Feeling this today. And I'm wondering if any of my sentences matter to anyone but me. Writing can make a person lonely, especially when writing on a platform about things that may not mean a great deal to a reader. The comments and hearts are nice, but they make me want to take a look at which post got more hearts and why one was received better than another, which feels a little like comparing my grandchildren. Icky in the longrun.
The best part? Your use of the Velveteen Rabbit. VERY well-incorporated and poignant. Because I'm an animal-lover, even when fake--which is why I despise Stephen King. But then that's another story ...
Thank you Jamie, I love that story, too. I'm not a big Stephen King reader, but I do enjoy much of what he has to say about the art of writing. Which is kind of funny, all things considered lol
My act of holding onto my memories of the dead and who I was when they lived have killed not only my possibilities of making new memories with those I love the most-but are killing me.
Iโve been thinking about this a lot lately, as Iโve only recently begun sharing my writing with the world through Substack. And itโs exhausting. It feels like shouting into a void. And then someone says something like, โpussy, am I right?โ And it explodes. The look over here approach apparently works really well on every platform.
But it has also reinforced for me the fact that I do just love to write, even if thereโs two people reading it and those two people are my husband and my best friend.
Oh man, I hear you Shea. There's a couple of AI accounts on Substack that get just a ton of views and there are days that wears on me. But most days, I just love to write, too
The Velveteen Rabbit is the right image for your topic. On social media, including Substack, that journalistic rule reigns: If it bleeds, it leads. People respond to provocation quicker than to beauty.
I can't stop reading these two sentences. โHumans arenโt made of math. Only machines are.โ
The act of becoming, that infinite continuum of figuring out who and why we are, is what makes us human. We are the act of living. We are more than what the world tells us we are, because weโre always moving toward something, away from something, evolving into something. The math, the machines, it only sees us as we are today, maybe yesterday, but it canโt know who we will become tomorrow.
Itโs why writing for the algorithm is heat death.
I'm not sure why, but this post almost hurt to read. I think I could feel the struggle with the topic. It's so big. And you nailed it.
Yeah, I did struggle with it, for sure. I didn't want to come across complaining, you know? I just felt like there was something worth writing about. A lot of the pieces that get deeply philosophical start out with pen on paper, writing out in the yard and this one did, too. And then I had sit on it a while so I could edit it.
I feel like a lot of times that 'moving toward' occurs along a spiral and we run across the same things, same old skeletons, over and over until we process them and they drop away, but the sometimes other even older ones show up. You know? And thanks Charlie, I had a feeling you'd get what I was trying to say here :)
I feel what you are saying trying to say. Iโm interested to see how many people do. I think you hit a layer here that doesnโt exist for everyone. Maybe for more people in your audience than most though.
I started outlining an essay today around the idea of writing to the algorithm as heat death of creativity. At least thatโs where this took me right now.
Have you read the letter Kurt Vonnegut wrote to a class of kids, telling them to write a small page and never show it to anyone? โYou have experienced becomingโ her concludes. It always stuck with me.
You have written many true sentences here, resonant and insightful. I feel like I am becoming more Real, though the world creeps behind me sometimes and pulls me off that path for a bit. Then words like yours set me right. ๐
The person bleeding on the page will look at the response they get and wonder.โ That line is the whole essay. There is something quietly devastating about the gap between what a piece costs to write and what it earns in hearts. The Velveteen Rabbit frame lands exactly right. Becoming real has nothing to do with the numbers. But the numbers still sting on a Tuesday.
โOne true sentenceโ is such a dangerous little instruction.
It sounds simple until you realise it asks for the sentence before the performance, before the polish, before the small internal committee starts rearranging the furniture.
This piece stayed with me for that reason. Not loud. Not tidy. Real.
I love this quote. It has always been a pillar of mine. As well as *write drunk, edit sober)โ Hemingway.
my drunk is feelings though๐คโจ๏ธ๐ค๐ฅ๐น๐
Yes! The drunk is absolutely feelings. And if we wait a while to sober up (from the emotions) that's the only way we can edit well
Feeling this today. And I'm wondering if any of my sentences matter to anyone but me. Writing can make a person lonely, especially when writing on a platform about things that may not mean a great deal to a reader. The comments and hearts are nice, but they make me want to take a look at which post got more hearts and why one was received better than another, which feels a little like comparing my grandchildren. Icky in the longrun.
I so agree. It does feel icky. I have to fight to resist it, too
The best part? Your use of the Velveteen Rabbit. VERY well-incorporated and poignant. Because I'm an animal-lover, even when fake--which is why I despise Stephen King. But then that's another story ...
