you're shit testing people if you write stuff on the Internet "about just you"
also, Substack should be your contribution to one long, extended, group chat convo.
I’ve noticed content creators talk about how they want their audience to think, learn, or feel something when they make stuff. How they want others to think, learn, or feel something when they make stuff.
Well, aren’t you an “other” to yourself? The stranger parts of you — you’ll probably discover them if you make stuff. If you’re a content creator, remember you’re your biggest beneficiary.
Remember you’re your best audience. Remember you’re the one who will remember you when no one else will remember you. So when you create, forget what others want from you. Try to remember you’re the person who will realize your own greatness, if you just try to make things for the principle of *you* watching.
Make things to see who you really are. Make things to make yourself think, learn, or feel…
….
….
Wait.
Wait.
Is that it? Is that all I have to say? FUCK. FUCK.
Oh HELL THE FUCK NO THE POST JUST ENDED.
OH HELL THE FUCK NO, NONE OF THAT SPARKED JOY. AHHHH I HATE IT.
Should I delete it? Curate it? No, fuck that. Fuck everything I’ve been told about being professional and not lofty. I’m an angsty, sad person. Give me attention guys. Give me validation. I take back what I said. Or do I? I don’t know.
Show’s over folks. This was not what you came for. Sorry. I ran out of stuff to say.
Instead, I’m going to do the most cringe thing I can think of — keep talking even though I am deep in fucking mid-realization right now.
As I realize. That original italicized bit — was going to basically be my whole post. And I hate how I articulated it. I was going to write some more shit to basically verbally masturbate all over the page to milk that concept, or something, while defying it.
I felt myself literally just stop thinking because I had a sudden sense of object permanence. I stared in the mirror metaphorically and I felt myself just literally parody my own concept.
Holy fuck guys. If you could see the visual of me right now, I just plunged my hand straight into my own bullshit and am digging around in my own unconscious now, like it’s some sort of cavern of insight that I’m afraid to say. I’m trying to really dig out what I think of this concept, and what I think of how I just tried to say it. And I’m grossed out. Oops.
Writers aren’t supposed to put stuff out there and then take it back but what we kinda do? You were gonna see me either double down on that or wipe it off and start over. But what if I chose to be the kind of writer that didn’t edit? What if I just decided to do something ~ for me ~ ~ and you ~ and just show you the whole messy process?
Sigh… god, this is so antithetical. I literally just broke my own conscious pattern I was about to enter, of filterism (more on that later in a future Substack perhaps?!). I’m here to realize… I need to be better. I need to crack this baby open and be honest.
Looks like it’s all dignity out the window. I’m on one now guys. You’re now hostage to a Circus of thoughts crowding me. With all sorts of judgments and other nasty stuff… Okay. Anyways. Let me be candid for a second —
****
About five minutes ago, this post kind of ran out of steam. I REALIZED UNDENIABLY: I’M A HYPOCRITE.
I wrote something that’d explicitly benefit others as I, ironically, said it was going to be for the only person writing, you, but basically in that case, me, but also you, because I was going to tell you guys to write stuff for you.
Still probably a valid sentiment. Still probably a thing you should do.
I want to believe my writing belongs to me. I want to believe that literally, I don’t care what others say! I did something for just me! I promise! Am I being convincing?
No.
Just now, I felt myself dissolving into a part of me I do not want to go. I began regressing into the part of me that didn’t want to admit I have something to prove when I write. The part of me melting into the more altered, “educational” “really trying to sound smart” area of my brain.
NO!!! DON’T GO THERE, CRYSTAL —
I am so fucking embarrassed. I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed more that I just tried to sell everyone this weird double-edged sword of oh, do things for yourself guys, create for yourselves, and but my actions are that I’m creating so you’ll look at me so I’m being ironic so maybe this will win me a cult following.
Ew, ew, ew! By God no. Let’s pause.
If you’re a subscriber being like, “oh I came here for this whole thing about how I the audience member am the biggest beneficiary of content I, the audience, create,” you’re going to watch me really practice what I preach right now and completely narrate the shit I’m going through as I’m writing this.
