Why Medium
I’ve been planning a version of this for as long as I’ve had some creative pursuits. In my teens, I wanted to be a director and an actor, but both goals seemed so distant I whittled them down to screenwriting the films I’d later want to act in or direct. When I realised I didn’t know what I was doing, I whittled screenwriting into novels. I didn’t need anything for that — just a pen and a paper, or a computer, and I could write away whatever I pleased. Then I could send the manuscripts out for a let down.
I wrote a bunch of horrible crap until the crap wasn’t quite as horrible, and something got published to not much notice. Around the same time I started the debate with myself: do I want to be noticed or not? There was a part in me who wanted to tell the stories and ideas and have them read by anyone anywhere without a hint of fame and fortune coming my way. I just wanted to do what I loved and remain hidden, unknown, safe from the public eye.
Another part of me wanted the money, if there’d be any. The dream was to do what I loved without having to do anything else, and if I was just giving away my spectacular stories and ideas, they’d generate zero revenue, even less for me. I’d just invest my time and (to some extent) money into my craft without getting a penny back, so I’d have to have a day job to support this potentially lucrative business. Didn’t seem reasonable. So a third part of me wanted all the boons, money, fame, everything.
The third part got the upper hand. I sent out my manuscripts under my own name, and after that small-time publication I remembered that I actually wanted to write screenplays, not books. Then I remembered it was all for the films I wanted to act in and direct, so I started going after those dreams.
I started hustling on social media, selling myself to producers, directors, agents, casting directors, anyone who could turn me into a star or help me earn my stripes. I started consuming self-help literature to have the tools to manifest all this glory into my life. I did treasure maps, tarot readings, Reiki healings, writing exercises, rituals, promises, anything that would bring me the coveted fame and fortune—even the actual work of writing and planning and selling that many of my contemporaries seemed to forget while “manifesting their dreams.”
Every once in a while, I’d play around with the idea of doing something anonymously but I had grown desperate for stardom. Nothing less sufficed. I was going to be so big there was no one to look up to. Then, at a tender age with a burnout looming in the distance, I gave up. It hurt to admit defeat, but it felt good to assume some responsibility. I suddenly saw the grind for what it was—a selfish attempt at something superficial and fleeting. I had lowered myself to the level of Instagram models showing ass to get some followers and influencer gains, hooking for attention. I was stressing out about my social media, feeling the pressure to post every day and always something engaging. I wasn’t doing anything for myself, just for the possibility of being seen and getting something out of it. And for other people to respect my big dreams and the grit I showed going after it.
I got that day job and forgot about making it. Except that I still wanted to be creative. I still wanted to write and share ideas. I’ve been debating with myself ever since about the necessity of gains when it comes to creativity, whether writing, acting or otherwise. Do I need the readers or viewers and the money, or is it enough to just write, act and direct? Is it enough to do these as a hobby or a rare treat? Do I need the recognition? What if I write something spectacular and someone steals it? What if I say something flammable and I’m not there to take responsibility? Would anonymity be cowardice or modesty? Does it matter as long as I get it out there? What if I want to stay anonymous but a publisher wants to buy my stuff—how do I stay anonymous but let the material grow?
I still don’t have answers to everything there, but I no longer care. I have my day job and I’m writing. If no one ever reads this or what comes next, it’s okay. If I come up with something that I need to take responsibility for, I’ll figure it out later. I figured I’d just try it out. It’s part of the psychology of suck, of suckology, to do what’s hard or important or scary and deal with the cost. It’s all for growth. The gain is spiritual, psychological, not material.
