Featuring- The ever Delightful Minister Faust

Hi babes!

We’re back with a whole ass new featured person I enjoy. Meet Minister Faust. Author, speaker, podcaster, and very interesting human. I’ve been listening to his podcast MF Galaxy for actual years now. I actually feel like maybe I was shown his podcast back in teh LJ days? I dunno. I just really enjoy his work.

I’ve listened to many episodes of his podcast and y’all, I so deeply appreciate what he does. His fiction=A++ too. For me though, the podcasts are really everything. I really HIGHLY suggest checking them out. Check out his Patreon here. Listen to some episodes and enjoy as much as I do. My personal recentish faves, the episode with MICHAEL DORN. I wanted to leave a question so bad but I remember very vividly I had like zero voice. I also must confess I have that episode saved on my phone. See also, the episode with Nalo Hopkinson whom I am helplessly ass over tea kettle with. The recent episode with the homie Daniel Jose Older…y’all. Just go dabble in the amazingness.

SO come meet the homie.

First tell my friends as much as you’d like to about yourself and your work.

I create stories and teach others how to do the same. The form doesn’t matter. It’s all about stories and their capacity to inspire and connect us. If you want to know more about me, this is my literary bio: http://ministerfaust.com/about

How do you like to work? Do you need your workspace to be any particular way?

I just need to concentrate. I prefer to work in my office, but I can work in a library or on an airplane or any place I won’t be distracted.

Who are your favorite artists or authors?

I’ve had the blessing of experiencing great work from countless artists. I do want to draw attention to some who inspired me to create either the types of stories I do, or the way I write: Richard Wright, Linton Kwesi Johnson, The Last Poets, Allan Moore, Frank Herbert, Claude McKay, Mzwakhe Mbuli, and Fela Kuti were all major influences on my work when I was younger and they still are. That list is all-male, but that’s only because I’m listing the work that inspired me when I was younger and when I was too male-centered. I do want to note I encountered Eden Robinson, Nalo Hopkinson, Octavia Butler, Ursula LeGuin, and Jan Wong (among others) later in life and found their work stunning.

Do you have any memories of the first piece of art or literature that really moved you?

The original Star Trek had a massive influence on me. I watched plenty of it in the early 1970s while sitting in my mum’s lap. Idealised friendship in adventures among the stars.

What makes you ridiculously happy?

I would never ridicule anyone for being happy. That being said, I love little in life more than laughing and playing with my wife and children.

Do you still feel awe? If so what fills you full of it? If not, tell me.

Of course. Couldn’t write SFF without awe. Contemplating the tiny and the grand and the stunning miracle of consciousness is all it takes to experience awe.

Free for all: Tell me something good. (Yes I did just quote Chaka Khan at you)

I’m pretty sure I make the best bean pies in Canada. I picked up the taste after attending the Million Man March. The last time I was in NYC, staying in Harlem, and I couldn’t find anyone from the NOI selling bean pies on the street. I got one at a slick corner store. That mass-produced pie should have been ashamed to know who ate it. (Ate part of it.)

~

 

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On Fear and Freedom

HI babes.

GUESS who is back on their bullshit? YEP yo problematic fave.

I’ve been hard at work and I’ve been digging deep into my archives of fiction that I abandoned for various reasons. As much as I talk about how important to me it is to be writing what the fuck I want to write, I still have reservations and fears in terms of genre and style etc.

For me, reconnecting with genre work has been a long ass hard road. I follow a lot of genre related folks, mags, editors, writers etc. One of the things that I still struggle with is that as much as I read, I often feel like my ideas, the methods in which my Blackness informs my work, is a problem.

It is the type of cognitive dissonance that for me personally is just, so weird. I will watch folks talk and talk and talk diversity but, I still find a lot of places lacking. I have such a need to see a broader acceptance of Black narratives. The narratives that aren’t super comfortable.

HOWEVER.