Thank you Jamie, I love that story, too. I'm not a big Stephen King reader, but I do enjoy much of what he has to say about the art of writing. Which is kind of funny, all things considered lol
My act of holding onto my memories of the dead and who I was when they lived have killed not only my possibilities of making new memories with those I love the most-but are killing me.
Thank you for your post๐
Aww, Kim. I've lost both of my parents and I hear you. And thank you, too
Iโm truly sorry for your loss ๐ฆ
The Velveteen Rabbit is one of my favorite books! Beautifully said, Linda. One true sentence.
Oh Audra, me, too! And thank you :)
Well done! There's more than one true sentence in that piece. I think you're doing a-ok. ๐๐
Thanks, Billy. Some days more than others lol
Iโve been thinking about this a lot lately, as Iโve only recently begun sharing my writing with the world through Substack. And itโs exhausting. It feels like shouting into a void. And then someone says something like, โpussy, am I right?โ And it explodes. The look over here approach apparently works really well on every platform.
But it has also reinforced for me the fact that I do just love to write, even if thereโs two people reading it and those two people are my husband and my best friend.
Really beautifully put.
Oh man, I hear you Shea. There's a couple of AI accounts on Substack that get just a ton of views and there are days that wears on me. But most days, I just love to write, too
The Velveteen Rabbit is the right image for your topic. On social media, including Substack, that journalistic rule reigns: If it bleeds, it leads. People respond to provocation quicker than to beauty.
They sure do, Tim. And it's everywhere. Social media, Substack, even comments on news sites.
I can't stop reading these two sentences. โHumans arenโt made of math. Only machines are.โ
The act of becoming, that infinite continuum of figuring out who and why we are, is what makes us human. We are the act of living. We are more than what the world tells us we are, because weโre always moving toward something, away from something, evolving into something. The math, the machines, it only sees us as we are today, maybe yesterday, but it canโt know who we will become tomorrow.
Itโs why writing for the algorithm is heat death.
I'm not sure why, but this post almost hurt to read. I think I could feel the struggle with the topic. It's so big. And you nailed it.
Yeah, I did struggle with it, for sure. I didn't want to come across complaining, you know? I just felt like there was something worth writing about. A lot of the pieces that get deeply philosophical start out with pen on paper, writing out in the yard and this one did, too. And then I had sit on it a while so I could edit it.
I feel like a lot of times that 'moving toward' occurs along a spiral and we run across the same things, same old skeletons, over and over until we process them and they drop away, but the sometimes other even older ones show up. You know? And thanks Charlie, I had a feeling you'd get what I was trying to say here :)
I feel what you are saying trying to say. Iโm interested to see how many people do. I think you hit a layer here that doesnโt exist for everyone. Maybe for more people in your audience than most though.
I started outlining an essay today around the idea of writing to the algorithm as heat death of creativity. At least thatโs where this took me right now.
Have you read the letter Kurt Vonnegut wrote to a class of kids, telling them to write a small page and never show it to anyone? โYou have experienced becomingโ her concludes. It always stuck with me.
I did! It was beautiful. I wrote about it quite some time ago because I loved that story, too
Sometimes I feel you specifically write to me. This is one of your best IMO. Humble as it is.
Aww, Becca, that makes me happy. Thank you :)
You have written many true sentences here, resonant and insightful. I feel like I am becoming more Real, though the world creeps behind me sometimes and pulls me off that path for a bit. Then words like yours set me right. ๐
Omg, Molly, you're so right. The world does pull us off the path now and then, and then we have to find our way back. Thank you so much :)
Linda, Iโll say it again. I read everything you write. Why? BECAUSE itโs so real. Iโm a grateful reader. Keep on๐
Aww, Sonya, thank you. It's been a week, I gotta say, and your words were water for the thirsty
I totally agree. I love that about Linda.
Swallowing days without chewing. That . Is. One. True . Sentence . Imagine not able to savor the moment.
Right? God, that sentence got me, too. We all have days like that, I think. Thanks, Jennifer :)
The person bleeding on the page will look at the response they get and wonder.โ That line is the whole essay. There is something quietly devastating about the gap between what a piece costs to write and what it earns in hearts. The Velveteen Rabbit frame lands exactly right. Becoming real has nothing to do with the numbers. But the numbers still sting on a Tuesday.
Right? That's exactly it. The numbers still sting sometimes, even if they have nothing to do with becoming.
โOne true sentenceโ is such a dangerous little instruction.
It sounds simple until you realise it asks for the sentence before the performance, before the polish, before the small internal committee starts rearranging the furniture.
This piece stayed with me for that reason. Not loud. Not tidy. Real.
Yes, that's it exactly! It asks for the sentence before the polish. I love that. And thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed this one :)