nothing has ever felt as icky scary or as of course you’re fucking doing that than deciding to pursue a fiction writing career.
(I wrote it like that — “fiction writing career” — on purpose, because it sounds really official, which is how I feel all of our childhood-dreams-come-adult-realities should be treated, thankyouverymuch.)
it started as purely creative play, silly plots dropping in while I’d be out on a walk or in conversation with a friend, waking up one morning and just thinking:
lol, what if I started writing it?
I noticed myself writing a new story whenever I craved offline time, or a substituting it for reading when I was in a smut rut. it also became a fill-in for past-and-future journaling, fantasizing about the lives I’m not living or modifying the scripts of memories I can’t actually rewrite.
at this point, it’s a substack publication with a collection of scenes dropping monthly (the next one comes out on tomorrow!!!) and an out-of-body exercise in witnessing my creative practice take on an entirely new shape in an old familiar medium.
I’ve always been a writer in some context, but the things that inspire me as this kind of writer don’t show up in my other forms of non-fic expression.
like, for some reason, I write 99% of my fiction stories by hand, first. and the plots are unplanned. I start with a sentence that will carry me into a scene that was nothing but a hazy whisper ‘til the pen hit the page. no idea bank of stories to come or time set aside to force myself to flex my fiction muscles. one day it hits. for days, it doesn’t. no biggie.
it’s still unclear to me whether all of my characters live in the same universe, who overlaps, who’s met in a scene yet to be written. it’s still unclear which will have the whole stories told and which are just giving us a taste of it.
I have a journal dedicated specifically to fiction work obviously, and when I see it sitting on my shelf — obnoxious, bright red — it makes my heart flip a little. the flirtatious thrill of can’t wait to see what we get up to next. I feel along for the ride in the same way my readers are.
this is dramatically different from my content creation practice.
that world is all idea banks, expression sessions, marketing shifts, thoughtful planning, reading the room, responding to it… a constant stream of idea → execution that keeps the machine that is my mind (and my business) running.
of course were I — ahem, when I am!! — under contract for my novel with a deadline, I may do things differently, but I’m kind of glad I have the time right now to get my early process written down somewhere so I can come back to it anytime creating intuitively feels far away.
(NGL, I wish I had written a post like this eight years ago for the rest of my work. earlier this week I was suffering a gnarly block around my writing in all other arenas except fiction and I really could’ve used a little dose of “it’s not that serious.” also, how meta that I broke the curse on a piece about the one kind of writing that wasn’t making me want to throw shit at the wall?)
the ideas come through in the wildest ways, too.
I write a lot about yearning, so sometimes I’ll have a dream about a scenario with an ex that never happened and it’ll inspire a scene. or, since most of my characters are involved with the hospitality industry, I’ll glance at an interaction a few tables over and speculate an entire story out of it. one plot is loosely inspired by a string of texts that a friend sent me after a night out.
I recently ran home to write after seeing a hot shirtless guy standing on his balcony texting someone. others are built off of the scenes I play in my minds’ eye when I’m chasing my own pleasure. you’ll never know which!!! heheh.
I don’t believe any writing to be complete out-of-thin-air fabrication — whether conscious or unconscious, it lives in our cells for a reason — but in this pursuit I’ve realized the reverse of that, too:
just how much reality itself can be stretched and bent to become make-believe.
a pinterest-famous dedication (from Michel Chrichton, and yeah I had to google it) reads, “this novel is fiction, except for the parts that aren’t,” and I think about it every time I write.
MY FICTION WRITING STARTER KIT ↓
001 / loops ear plugs
I actually would put together an entire dissertation on why these are the most brilliant invention of our time, but for now: write mostly outside of the house because I love to immerse in the same atmospheres I write about, cafes and bars, but I’m also easily distracted by sound so popping these in has made it much easier to focus.
002 / trucker hat or the like
sunglasses x writing don’t mesh!! sun protection and you’re incognito while you let your sexy little stories (or whatever you prefer to gush about) run wild on the page. I have a (now sold-out) hat from Lonely Ghost that I wear often and this cutie is a close comparison.
003 / baggy pants
I don’t give a fuck if I’m out in public, I will be contorting myself into every which way to get “comfortable enough to focus” because that is a thing. since I mentioned I love going out and about to spots that require more than one of my signature matching sweatsuits, I usually pop these pants on because they’re… as close as I can get while still feigning fashionable, honestly.
004 / dedicated journal
there’s something sacred about hosting these alternate universes within their own proper home! I write by hand, and then I transcribe and edit them on my laptop soon after because I’m so paranoid of leaving it behind somewhere and losing my most recent work. I love this one from Wilde House because it’s nice and thin, so if you’re walking around with it all day it won’t weigh you down.
005 / flat white
if I’m going out to do some writing a little treat is obviously non-negosh, and lately this has been the perfect caffeinated-to-indulgent ratio (but I switch up my coffee order chaotically on a whim so check back next month).
006 / the perfect pen
dude, this pen. I’m a Pilot Precise V5 diehard, I literally own at minimum 20 at all times because god forbid I run out of ink. because my process for writing is so intuitive, I need something that really glides on the page so I can just let the words seep out of me without any friction. divine.
007 / a roomy tote
I thrifted this when we were still living in LA and I hate to tell you, Pinterest was right: it’s the perfect tote. I love that it’s wider than it is long, not because that has anything to do with carrying my journal around but because I’m dramatic and need to also have a little cardigan and a water bottle and a protein bar in there, just in case.
my fiction writing career happens over at The Pleasure Project is a space for (mostly) fictional stories, detailing desire, intimacy, lust, and longing — shared for the purpose, and in celebration of, pleasure and pleasure alone. the next collection drops tomorrow, so hop over here if you want to make sure you don’t miss it.
x