Now that I have some distance on writing racial pain porn for pennies, I’ve found an old want and am able to fulfill it for myself. If you’ve been here for a minute y’all know that at the root of my work is the need to create representation. Until now, I have really wanted to find joy in representation, in creating something that is just enough to get me a seat near the table.

I wanted to be at the table.

Somewhere in my quest to provide the representation, things felt grim. Of course I’ve had the Daiyuverse but, things were feeling a bit lacking. I felt kind of constrained.

Representation by itself is not enough. It is great. It is my dream. But, it is not enough to sustain me in my creative life.

So, I let it go.

And then, I started fictioning again and I’ve found my joy again.

I’m remembering that I don’t have to give a certain narrative about or around Blackness. That I can do what the fuck I want and still represent.

To the end of joy and shit I love doing, here’s a bite of the fantasy story I am retooling.

The King came out of the privy still buttoning her breeches, her sword clanking on her hip.“So, I looked at him dead in his Gods Damned eye and said no but I’ll sit on her-“Her ribald story came to as abrupt a halt as she did. Standing right there, one ear turning, tail swishing, was the cat woman. She stared up at the King with her enormous pumpkin colored eyes.

“You’d sit on her what your majesty?”Her whiskers twitched. The King stammered and dropped to one knee, unfortunately her breeches were loose and several men got a good half moon. She was too rapt to feel the breeze across her crack.“I, I oh please a thousand pardons Lady Cat. I hope I haven’t offended you. May I ask, what is your name?”

With that, I say good day sir.

Good. Day.

Featuring- Most Beloved Jen Pastiloff. Writer, teacher, Mom, delightful human.

HI babes. Get a snack.

If you don’t know Jen I am so happy to introduce you to her. I’m not completely sure how our paths crossed but, she is one of the most giving, Jen Pastiloff is the founder of one of my favorite lit sites The Manifest Station and if you’ve been here a while, you might remember she published an essay of mine about my mental health (TW it is a lot of issues) and treated me with such love and dignity. That particular piece was one that I could not for the life of me sell in any form and she was so kind in her treatment of it.

Jen is, the antidote to the sort of shiny, BE POSI all the time Mommyness, yoga doing, life living thing. Y’all know I am purely allergic to both bullshit and aggressive positivity and Jen gives me a person who reflects how I want to talk to myself. Y’all know what I’m saying? She speaks my language. When I see her post, don’t be an asshole followed with how she’s being an asshole to herself, and to stop I feel seen and heard.

Jen is a relentlessly loving person. A real person who wears some really bomb lash extensions and has a lovely family and chunky biscuit baby whoms

What’s your name/pen name.

