I still remember, vividly, the sensation of imbuing unworthy men with magic. For years, I turned distracted dudes into demigods using only the powers of my own imagination. I was a creative person, that’s all, one who wanted more magic in her life. So I created magic out of thin air.
A friend of mine expressed concern yesterday that my going part-time might be a Bad Idea, life-wise. Either way, it’s in the works starting next week, so Good Idea or Bad, it’s happening. I’ve made arrangements for when my lease is up so that I’ll be in a place where my rent (amazingly) will be only $500/month. In order to do this, I’ll be living on Long Island, which is perhaps not ideal, but honestly it’s better than sleeping on the couch in my parents’ apartment. (No offense to my parents at all! They’re super supportive of my writing — they’re actually my first readers for my novel — but for whatever reason, it is almost impossible for me to write at home.)
The friend who I’ll be staying with once my lease is up has deemed the move I’m making “downsizing,” because she is an accountant and also the most grown up person I know. This makes the move seem much more official and much less frivolous. My friend who is concerned for my future/my choices, is concerned because:
- I’ll be far away from the city, from the people I want to be around and the things I want to do,
- By being at work only half as much as I am now, I will not be “engaging with the world” as much,
- No one can write for hours and hours,
- I will have less pasta/dinero/moo-la/cash/$$$.
Oddly, though, these things (with the exception of the money bullet) are precisely why I’m excited to make this move.
Giving up doesn’t accomplish anything. Working harder, being relentless, putting my work back out there does accomplish something. You have to be persistent. You have to trust and have faith in your writing. That voice you hear telling you that your voice is unnecessary and unworthy is fueled by fear because it is fucking scary to put your work out into the world and have that work rejected. Allow yourself to feel the fear and then dig deep into your stronger self and keep trying and keep writing and keep reaching for what you want. Don’t hide from your ambition. Own that shit.
I’m sorry that you’ve been hiding for so long. It’s time to wake up and see everything that you are, and everything that you are not. You are beautiful. You are in pain. You are brilliant. You are soft and sad. Imagine what you could do, if you really loved something, if you weren’t just phoning it in. You’re so good even when you’re half-assing it. Imagine, what a supernova you could be, if you actually cared about something and believed in it, if you brought the full force of your intelligence and your passion (it’s in there somewhere) and your hard work and focused it on something that MATTERED to you.
It’s been a monstrously shitty couple of weeks with regard to misogynistic fuckery, both for me personally and those near and dear to me, and in the world at large. It honestly feels like it is never-fucking-ending, and I’m tired and aggravated and tired of being aggravated. So I took some time and wrote up a few spells for you all. Enjoy, employ. Yours in misandry, and #banmen.
I. In response to catcalling
Prick the pad of the middle finger of your left hand and squeeze a drop of blood onto the pavement.
Spit on it.
Step on a crack with the heel of your left shoe, and with the head of the pin, mark an x.
He will suffer the fate of Regina George at the next intersection, without the partial prom queenship or eventual cathartic lacrosse career.
a. on a bicycle
Continue riding. The first time you ride one handed, your Amazon-like power will be released as a homing missile.
If he is catcalling another of your coven in that moment, he will spontaneously combust. This spell has a dual nature: You will have supported a fellow witch, and he will be charbroiled.
If he is not catcalling another, he will still spontaneously combust, and so will every catcaller in a five block radius.
You will find someone who loves your wildness, your pain, your past, your ugliness, your flaws, all of it. If you stay vulnerable, if you keep telling the truth about who you are without fear, you will find someone who’s trustworthy enough and strong enough to leap into the unknown with you. You will find someone who isn’t afraid. Forgive this poor guy. He is very fucking afraid.
- Potholes, sinkholes and sewer grates: It is widely believed that hell is actually located beneath the streets of New York City. In most cities potholes are just little bumps in the road. In New York they are gaping holes with no bottom in sight (technically, these are called sinkholes). Wheels, bikes, and bicyclists have been lost to the world below. In the summer, bike-sinks spring up randomly overnight. Please report dangerous potholes and sinkholes to 311 immediately and save a fellow cyclist.
I might be buying a pretty red bike today. Hopefully it’s not the last thing I do.