s great and all but being angry rarely fixes things by itself. Most, if not all, of the things that brought me down were variables outside of my control. The things I could do were few and far between.
The best thing about this past year was writing consistently. I did a lot on that front. A few years ago, when I first started doing this newsletter and writing on my website, I was doubtful. I wasn’t sure if anyone would even care or stick around. To my surprise, I have been able to connect with other writers and share my work. I’ve found myself inspired by some of the pieces I’ve found on Substack. But it’s complicated. You can’t place all of your value on one thing in life. The other caveat is the situation of not many people I know reading my work, mainly because of my insistence to keep it hidden, but also because I don’t think people would care. That’s speaking from experience.
As someone who has dabbled in writing for the majority of my life, the responses you get when you mention it to others are pretty standard. The most common response is to have people explain their journey as a writer. It’s not a bad thing. Heck, sometimes it can be enlightening, but the advice typically does nothing for me. Shit like “be sure to write every day” and “submit your work to small publications” are things I’ve been doing for years. Another canned response is the amazing idea they have to offer, as long as if somehow and some way you can write this amazing tale, they could split the profits due to it being their idea.
As a writer, the issue has never been a lack of ideas. The roadblock has been availability and execution. Great ideas are a dime a dozen. Great books are rare. Sure, there’s plenty of good stuff out there, but as someone who has read heavily for 30-some years, the stuff that was lasting had a finesse that other work didn’t have.
The other piece worth mentioning is people don’t even read anymore. Why promote something that people will subscribe to and never ingest?
Writing has become such a huge factor in my life. I would say I spend the majority of my time thinking about it or doing it. I get off work and besides working out and the occasional trip to a friend’s house, this is what’s going on. I make some food, put on some music or a ball game, and get to work. The only day of the week I typically don’t write these days is Monday, and that’s changed now that I started doing the True Crime stories again. Weekends are different due to having my son, but even then I find time to tinker here and there.
Sure, it’s work, and it brings surprises and annoyances, but it’s also fulfilling. I’ve found that my writing can change perceptions, even if it only impacts the person’s view of me. It doesn’t happen all the time, and it doesn’t happen with everyone who takes a look at my work. But it’s happened enough that I feel proud of the writing I produced. I think something that worries me is that I don’t want to place all of my worth on one thing. I don’t want to force shit. I don’t think that’s a way to produce art. I think when you sit down and force yourself to create, that’s not being disingenuous to the art. I do think that creating things just to impress people is a folly that I don’t want to deal with, though.
If it had been a better year, or if things had gone differently, I guess I wouldn’t have spent so much time isolated and writing. How would I feel about things then? I think you ultimately pick the compromises that you are comfortable with. I liken it to marriage. The ones that last are the ones where the people involved are accepting of each other’s faults. Those are compromises. It’s the only way to make a union work. Sure, there are plenty of situations where partners are dishonest with one another, and sometimes those work, but the people involved are usually miserable. Life is too short for that.
I’ve done the miserable gimmick. Heck, the majority of my life has been trying out that coat. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, it’s not the right fit for me. There’s only so much time I have left on this planet and forget not doing things on my terms anymore. Also, I don’t plan on wilting and quitting because things were hard the past 12 months. It revealed things about the people I want to include in my life, as well as portions of my character that I didn’t know were there. It wasn’t a loss. It was just hard to get through.
I will take the things I picked up this year and carry them with me. I’ll grow, adapt, and hopefully, become a better person due to the struggles I’ve endured. I’ve accepted the good and the bad from this year, and I accept what next year brings as well.