“Ugh, why is this always so hard? Let’s see: I can’t hear without my hearing aids so that is kind of annoying. I have terrible tinnitus (ringing in my ears) 24/7 so I have a high tolerance for getting used to things, as well as pain. This is not always a good thing. I stayed at the same waitressing job for almost 14 years in Hollywood because I “”was used to it.”” I stayed in an abusive relationship for 2 years because I was “”used to it.”” You get the point.
I have a fear of dentists. I watch too much Netflix (thank God for subtitles and blue-tooth hearing aids), I drink way too much coffee and wine, I have a 2.5 year old who is the love of my life and also a high pain in the ass. I live in a one bedroom apartment and share a bed with my husband and son and my dream is to have another bedroom and a washer and drier. Really, those are my dreams. Oh: also finding a cure for Prader Willi Syndrome, which is the rare genetic disorder my nephew Blaise has. It manifests itself in many hideous ways but the worst is that it makes the person feel starving all the time. Like, he could literally eat himself to death. It’s straight out of a science fiction film. Fuck Prader Willi.
I went to NYU but took a semester off after junior year and that turned into… what year is it? So yea, I am a college dropout. And I have a memoir publishing June 4 from Dutton Books. No, I am not suggesting you drop out of college but for the love of coffee, sometimes our paths are crooked. Maybe college is not for everyone. Maybe the person I am is because I did not finish? Who’s to say?
I am saying this: Embrace the not knowing. You have no idea where life will take you or what will happen. The sooner you accept this, the happier (slightly happier, at least) you will be.
I post a lot on instagram at @jenpastiloff. Especially with the hashtags #realmotherfuckinglife and #nopantssunday which are exactly what they sound like.
I like being real and pantlessless.
I think Lidia Yuknvaitch is a fucking goddess. I lead workshops with her called Writing & The Body and it has changed me to my core. In the best possible way.
I don’t sleep with my hearing aids in so mornings and the middle of night are hilarious. “”What? What did you say? Mommy doesn’t have hearing aids in.”” I 99% mishear what you are saying, even with my hearing aids in, and usually what I hear is way funnier.
My father died when I was 8. He was my entire world. It messed me up real good but I turned out okay. Also; I wrote a book about it one million years later, so there is that.
I believe we get to change our minds about who we are and what we want, despite what the world (or our own Inner Asshole has told us.) \Ugh, I curse a lot.
My motto is “”Don’t be an asshole”” but I believe we are all sometimes assholes. Because: humans.
Sometimes I feel like a walking dead person. Less than I used to, but still. Sometimes I do.
I take anti-depressants. I teach yoga. I lead workshops around the world that I made up where I encourage people to become free and give less fucks what anyone else thinks. I love what I do.
I give away more than I have. I don’t mind that.

How do you like to work? Do you need your workspace to be any particular way?

I need quiet, which is hilarious because I am deaf. No, I was not born deaf. I am not Deaf with a capital “D.” I just get distracted easily so I can’t have noise (besides the ringing in my head.) That is the only thing I need. I need to be surrounded with books or mementos or photos. Things that inspire me, remind me who I am, make me feel grounded. Books do that. They make me feel less lonely. I feel like they whisper to me, “Go on, girl. You got this.” I know it’s corny but I do. My favorite words are “I got you” and I need things around me to remind me of that sentiment. My other faves are: It’s going to be okay. Basically, I need to feel that to write. I have no system. No routine. No high demands. I can’t even type. But, I get it done. Which is again to say: you do you. You do not need to fit inside any kind of box. I call it the “just-a’box.” I am just a waitress, just a mom, just a yoga teacher. Barf in my mouth. You (and me) are not JUST an anything nor do we fit inside a box. Make up your own damn rules.

Who are your favorite artists or authors?

“You, Shannon Barber. Truly. Your poetry. Lidia Yuknavitch. Roxane Gay. George Saunders. Cheryl Strayed. Sam Irby. Emily Rapp Black. Rene Denfeld. Alice Anderson. Naomi Shihab Nye. Toni Morrison. Jesmyn Ward. Alexander Chee. Claudia Rankine. Marlon James. Christa Parravani. Rumi. Stephen Dunn. Stanley Kunitz. Liz Gilbert. Zadie Smith. Brenda Shaughnessy, Miriam (Mimi) Feldman (paintinga and her writing!!) Megan Stielstra. Elizabeth Crane. Rob Roberge. Gina Frangello. Paul Auster. Virginia Woolf. Annie Dillard. Maya Angelou. Jess Walter. Jeanette Winterson. Tana French. Kate Atkinson. Omg- this is so hard. I could go on and on. Hold on, let me get more coffee.
Sylvia Plath. Caroline Knapp. Hanya Yanagihara. Margaret Atwood. Leslie Jamison. Nicole Krauss. patti Smith. Joan Didion. Alice Walker. Judy Blume. On and on…. ”

Do you have any memories of the first piece of art or literature that really moved you?

My first thought is Judy Blume. The first real book I ever read as a teeny kid was “Forever.” It was full of sex. I loved it. I hid in my room behind my bed and read it in 2 days. It was before my dad died so those memories are hardwired into my DNA. I have a deep love of Judy Blume. Hi, Judy! You make the best art. You inspired me as a small human to write and look at me now. It’s your fault! Also, you named a penis Ralph in your book and that still makes me laugh. Ralph!