I’m NOT going to hit the delete button. I’m NOT going to edit what I just said because I think it sucks. I’m going to just ram my head into the wall of self-loathing that just surfaced as I read what I just said or think about what I’m about to say. AHHHHH. I SWEAR I’M THE BIGGEST, FUCKING, BENEFICIARY OF MY CONTENT. NO ONE BUT ME. NO ONE SHOULD MATTER BUT ME.
Goddamn. Well.
I could sense some part of this post was about to make a hard pivot into this ironic sort of, “don’t care what other people think, make sure you benefit first mang!” shpiel.
But that’d be antithetical to the fact that… you’re reading this. You’re an audience, hearing me talk to you about the fact that I’M the biggest beneficiary. Not YOU. ME.
Yet I’m not scribbling this in my diary (which is lovingly placed in the little corner of this dining table ready to be written in after this). I’m telling this to you.
Why the fuck would I publish this unless I cared what you think?
is this all just some sort of… shit test?
Yes, watch me have a breakdown mid-sentence. Watch me literally writhe with fear that I’m about to sound like a fucking motivational speaker bot. And now watch me surrender to this…
…..
Let’s examine what I’m not saying when I say “you, person, are the number one beneficiary of your own content.” I am NOT saying that:
Other people don’t matter, so fuck that and become a neoliberal naval-gazing narcissistic inconsiderate artist who contributes nothing of meaning
You are the beneficiary of your content, so just put unfiltered diaries out there so people go uhm, okay, what was the point of that why am I even reading this
You should shit test people by putting some “no, don’t read this. It sucks. It’s for me even though I published it online” Bo Burnham-style stuff
It came to me just now that I am shit testing my audience. It’s unconscious. Yet it’s still like, me sort of just saying a bunch of stuff and being like, “oh you don’t have to respond because this is just for me, but like at the same time like and subscribe please…?? Hehe…? Oh I’ll be sad if you don’t… but I’ll be shy if you do! Hehe!”
I’ve been doing this for probably my… whole… career? Unconsciously?
Okay guy, scratch that:
YES, You’re the number one beneficiary of your content.
AND
You can admit now you want to be witnessed by others. You don’t have to pretend you’re soooo above attention anymore. It’s okay. You can come out now!
*Me: I’m talking to me right now. I know I’m not the only one though. CALLED OUT!! HAHA!!*
PLEASE SUBSCRIBE TO MY SUBSTACK, PLEASE!
So anyways, here’s some context: from the time I started blogging when I was 17, all of it was like ~ my inner world ~. But I would be like, clutching my pearls when I get feedback. “You, like, my stuff?? You notice me?? Wow, thanks! I didn’t realize anyone would read it! I was just talking to myself!”
Bullshit. Deep down, the part of me I didn’t talk to very often, I knew people would. Somewhere deep down I did. I am performing stuff, even as I say this right now. Maybe this next thing my disgust wants to tell me is more important than what I *thought* my post would be about.
Right now how I feel is, I got onto a stage to give a great standup comedy bit and I like fumbled my lines. I said the punchline in five seconds. This is the worst feeling. All I wanted was to sound like a great Substacker, and now I’m just saying other shit because I’m so furious that I became both cliche and also short-lived.
There was little to no real things for me to expand upon that would feel 100% like my voice, like how I’d talk to my friends. So much for me being the beneficiary of my own content.
I really still believe it, I promise! The core problem lies in the fact that I don’t exist in a fucking vacuum, but I sure can pretend I do.
Writers have been doing this for YEARS, guys. It’s like the fucking IYKYK. Writers say they’re doing great work for just them, and it’s true — what has to motivate you, is a sense of detachment from others.
But you still publish it. You still put it into the world. Because you live in a society. If you become so ironic about the fact that you want others to care about your content even if, of course, the paradox is you should care the most but not be so delusional as to think you aren’t affected by others —
Yet it also belongs to just you! You should love your child when no one else does, but you also know uh you want your child to be liked by others so you don’t have a harder job to do right?
Hahahaha same with raising a good citizen Substack.
Well, shit. Everything’s a bit contradictory then, isn’t it.
This is the part I’ve been afraid of for years that I’ve had no way of interfacing with: the possibility that when I write, I cease to be the person I am when I’m talking to my friends and really articulate shit just pours out.
