Another year-end email

It's been almost a year since I've written one of these. I'm sorry. Or maybe--you're welcome? The over-sharing we're all used to, and that essayists often specialize in, is as addicting as it is exhausting, and writing this always feels overwhelming. But it's the end of the year and, actually, there's a lot to say! 

This was the first full year I worked independently, which meant I could spend most of my time on my writing. Don't be fooled. I did not make a living off of my writing. I made most of my money consulting for tech companies. But it afforded me the ability to spend the bulk of my time writing essays, re-writing my novel, writing and pitching tv pilots, writing and re-writing book proposals--thankless, lonely work that pays nearly nothing and that, like some weird unfortunate curse, I can't get enough of.

The year started somewhat strong. I published two essays in SF-based publications I used to dream about back when I lived there, before the idea that I could be a writer ever crossed my mind. Who are these people who get to spend their days consumed by their own ideas? I couldn't imagine how anyone had the luxury, let alone the gall, to write for a living. My first essay this year was for The Rumpus. It's mostly an excerpt from my highly auto-biographical novel. Among other things it's about the pressure to fit into male-centric workplaces. The second piece was lighter. My essay for The Bold Italic was about an eventful date with a sleazy guy from Google. I won't say I didn't feel some vindication placing it in his local publication. I similarly felt retribution with this "humor" piece, Super Chill Reflections on Super Chill Breakups, which may or may not have been inspired by my sent mail.

When the summer hit, I escaped for a few months to a cabin in middle-of-nowhere Vermont, which is very truly my happiest place. I wrote about my escape for a Medium feature, and it became my most widely read piece. Just this week I wrote what started as a follow up but ended up being a more meandering meditation on my path to becoming a writer and my long-held assumption that brooding, or any indulgence in one's own thoughts, was more of a guy thing, which is why I dated artists for so long instead of actually just, like, making art. If you like Bonnie Prince Billie, it also starts with a scene about their best album.

I also published a bunch of fiction. First was a dystopian Black-Mirror-esque story with Hobart about a girl trying to rack up social media followers in a world where followers is currency. It was chosen as Longform's fiction pick of the week. And this short story with Vice, also kind of sci-fi and dystopian, about a tech-bro who gets caught in the act of sexual assault by his own technology. Writing from this guy's perspective (a type I know well) was some of the more therapeutic writing I've ever done. And just the other day I published this flash fiction piece for Entropy Mag about the pressure to date, the pain of dates, and the joy of being done with dates. As an experiment it's written in the second person, so you really feel it. It's also where the artwork above is pulled from.

I dabbled in op-eds, which may be the kind of writing I care most about, it's just so hard to get these things published since they have to be time-sensitive and everyone's clamoring for the same topics. I published a piece on the Ansari scandal when it first happened. I was obsessed with this story. It's not that I think he deserves the most blame, far from it, I just think it's a tremendously common issue with very blurry lines that we need to talk more about. I did a follow up story when he tried to re-enter the spotlight, which I would have been fine with--excited by, even!--if his new schtick wasn't railing against "woke-ness," avoiding the hard topics all-together. I capped the year off with my first piece for Slate (out next week), comparing the right and wrong way to innovate on the anti-hero (Lifetime's You and the final season of House of Cards, respectively).

One of my most challenging pieces to write this year was about a subject very dear to my heart--women in tech. Specifically addressing James Damore, of the infamous Google memo. A year later, it is the very opposite of a "hot" take. It is, indeed, a very slow take. After avoiding the topic entirely for a year because it made me so angry, this summer I listened to as many interviews with him as I could find, gritting my teeth the whole way through. My challenge was to address him not as evil, but as someone who just didn't get it, and try and explain, rationally, what he was missing. 

This year has been a disaster on so many fronts. We're essentially seeing democracy, order, and, worst of all, truth crumble before our eyes. What I think about constantly is how to penetrate the noise, the anger, the one-dimensional headlines. How to create something that people will want to spend more than eight seconds reading because it offers not a quick confirmation of beliefs, but an exploration of thought. Not just something to like or dislike, but, ideally, a little bit of both.

I'm not sure if people realize how hard artists work. I certainly didn't. I've been pitching book proposals all year, getting response so positive that I can barely breathe only to ultimately, always get rejected. I spend all my time working on my writing, and when I'm not writing, or trying to write, hating myself for not being able to write, etc., I am searching for publications to pitch my writing, drafting meticulous personal emails to editors asking for publication, dealing with all the rejection, or straight-up silence. And then if, by the grace of some higher being, a piece does finally see the light of day, very few read it. Even when you think it's the best thing you've ever written, even when it very well might be the best thing you've ever written. Everyone is busy.

I guess what I'm saying is Thank You! If you've read even one thing I've written, which, if you're on this list and definitely if you've read this far, you probably have or at least are doing so now. Thank you. It's the cheesiest thing in the world but readers are what make it worth it. Writing, for me, is about connecting. Full stop. Being able to articulate something someone else feels but might not be able to say, or even acknowledge, until they see it on the page is the whole point. To put something into the world for other people that wasn't there before. Often my readers are total strangers, or people from strange corners of my life, people I maybe don't even talk to anymore. Very rarely, in a weird and sometimes sad way, are they my closest friends (though sometimes they are!). Whoever you are, I cannot thank you enough for reading my work. It truly means everything to me. 

Enough about me. Here are some favorites from the year by people I love:

Favorite book: Motherhood, by Sheila Heti. Her ability to replicate the cyclical, complicated, enduring question of whether or not to have children, one that is given shockingly little attention, into the form of a novel left me totally stunned. And this line will likely stay with me forever: "Whether I want kids is a secret I keep from myself--it is the greatest secret I keep from myself." 

Favorite new show(s): The Bisexual, created by Desiree Akhavan. Followed by Killing Even, created by Phoebe Waller-Bridge (of the fantastic Fleabag). Followed by Dietland, created by Marti Noxon (of the wild but smart UnReal).

Favorite old show: The final season of The Americans, and especially the last episode (the garage scene!) will go down in history. Despite being certain I would hate it, I finally watched (and could not stop watching) The Good Place; I loved it. Better Things and SMILF, also consistently excellent.

Favorite essays: Nuance, A Love Story by my role model, mentor, person I actually got to know this year, Meghan Daum. The Male Glance by the always great Lili Loofbourow. The Protagonists, by Todd VanDerWerff who, thank god, finally flipped the lid on typical male anti-heroes.

Favorite celebrity profiles (a weird category, I know, but they were so good this year!): Maya Rudolph in the New York Times, and Julia Louis-Dreyfus in the New Yorker.

Favorite Critic (and Twitter Feed): Emily Nussbaum who I love on every level (and who followed me back this year after reading my Google essay! Is this category just an excuse for me to gloat about this? Definitely. It's the small things that keep you going.)

I'm sure there's more, but that's all for now. Also I broke my foot the other day and can't walk at all. Fingers crossed that at the very least this immobile misery means more writing; 2019 is dedicated to my novels. To stay in touch or generally support my work please follow me on Twitter, and if you ever want to share any of my writing it's always very much appreciated! 

Thanks so much again for reading and happy holidays!

See you in the new year,

Emily