What makes you ridiculously happy?

“My son’s laughter. Napping in the middle of the fucking day. My fake ass eyelashes. Finishing something I am proud to have written. Leading my On Being Human workshops. A book I cannot book down. When my husband brings me coffee in bed (he does this every day. Not to brag, but, okay, I am bragging.)
A show I cannot stop watching (I am a binger to the core!) When there is no traffic in LA, which is basically like two days a year (Christmas and Jan 1.), Italian food in Italy, Paris, light coming through a window. The idea of my own washer and dryer! The handmade “”don’t be an asshole’ and “”don’t should all over yourself”” mugs someone made and mailed me. They are just just so stinkin’ cute! I can’t even make chicken and someone made me these!”

Do you still feel awe? If so what fills you full of it? If not, tell me.

“All the time. I call it “”beauty hunting.”” My son’s awe fills me with awe. Watching his toddler brain process something. Last night i was working on this interview at my computer and he comes over and says, “”It’s not time for work. It’s bedtime.”” He was right. I closed the computer and cuddled with him. My 2 year old is teaching me boundaries.
Nature brings me to my knees. I am no Mary Oliver, but, my God, look at the sky. It’s breathtaking. How do we get to live in the world? Look what it does.
Honestly, wifi while I am flying. Utter awe. I am just dumbstruck. Like: how can I text you on your couch while I am high in the clouds above Cleveland? My hearing aids. Sometimes just the shock of sound when I put them back in brings me to tears. Anti-depressants. Look dudes, I probably still wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them so that is all sorts of awe-inspiring.
What happens in my workshops. Transformation, connection, lifetime friendship, fear gets told to buzz off, people find their voices, change their minds, allow themselves to be held, listen to other people in ways they maybe never had. I can’t believe I get to do this and IF I EVER STOP BEING ASTONISHED I WILL BE DEAD.”

Free for all: Tell me something good. (Yes I did just quote Chaka Khan at you)

“Well, I recently started lifting weights and I feel really great. I remember when I was nearly dying from anorexia, if someone said that I looked “”strong”” or “”healthy”” I would have a literal panic attack. Now, I soar. It’s a tangible feeling of growth. I don’t think we necessarily “”overcome”” things or “”get over them”” but we learn how to live so that they are not controlling us, so that we are able to find slivers of happiness, or awe, as you aptly put it. I have bad days but the majority are good.
I am part of something SHAPE magazine is launching called WOMEN RUN THE WORLD and I will be featured in the June 2019 issue. I sold my book in The UK to John Murray (Hachette UK .) I have clean sheets as opposed to cookie crumb sheets (I sleep with a toddler.) I have a retreat coming up to France and the day after I return from Europe, my book launches. That is actually good, or very, very bad. Hashtag jet lag.
We are closer to 2020 when we can vote the evil cheeto out of office.
I no longer care (as much) what other people think.
Something else good? Here’s the good news: I know it feels sometimes like there isn’t enough room (for you, for me, for all of us) but there is. That€™s a lie. That€™s a bullshit story-as I call it.
Sometimes it may feel like about she got there first & SO WHAT IF SHE DID? There’s room for all of our stories, voices, creations.
If you get sucked into that spiral of Not Enoughness “you won’t create. You’ll think â what’s the point?
The point is YOU. You are the point. There’s no other you.
It’s not a cliche. Or it is, but for good reason.
I lived in the Land of Lack for years but I escaped! Not unscathed: I have moments where I slip back.
But I remind myself that there’s room! And I surround myself with people who remind me, who lift me up, who make me see THE ROOM I WAS INSISTENT ON DENYING THE EXISTENCE OF. Find those people. Do your thing. We need you. Don’t be an asshole & hide. Tattoo this on your heart: THERE IS ROOM FOR ME.
your inner a-hole will try & trick you & tell you that it’s too late. It’s been done, there’s too many ______ (whatevs your blank is), you’re too old, too fat, too sad, too single, too smart, too dumb, too open, too potty-mouthed….WHATEVER THE F! It’s a dirty trick. Don’t listen. There’s room There’s room There’s room There’s room There’s room. MAKE ROOM FOR YOURSELF. We need you.

