To: Obscure Writer
You are rejected by magazines that nobody reads besides other obscure writers who want to be read. You’ll never write good enough to be published in the ones you do. You write too quickly. Edit too much. Send out drafts too slowly or never at all. Your voice is incohesive, rambling, preachy, unplanned, trying too hard to be witty on your way to making a point you nailed down two sentences before.
Look at you. Slouched at your desk biting your cuticles, you’re mentally ill — trying to connect with others by typing in the dark in a Word document nobody will ever see, will never hold in their hands, except, maybe, if you’re brave, for a few other obscure writers. Some of them will dissect it like a middleschooler gutting a dead frog just to say it’s dissected, and you will cover up your run-on-sentences and excessive use of hyphens, parentheses (and commas too) with excuses like “This is just my style” then delete the whole thing because it clearly isn’t good enough.
When is it good enough? How many times will you tell them “I’m a writer” and then start stuttering when they ask to read your work. You’re not a writer. You’re trying, and failing, to write.
Why are you trying?
You have a car to pay for, and an apartment. You’ll never make money doing this. You’re not in tech or business or guru culture. You’re too young. Nobody will believe anything you say anyways until you’re in your thirties.
The only way any of this could work is if you wear a sport coat to your MFA program. Quote Bly, Frost, Dickinson. Hell, quote Shakespeare. Read “Elements of Style.” Worship “Elements of Style.” Brag about your politics. Intellectualize stuff. Call more intellectual writers pretentious. Call those who are less (but actually write books) sell-outs. Get glasses. Go to poetry readings so other poets will read your poetry. Follow writers on Instagram so they will read your writing.
You need to work a 9–5. Quit your 9–5. Tell people that you quit your 9–5 to write. Move to Thailand, then New York. Tell people you quit your 9–5 and moved to Thailand and then New York to write. Get help from your family. Don’t tell people that you got help from your family.
No, forget it, actually. There’s no time. You’re so behind. You should be published in Ecotone by now. You should have been keeping a blog all this time. You should have a working social media page. You should have at least 500 followers on Instagram. You should have learned how to use Instagram. You should have a good portfolio. You should have a book sketched out.
You should just delete this. You should get into web creation, advertising, marketing, “content creation.”
You should really stop writing.
Best Intentions,
Shame