I feel like my online writing can start turning into a loftier part of me I don’t like. When I read old stuff, I see a girl trying so hard to prove she’s smart to others, even as she keeps telling them I do stuff for me and me alone. Oh fucking please.
It’s not completely 100% wrong, but it’s not right. And I feel every time I read some naval-gazing shit others write now, I see the same hypocrisy that I once bought into.
You won’t see a lot of my blog presence from before 2018 these days because, truth be told, I had a small period of using my old college blog to bait guys I liked into following along and giving hints that I liked them. It was some real Taylor Swift shit, my cowardice. Meanwhile I played up plausible deniability that I was doing stuff for me when it was really for others.
Then my friend Snav the other day mentioned that one of his friends has a Substack, for this express reason:
Sounds like their friend group gets sick of it, so they convince him to put the stuff on his newsletter so they can read it in peace and not in real time on Discord when live convos are going on that don’t need to get bogged down.
I tweeted back:
The irony that I literally almost instantly, like the next day, decided to violate the maxim of my own joke and… write shit I’d NEVER for one second put in a group chat.
That should be the litmus chat. Substack should be one long, extended, group chat convo.
Jesus Christ I don’t know how to write with tone anymore. I don’t know how to go from slightly lofty preacher to relatable girl next door. I’m trying to give advice as if it’s objective, but actually, fuck, it’s so subjective. Please for the love of God, no one think I’m trying to make an absolute statement here. This is meant to be just my perspective. Because I’m the beneficiary?
But maybe it can be a wittle objective… because I want you to be a beneficiary too?
I can’t believe I’m writing this. I’m sure it’s been said before. It’s definitely somewhere in one of those Linkedin-style tweet threads by some bro coach type. “Do stuff for yourself, man,” they’re probably drawling with their executive-y speak. I can’t believe this is so cliche. Inside, I’m thinking, man is this unoriginal. Is this really how I want to make my Substack comeback? Is this what I want to open with in my new intention to be prolific? How embarrassing. I have friends who will definitely judge me. So much for my maxim. I’m thinking about them now….
And that’s okay.
Honestly, I can relax and realize I’m not lying. I DO think the best incentive to create is for your own sick satisfaction. To be your own great teacher. To teach yourself something. To discover what you know. To literally talk to yourself.
And. To also know that… it’s okay that you embarrassingly want people to give a shit. Just please for the love of God — don’t try to hide it and think that hiding it makes you good at what you do.
My high school lit teacher hated me because he thought I was a lofty writer. I’d been told I was “really good at it” up until then, so when I walked up to him huffily because I was mad I was scoring straight B’s in his class, he told me that writing is about honesty. Writing is about getting your true thoughts out there. Writing should be for you in the most raw sense of it all.
“If your thoughts aren’t unfiltered and real almost to excruciating extents, no one will want to keep reading them,” he said.
“Well uhmmmm why did David Foster Wallace write Infinite Jest a book that makes no sense then because I’m pretty sure none of that makes any sense and is that really unfiltered if you’re writing fict—” I countered in a very 17-year-old way.
Er, I digress.
****
You probably have noticed most writers are never satisfied. They hate what they write. They publish it anyway. They get huffy about it and alienate their audience. Many writers are terrible, aloof people as a result! Many are not but also many are. It’s such an embarrassing feat.
My theory is because they don’t do it for themselves enough. But they trick themselves into thinking they do. But I believe they really have to get to the point of writing for themselves at its core — which is often to admit you’re writing for other people. Others are in you and you in them.
If it was good enough for a version of you that’s being honest, you’ll be proud of that honest person. And you’ll trust others need that honesty even if it’s not “perfect.”
Maybe the best way to be a writer is operate in good faith. Faith that I’m the number one person my “content” should benefit — but more importantly, I’m one with everyone in this society right now, living this life. We all share a kinsmanship.
If the self is a society, create for the people in it. Create for your inner child, create for your inner teenager, create for the future version of you who will be so proud that you did something and put yourself out in the world.
And you live in a society, so stop pretending you’re not influenced by that. Raw dog all the hurt and shame and fear you have and desire to please others, the authentic part of you that is embarrassed about that, and put that into your stuff.
Hurt your own feelings and be eager to connect, with both others and you. If you do one successfully, you won’t live in denial of the other.
Hmm I think my breakdown is over.