White Flags

On Surrender

I’ve been having trouble looking at things. Looking at the overwhelming amount of work I have to complete, but also looking at everything. Literally, looking.

My eyes sting and burn. First it was my left eye. Not red when I looked in the mirror, watching the lid close involuntarily, but watery, as if one eye cried while the other remained open. Hopeful.

A couple weeks ago my publisher sent me my book proofs. They were late– I’d expected to get them before my winter break, but someone was sick and things got delayed, to the fault of no one, so I received them mid-January, just as the semester was picking up and four weeks before my preliminary exams. Also, right after I started The Interior Gaze and Sentient Scrolling.

Mein Bett // Karl Wiener // 1943

I started working on proofs while also trying to organize the two sci-fi courses I’m teaching for the English department– courses I’ve never taught before– while also attempting to organize my notes for prelims and speed through the last unread books on my list, while also navigating a conflict with a friend who, I found out, was spreading false rumors about me. While also trying to sleep, eat, and make sure I’m taking care of myself.

Then, a week ago, I realized that my preliminary exams are a week earlier than I thought. I had input the wrong dates on my calendar.

On Thursday I had a publicity meeting with my publisher. This was thrilling, exciting, and wonderful.

That evening I sent a chat message to the paying subscribers of this newsletter, promising the Sentient Scrolling students that I would post something on Friday.

Friday passed. I posted nothing. Instead, I iced my eye and went through more proofs, until my other eye started protesting. So, I stopped, crawled into bed, and cried for a while. I told myself I would post the next day.

Saturday came. I got up, made tea, started writing this post, then got distracted by the news (I am not even touching on how incredibly distressing the news is right now). I ended up vacuuming my apartment for the first time in a month. Rearranging my bedroom. Doing the dishes. Taking out the trash. Reading through more proofs. I didn’t touch my prelims notes, nor did I send anything here.

So, here we are. Sunday. I am writing this.

I am trying to figure out what to do, because I have made a commitment to teach these classes. I want to teach these classes. I actually would rather teach these classes than do my preliminary exams or finish my proofreading. Over the past week I’ve lost eight paying subscribers, and I don’t hold it against them (I do think that several of them were free trials).

I’ve been trying to figure out what to do. What to say. How to move forward in a way that feels good for everyone. It’s been a bit paralyzing. This community means so much to me, and, it’s important to mention, this is not the first time this has happened. This is a problem with my PhD program, which pays me very little, and with the publishing industry, which pays authors an advance (if their lucky) but often requires unpaid work of authors that we can only hope to recoup if our book is successful enough (important to note that this is not unique to my publisher– it’s an industry-wide issue).

I got so many lovely comments on my recent posts that I want to highlight and engage with. I’ve had wonderful silent writing sessions and one super productive and helpful Sentient Scrolling meeting. I don’t want to stop teaching these courses, but there are two hurdles I must overcome before I can resume: my preliminary exams, which start this Thursday and end on Monday afternoon, and my proofs, which are due back on Monday. Oh– there’s a third hurdle. My eye. Which needs to chill.

I wave a white flag of surrender.

I don’t want to lose you. Yes, you who are reading this. And I am not referring to your subscription, whether it’s paid or free, but you, as a person. I want to connect with you, hear what you have to say, and explore the esssays and concepts and practices that I love with you.

I think something that holds me back is my need for perfection. When I send out a newsletter it must have all the resources. I must say all the things. Yet, when I am overwhelmed with work, I have to dial it down, but I can’t. So I give up.

I’m going to try to do things differently. Try not to give up on my (over)commitments.

All I ask of you is to hang in with me as I figure things out over the next couple of weeks.

Here are some questions I have for myself (and you):

• Do continue leading limited workshops (which can end up feeling overwhelming to me and (maybe) to my students as well), or would it be more productive to have sections of the newsletter focusing on certain topics, like social media/screens and essays? I am leaning towards the latter.

• Would it be helpful for me (and you) for me to send out newsletters sharing some of my favorite essays with a few reading questions and to have live meetings discussing these rather than more posts online?

• Would you like more resources without interpretation, like essays and craft stuff without me necessarily writing about them? (think bulleted lists)

• The Substack model is very focused on getting paying subscribers. This newsletter garners about $4500 a year. Not an insignificant number for me! Yet: that balances out to $375 a month, which is $93.75 a week. Over the past month I have spent at least eight hours a week curating and writing this newsletter (not to mention all the work that’s led to me being able to do that work). For that work I was paid $11.71 an hour.

• Ugh, I hadn’t done the math on that one. YET: all of my paying subscribers DESERVE to get something for their money, right?

• You can see the bind I’m in, here. Especially because I don’t have a partner, parents, or family helping me financially. My yearly income in under $30,000 a year.

• Many people expressed enthusiasm for Sentient Scrolling, yet participation rates are very low (though those who are participating are really tuned in). I think this may be because a class structure, with a beginning and end, can feel high pressure for folks who read my newsletter: many of you (us) are neurodivergent.

• Lastly: I want to write my own essays here. Share my own thoughts about things. The classes make it harder for me to do that, yet classes seem to be one of the only ways to get folks to pay for my work. I understand this phenomenon, yet I am anti-capitalist and also have to ask: what if the value is the writing itself? What if we learn from the writing itself? I especially ask this because open rates and retention rates for this newsletter have gone down since I’ve started doing classes and writing less essays (this is from stats taken over a couple years).

• I would like to write more about the publishing process and my journey as a writer.

• I’d also like to write more pieces engaging with cultural topics, which often get a big positive response.

What to do?

So, here’s the deal. I am going to take a couple weeks to breathe. I am going to finish reading my proofs so I can turn them in tomorrow. Prep for my prelims so I don’t fail. Then I am going to reassess. It would be very, very helpful to me if you (especially paying subscribers) tell me what’s valuable for you here.

Here is what I CAN continue doing during the next couple weeks:

• Tuesday silent writing sessions.

• Sharing and writing about essays.

• Writing about social media and perhaps sharing worksheets.

• Sharing the next step for folks who started an essay with Interior Gaze (I have it all written out).

Is this okay with you?

What I don’t want is for people who signed on for a paying subscription to feel like I misled them. So, if you do feel that way, please let me know and I will refund you.

This is a trial and error process for me. I am trying to figure out how to make this newsletter productive and vital for YOU, but also sustainable for ME. I thought about turning off paid subscriptions again, but when I did that recently I lost a TON of subscribers, both paying and free. So, not an option. Plus, I actually do need the money I make from this space. I am a working-class writer who is on the precipice of perhaps being middle-class. My book’s reception will dictate that for me, and I have to wait and see.

If I could quit my PhD and dedicate myself to this space, I would. But then I’d lose my health insurance…

You can pre-order my book HERE.

I am so grateful you’re here. And I hope more than anything that I can continue creating community, because I love this space. If you have any thoughts or suggestions, please feel free to share them with me.