Hi, Stacey!
I’m trying to be as direct and authentic with you as possible, but that’s easier vowed than done, isn’t it? In my head, I think of things to say to you, but there are barriers to writing them.
The first barrier is I have multiple freelance writing jobs I’m constantly juggling. I am grateful for these jobs. I care about these jobs. A lot of writers are out of work right now, but I’m clinging on. However, I haven’t had a full-time job in…ever, actually. I have never in my life been in a position where I can have just one employer—let alone an employer who also offers me benefits (frivolous things like health care etc.) Still, my chaotic work schedule/survival isn’t an excuse for neglecting our correspondence. I’ve made time for other passion projects. This brings me to the second barrier.
With my brief time on earth, I am trying to make meaningful art. Specifically, through my art, I am trying to curb the climate crisis, encourage equality, and celebrate expression/joy. I think carefully about what projects to start (and finish) based on my values. I have so many things I want to write. I have to whittle my dreams based on what I think is most worthwhile, which is an impossible science. For example, I’ve poured hundreds of hours into developing a climate television show, which will likely never be produced. Yet a climate short that took two meetings to make got 3 million views on TikTok. You’ll notice I seem to think how many people consume something is a marker of “worth.” And, yes, I do recognize how problematic and deeply capitalistic tying quantity of audience into quality of art is. However, I am being candid so it’s clear why I struggle to prioritize this blog, meant for one possibly imaginary reader.
For this project to be worthwhile, I must think it’s worthwhile. In order to reach you, I have to truly believe I am reaching you. And that’s complicated for me because, as I’ve explained before, there is a level of delusion I must buy into for us to connect. Delusion terrifies me because I am very sensitive to possibly losing my mind. (And also a little sensitive to looking like an idiot.) But! Delusion has also served me, as delusion serves most artists.
My partner (Dern, I’ll just call him Dern from now on) shared something so inspiring with me the other night. He’d just rewatched the Lord of the Rings film The Return of the King. On this viewing it occurred to him how little most characters in the movie know about the bigger picture. I’m not going to explain the movie to you because if you are reading this random-ass blog, you’ve probably absorbed that old chestnut. The point is basically all the characters in LOTR know their entire fantastical world is in peril, and the only way to possibly survive is to support some plan hinging on a mild-mannered Hobbit walking barefoot up a volcano to toss a ring in. What an unlikely plan! But the only plan! And so elves and warriors and wizards all come together to believe in the plan! Maybe they will fail, but if they don’t believe they certainly will. And wouldn’t you know it, they all believe, and they (all) succeed.
I’m writing you now from a cafe but remembering a night I ran for a train in Chicago. I was at the bottom of the station steps when it arrived. I huffed and puffed up but simultaneously thought, “Why are you even trying? You can hear the doors closing.” Indeed, when I got to the platform, I was too late. The train was about to take off. And then…the conductor opened the doors for me. I take this experience to mean perhaps ignorant effort is not ignorant at all, perhaps it is a necessary step in shifting our reality.
So here’s what I’ve decided, Stacey. Here, in this blog, you are 100% real, and I believe in you fully. Out there? In the physical world, with other humans? Who knows how I feel. Maybe “out there” I only believe in you a sad 1%, and in here, I’m faking it ’til I make it. …Or maybe I believe in you 100% no matter where I am. Maybe I am writing this paragraph as “insurance.” Something I can point to if someone I know stumbles upon this site and becomes concerned about my mental health. “Don’t worry,” I can now say, “It’s just part of the art.”
Waiting for a sign.
xoxo
Alice
Hi Stacey 
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