Extras?

“I have a workshop coming up in NYC March 16. PDX with Lidia Yuknavitch april 5-7, Ft Worth April 27, France May 25-June 1, London June 2, Book launch at Skylight Books in LA with Lidia June 4, Powells in PDX with Lidia June 7, DC July 14, Malaprops Books in Asheville July 16, Kripalu in Massachusetts July 19-21, Philly Aug 24. All info at jenniferpastiloff.com. Or go here https://www.jenniferpastiloff.com/events

Preorders are so important. And, if you send proof of purchase by Feb 28 you get a gift. order wherever you like and submit proof here https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfOG-KBufmq-DE5t7NnUekkOi0enMt_Dld_5sSNhICW9xZguA/viewform. Thanks for preordering. It truly means the world. I got you, too.
I have a scholarship fund for a woman who has lost a child called The Aleksander Fund https://www.themanifeststation.net/2016/10/17/aleksander-scholarship-fund/. I run a literary magazine with Angela Giles called The Manifest-Station https://www.themanifeststation.net.
Besides my own instagram at @jenpastiloff I also have @nobullshitmotherhood and @GPowerYouAreEnough.

More info here https://www.jenniferpastiloff.com/onbeinghuman”

~

AND y’alls I’m serious. You see why I love her.

First Side Hustle of the Year Updates.

OKAY.

Hi y’alls.

Folks ask me so I will probably do a monthlyish hustle update. (Medium links are paid links)

Medium still fails, my stats, these are not ALL of the things behind the paywall just the “top”:

Adventures in Being Black in Public $5.99
How to Learn to Write Non Fiction $0.00
This is America II $0.00
Post FatAss: Current RageAss. $0.00
Dear White Feminists. 2018 is coming. $0.00
How to Make a Witch II $0.00
How To Diversify Your Literary Publication $0.00
Self Care Like A Boss $0.00
This is America $0.00
So a bit from my top earner for the month:
The weight of that look, the look Black folks who are in situations where they are the only Black person there, or are visibly in distress know. The curled lip, the purse clutch, the sneer, the loathing. It is the look when you are both invisible and hypervisible. I was already panicky, trying to text my partner through my tears, terrified that (not logical but….) immediately the money I’ve been working so hard to save would be gone, that someone would fuck up my credit I’ve worked so hard on, everything.”
I wrote about a real bad day. I wrote from my aching heart about a really bullshit ass experience of my Blackness. it hurt. It hurt to read.
On average when I bleed out on the page this way, using Medium I might make 5$. When I’m exhausted angry and hurt, sometimes I make a little cash. For instance, this article I made about 13$. A record high. This piece was ghosted by four editors at ladymags who’d asked for this sort of thing. Two rejections because it is strident. So I took to Medium.

I will go out on a limb and speak for a lot of us othered folks. We cannot and do not want to continue giving free, amazing scholarly lessons on basic don’t be a racist. It is damn near 2018 and our fucking world is burning. Want to be the best gosh darned intersectional (also please interrogate your use of that word and if you don’t already know, find out about where it comes from) feminist ever?

Do the work.

Some stats for that piece:

Published 

VIEWS BY TRAFFIC SOURCE
353.

So frankly, y’alls. This is a large part of why I am in the process of redoing how I work. Honestly, letting it ALL out like that might be cathartic sometimes but it also is so much labor. And aside from maybe one magazine I can think of, even when that sort of work is asked for I’m not the one getting those bylines so no $$.

In other hustle news. My Etsy store will be closing on 2-15. I kept loose track and worked well over 75 hours on etsy stuff in the last quarter of 2018 and that made my hourly rate less than a dollar so. Nope.

