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"I don't care if you think your writing is shit," she told me. "It's probably amazing and if you die before I do, I'm going to publish your work. Like Max Brod did for Kafka."
We were sixteen years old and I was mortified by the idea of anyone reading my stories. Reluctantly, I started handing handwritten pages to my closest friends. We all have to start somewhere.
12 years later, I'm still as anxious and insecure about my writing as I was back then, but the group of friends in my corner has grown. They don't care much about writing, but cheer me on every step of the way. Without them, I would have given up in writing a long time ago. They truly are the Brod to my Kafka 🖤
Related Recs
"I'm not the next Joan Didion, and I'm okay with that. [...] I'm the first of me, but to my own surprise, it's much more difficult to come to terms with that."
Every word I write is a victory over my impostor syndrome. It's always telling me my writing should be different. Less like me, more like other, much more successful online writers. Seeing how many of those writers aspire to be like Joan Didion, I felt like I was doing something wrong in not wanting to be like her. My doubts and fears about (not) being like Didion turned into a Substack post that struck a chord with others, and myself. For once, I was proud of something I'd written. I hope you'll give it a chance and a read too 🖤
Aug 18, 2024
My beloved friend and creative partner of many years and the best writer I know… her first post Trauma Queens is a look at emotional exhibitionism and oversharing online. I highly recommend reading it and following her to see what she comes out with next!!
Apr 27, 2024
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(Subrec: retiring the term autofiction)!
Writing about one of the most significant periods of transformation in my life has reminded me of my experiences in EMDR therapy: returning to the moments that shaped me—the sublime, the horrific, and everything in between—not just to relive them, but to recontextualize them. Through this process, I revisit the past, weaving empathy and perspective into old wounds, transforming them into narratives that help me heal rather than haunt me.
Writing this chapter wasn’t easy; even after all the personal work I’ve done, I still hadn’t fully unpacked much of what I explored here. But in the same way EMDR therapy creates new mental pathways, confessional writing allows me to create new emotional pathways. What once felt overwhelming now feels like part of a larger, layered story—a story I get to write on my own terms, with dark humor, empathy, and grace.
This chapter is about the seeds of identity, love, and longing being planted in the soil of a viscerally chaotic and often violent childhood, and the thorned rose that breaks forth out of this poisoned soil, delicate and sharp, a reflection of resilience built in tandem with pain.
Not even my closest friends fully understood the depth of my experiences until I opened up to them recently. Sharing this chapter feels like baring my soul in a way that’s both terrifying and liberating, but after being silent for so long, I believe in the power of raw, confessional storytelling—not just to connect with others, but to heal.
Part 1 introduces the narrator’s restless haze living in her desert hometown one year after high school graduation, working at a twee Wes Anderson-themed restaurant and drifting without direction. A chance encounter with an old acquaintance draws her back into his social circle, sparking a journey into memory. Part 2 delves into the complex history behind this connection, revealing the tangled ties that bind her and the unresolved emotions that shape her path forward.
I’m so excited to share Part 2, ‘Seeds Planted,’ with you. It’s layered and deeply personal—another piece of my journey that I’m honored to offer to you. I’m looking forward to hearing how it speaks to you, or how you’ve found your own ways of recontextualizing the past.
Jan 12, 2025
Top Recs from @envy
I'm a July baby. Growing up, I spent most of my birthdays alone. Some years because my friends had left the country. Some years because I'd left the country. Some years because I had no friends. And with every year passing, the pressure to spend my birthday surrounded by friends and family and to have a good time increased. Every year I felt like a failure when I couldn't make it happen. So I stopped telling people it's my birthday.
But today is my 28th birthday.
Jul 17, 2024
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I hadn't seen my friend since New Year's Eve. Now it was October, her wedding day, and she barely gave me the chance to gush over her gorgeous dress, her makeup, her jewelry.
"You look happier," she said. "Your energy has changed. It's much calmer now. I'm happy for you."
I love her for taking the time out of her special day to notice me like that.
Oct 13, 2024
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"If the two of you are so good together, why don't you make a move?" my friend asked me in a dream about the guy I was ever so slowly falling for. Those words echoed through my mind for months, from the first date till the final breakup.
Jun 14, 2024