'I'm Intrigued By the Way You Humiliate Yourself'
On debut novelist blues, bravery, and The Fool.
You might have noticed I’ve gone for a bit of a rebrand here, moving away from writing about food and our age of never-ending content, and more about tarot, astrology, and spirituality. But this morning I wondered if I should do another re-brand, and instead of writing about hefty topics, I should just write entire newsletters to describing a leaf or early 00s music video. I don’t know, man. I wish I was high-profile enough that I could just call this newsletter ‘My Thoughts’ and rely on my name alone to generate interest. But in order to be high-profile enough, I need to have a profile, and despite having a book out in the world, I still feel more comfortable identifying as the girl who once wrote an article called ‘Bizarre world records: The most people simultaneously twerking’ than an author. (P.S. I don’t remember writing that article at all, which goes to show much much content I have generated for the internet on autopilot.)
All of which is to say, I’m having a weird little writing crisis, where I have become convinced that my desire to be liked is getting in the way of my ability to articulate intelligent thoughts. I am freezing up in front of an audience, and I myself have become an audience member in the psychodrama of my life. This kind of mental health dip is actually really common among debut novelists, and the reaction to debut novelists being unhappy post-publication tends to be ‘babe, can you pass my electron microscope? I’m searching for my violin’ or ‘all these young people think they’ll become Sally Rooney overnight’. I am inclined to accept the criticism with a brave face and a laugh, then continue to die quietly on the inside.
I’ve soured on this word: ‘brave’. It’s starting to feel like shorthand for: ‘I’m intrigued by the way you’ve chosen to humiliate yourself’. It’s also very much a word that frames rather than pinpoints – it makes you aware of being judged, even if that judgment appears to be good. It’s a fine line between brave and shameless, but at least shameless has a sense of devil-may-care joy to it. Unless you are Beowulf, bravery is a slog. But more than that bravery feels like a performance you weren’t aware of starring in. I think even the most natural-born star would be annoyed if they weren’t given the chance to prepare for the show, do it better, have more agency.
Speaking of stars, I think it’s funny that anybody, literally anybody, has the potential to become a massive internet star. (‘Internet’ is a bit redundant here.) A podiatrist could do it. A girl got TikTok-famous for reheating rice and salmon in a clever way and it has opened a lot of financial doors for her. Perhaps this has made us feel that if we are not a star, then we need to be near the star or resemble the star or inch towards stardom in whatever little micro-community we are a part of, just so we can feel like we are participating in the world. The online world, at least, though it’s kind of silly to talk about the online world as if it exists separately from the ‘real’ world. It’s one and the same, just that the online part magnifies and distorts the not-online part.
Anyway, I think I am finally getting past this post-book blues phase, because I have put in some boundaries about how often I search my name or my book online. It’s given me a lot of clarity on how deeply embedded my validation-seeking habits are, and how little I want them there, because they are very much getting in the way of me being able to write or live life enjoyably. But the thing that’s really helped me move on is this tarot card spread, the kind that made me think ‘this is why I do this’:
I won’t go into the exact meanings, but just that guy on top, The Fool. The Fool is my absolute favourite card in the deck. It shows a man who is on a journey but has not packed properly, but no matter, he’s up and away, on the precipice of adventure. In The Fool chapter of Tarot for Change, Jessica Dore recounts a Seneca folk tale where a witch traps a group of men in an ice house. The men break free by dancing, and the heat of their bodies melts the ice. Eventually, the sun pokes through the ceiling, and so does hope. She writes:
Dancing is a bit of a fool’s task. You have to get out from beneath the structure of ideas about what is orderly. You have to get okay with looking silly and being misunderstood.
Which reminds me of that aphorism in the Live Laugh Love family: Dance Like Nobody Is Watching. I think what it technically means is dance as if nobody is watching, but I like to think of it as dance because nobody is watching. Instead of being conscious of other people’s attention and ignoring it, The Fool card (to me) represents not being conscious of other people’s attention at all. Could that be selfish, disastrous, et al? Yes. But that’s why the card is called The Fool – maybe you need a level of naïveté – to not be aware (or care) that you are being laughed at – in order to venture forth.
Another thing that’s helped me be less depressed is literally laughing, this time it was via rewatching episodes of Friends. Particularly this scene where Ross, perennially angry and depressed after his second divorce, goes apeshit on his boss – first for eating his Thanksgiving leftovers sandwich, then for admitting that he threw half the sandwich away because it was too big.
Things I Loved Reading:
Two great pieces on pop music, ‘The parasocially speculative pop star breakdown’ on The Jane Institute and Freddie DeBoer on over-elevating pop stars as a response to ageing
Because I empathised so much with Ross and his sandwich, it felt like I’d manifested this list of Vittles’ 50 Best Sandwiches in London
Catherine Shannon on how desire is about having very little information, and why our phones are at odds with that. Which reminds me of this great line from the novel As Young As This by Roxy Dunn: ‘…one of your acting tutors once said, “Empathy is derived not by emotion itself but by the energy required to suppress it,” which was basically another way of saying, If you want the audience to feel your character’s pain, you have to resist showing it.’
Shalom Auslander’s Someday You May Miss This Miserable Now
Nikkita- I like this piece. Especially the insight on dance *because* nobody is watching. So applicable to so many things.
felt this deep in my bones! i think you should re-brand as much as you want if it gets you to write whatever you want -- sending support 💞