Going all-in as a writer
The Monday Newsletter
I still remember my first article, titled Euphoria: Trans Fetishization and the Cisgender Gaze. I was 18, in my freshman year of college, and I thought having a colon in a title was the coolest, most intellectual thing imaginable. I’d joined a student magazine and I was pissed at a TV show, so I sat on the toilet in the Gladding Residence Center communal restroom and, amidst an angry flurry of typing keys, I shit out my first article (both literally and metaphorically). I sent it to my editor, another student named Mac, and I was connected to a graphic designer, a sweet graphic design major named Sophie, and within a couple days, my words were up on a website.
To my surprise, people read it. I can’t bring myself to look at it these days. It’s littered with typos and turns-of-phrase that I used to rely on like a crutch. I’m sure its illegibility to me is a testament to how much I’ve grown in my craft, but telling myself that doesn’t let me escape the cringe. Still, I remember how I felt when people told me how much they liked it. How I met people months later who said that they’d read it. It felt really good. I think it was the first time I was really presented with my own creative worth. I’d spent so long thinking that my voice didn’t matter. That I didn’t matter. And here I was with evidence that I did.
My time in college media was really great for me. I was given the space to hone my craft, to develop myself as a writer, and to put my work out for people to read. I had a network of my peers, other young writers who I could riff off of — learn and grow alongside. I’m a better writer and a better person for it. It’s weird. It hasn’t been very long, but my college life already feels so far in the rear view.
There was a month-long period at the beginning of my post-grad journey where I felt completely lost. You’re in college for so long and it becomes such a part of you. Your mindspace is filled with classes and homework and University social politics. Then suddenly that’s just gone? I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was unmoored, directionless with nothing to go to and nothing to return to. So I did what I always do when I need some guidance. I write.
Writing as a daily practice brings me so much joy. Sometimes my head is so full of thoughts that it makes me want to scream. I don’t just have an inner dialogue, but an inner movie, a constant web of thoughts and pictures and feelings and ideas that tangle into one another, creating a jumbled mess. Putting them on the page makes things more than just better. It gives form to my feelings. Transforms all my pent up energy into something real, something beautiful. I honestly can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. If there ever was anything that I was going to pursue with every fiber of my being, it’s this.
I guess you can read this as my declaration of intention. I’m laying all my cards out on the table, and declaring that this is what I’m doing with my life. And now that I’ve told everyone, I don’t really have any choice but to make it happen.
Latest read: “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” - Suzanne Collins
God, when did Patrick Bateman get so sexy? The fourth Hunger Games book tells the story of Hitler youth Coriolanus Snow morphing into the dictator villain in the original trilogy. What is his tragic backstory, you ask? He got dumped by a pretty girl. Our young sociopath is ensnared by a cabaret performer, the vibrant young Lucy Gray Baird, who just so happens to also be the tribute he’s mentoring in the games. It’s a story of violence, of survival, but more than that, it’s a dark romance. He yearns for control, she yearns for freedom, and they enter a delicate dance that can only end in disaster. Timeless, but at the same time very Gen Z, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is a twisted love story for a post-situationship society. Terrified young people are looking forward to a future where instability is a promise, where they’re increasingly isolated from their peers, trying their darndest to make sense of what a path forward even looks like. Where we long for connection but are too afraid of ourselves to love others the way they need, or receive the love we long for so desperately. This novel speaks to that, and it has a sexy dystopian backdrop to boot. I’m obsessed.
Latest watch: “Anora”
The Oscars discourse is discoursing, and though I enjoyed the Substance, I have to say I’m #TeamAnora. I still remember seeing it in the theater. I was taken by the story, by its rawness, by its heart. It dug up a piece of me that I’d thought long since buried, that of a scared teenage girl, going through her first heartbreak. Mikey Madison’s was gut-wrenching. I saw a bit of myself in Annie. I imagine any woman watching the movie would. My reaction to that film was visceral, the same way I feel when listening to SZA. The two hours of moving pictures became a conduit for female pain, and I left that theater changed. Upon rewatch, I loved the film even more. I’m placing my prediction now that sex worker narratives are going to be a defining feature of the media in the coming years. As those in power become increasingly more hostile towards female autonomy, and the hard-fought rights of women rub up against a (still) deeply misogynistic society, the archetype of the prostitute feels like the clearest eyed look at what the true lot of the woman in society is. The place of our bodies in a capitalist world. This wasn’t just a great movie, but an important one.
Latest listen: Carly Rae Jepsen
As mother once said in her hit single The Loneliest Hour, “And you know what? I’m coming back for you baby! I’m coming back for you!” And come back I did. When my 2024 Spotify wrapped came around, for the first time in 3 consecutive years, Carly Rae Jepsen was not my #1 most listened to artist. This is a tragedy of unthinkable proportions, and so to no one’s surprise, I humbly return to the shores of miss Jepsen’s pop paradise. When you’re a woman writer and you’re rubbing elbows with men — well, boys, I’m talking about college media here — who have an inflated sense of their own taste, there’s a pressure to play down your affinity for pop stars and play up the one classic rock band that you listen to. But listen, at the end of the day, I’m a girl who likes to have a good time, and nothing makes me happier than turning on my Carly Rae. Her music lights a fire in my heart. It makes me want to dance. It makes me smile. It has me running around the house giggling and twirling in the mirror. Her music is bottled joy, overtaking my body with pure fantasy. Carly Rae Jepsen is and will always be my favorite singer. Send tweet.
Thanks for reading, you guys! This week was really fun, and a little nerve wracking to write. It’s an intimidating feeling, loudly stating your passion for your calling, but I haven’t been surer of anything in my life.
As always, leave a comment and I’ll do my best to respond. I’m so thankful for everyone that cares enough to read what I have to say. It means the world to me.
Love, Naomi ♥♥♥
Excited to read whatever you decide to release in the future. I believe in you!