might fck around and become a writer.

I’m not sure if it’s the blaring RKS playing from my phone, because I’m a fire wife and flying solo for the first time in 20 days, the jetlag, or the deep deep need for a cheeseburger, but here I am recreating my entire internet persona.

Whatever it was that fueled this, thank you. The universe, in all her amazing goddess-ness, has been WORKING ME since January of this year and today I guess I finally decided I’d better just hear her out. “Sounds like a song I heard but never wrote,” okay, okay. I am actually listening. This song got me to the desk.

I’ve spent the last year and change hiding behind different versions of myself, and I’ve attributed that to many things. Timing, political climate, personal obstacles, loss of this or that, you name it, I have made it my excuse to hide from the keys. And it’s keeping me awake at night now. I’ve held my tongue during some of the heaviest parts in our collective and individual histories, clinging to my worries that what I’ll say will end up spilling out wrong or doing more harm than good. I feel my perpetual sleepiness has brought me here to absolutely no fucks to give and facing the reality that I’m lucky enough to have some sort of platform to stand on when I say whatever it is I’m thinking.

I’ve attempted to fit myself into every single box since I started working at the age of fifteen. Nothing has fit properly, though I’ve always believed that you wear the clothes, not the other way around.

I spent today operating as I would if writing a novel were my job. And it worked like a charm. Sitting here, I’m subconsciously starting to feel the finer details of some plot begin to bubble and I’m genuinely geeking out over what the next month of writing like this will bring. I’ve hidden behind LOTS of research about how other writers do it, what their habits are like, listened to the TedEx collection on fiction, non-fiction, self-love within creativity, and really do seem to, in far too much detail, understand what it takes to do this, and with some vigor. I’d like to report:

It was by far the most productive writing day I’ve had in years. I full brain dump into chapters one and two of a book I feel is so special I cannot possibly hide from my excitement. Or my anxiety. I’m pushing for rough, Stephen King recommended-from-some-article-or-interview-somewhere, “twelve pages a day (or more)” of real writing. I managed that. A truth: I’m usually only ever looking to entertain my husband, Neil. I feel like if I can get his eyebrows to raise, I’ve written something good. I’d like for this book to bring those beautiful brows up to the hairline with this, and I actually think I’ll be able to do just that. I can give myself the time this time.

I put this to you, if you dare put pen to page, or do anything at all that gives you immense pleasure: keep insisting that the things you love most in life must love you back. You are worth at least that much.

here’s to hoping you love this next book as much as I already do! stay tuned for more late night updates. And meander through this fucking website - I took all these mf photos.

XOXXXXX

TJ