What I am doing is making room for a big, shoot the moon, HOLY SHIT I AM DOING THIS SHIT type thing. I’m not ready to share ALL the details but, I’m taking a big fucking risk and I am so excited about it.

What else is happening?

I’m reading a few really good books right now. I’m getting ready to roll out some new shits. Since The Evil Empire   I mean Amazon changed their affiliate program I’m working on a WHOLE ass page of hand picked books and links.

I’ve also got a directory of Black Patreon creators going and I’ll be going live with it soonish.

I’ve got a real hankering to provide some more resources up in this bitch so keep an eye out for that.

I’ll be back probably next week where I’m going to need to talk some shit about people who try to sell best seller secrets willy nilly.

OH and if you are or know Black creators on Patreon drop them links for me please!

 

Can’t Have Analysis without Anal.

HI BABES!

Welcome to 20 goddamn 19. I typed 20 goddamn 49 at first and almost left it, so, yanno.

So what’s good 2019?

So far, I’ve been doing a lot of heavy emotional lifting for myself and my work. I made some decisions. I’ve been writing like a mother fucker.

I’ve decided to embark on a really difficult and scary thing that I’m not ready to formally announce. It has to do with a lot of the statistical data and whatnot I’ve been talking about for the last few months. If you subscribe to my loveletter you’ll see this bit later but this is really important:

Medium- I made $45.56 for the year of 2018. I generally had/have 10-15 pieces available. My least popular piece there was this one (free read link, clap if you want) The How to Learn to Write Non fiction piece.

TOTAL VIEWS
37
READ RATIO

32%
LIFETIME EARNINGS

$0

My most profitable pieces with an average of about 300 or so claps were the ones where I bled on the page about racism. I don’t really know what to say about that. It isn’t new but it is, disheartening if I’m going to be real with y’all.

The last piece where I bled on the page was this one, here is a bit of it.

Last night, I was reminded again of the ways in which I am not allowed to be human. The things I risk when I have the audacity to not be silent and invisible. I know what could have happened.

I’ve looked at long term stats on my work in various venues. OVer the last let’s say about 5 years or so, the more something hurts me to write, the more exposure it gets. For a long time I thought this would lead to the big $$ but, it doesn’t. Not for me. What I’ve experienced is often privately, editors and other folks with the keys to the cash, love me. They tell me how much they’ve learned from my work, they tell me how strong and powerful I am.

The people I know (mostly white let’s be real) with the connections and power to open those doors for me, don’t. There are always reasons. An editor not long ago asked me privately to pitch her something timely in response to the Magahat Babyracist Jr debacle. I worked up a short thing, real fast. And it was another instance of yes that but not like that.

I’m tired of that y’alls.

This is why freelancing burnt me so badly. I get it. I do. Most of these folks readership are not ready for this particular negro. Understanding it makes it no less exhausting.

I have also learned through these years of anal…err analysis that my audience, my ride or die folks *insert fourth wall break within a fourth wall break here* want what I got.

I’m working on it. I’m adjusting my focus so I can empower myself to write what the fuck i want to write, and dispense it how I wanna.

One of the things I’ve learned from my beloved Milcah is that my audience, y’all don’t like my work because I give it 40% you know? The people who are into it, are into it because I am who I am. I forget that a lot.

Those months of ghosted pitches and weird rejections really got in my head. It called up years of shitty criticisms and bullshit.

I’m better.

SO what am I doing that I can tell y’all about?

Right now, I am working on my biggest and most enjoyable sensitivity read job to date. I am loving the job so much and it is legit. And huge. And fuck y’all I feel DEEPLY honored to be trusted with this work. That said, I won’t be accepting another one until at least April.

Patreon is humming along. We’re getting really close to closing out Cycle 2 and debuting cycle 3. Here is a taste of Cycle 2:

Nanita came back and sat down, wiggling in her chair and doing a little dance. He chuckled, she’d done that since she was a fat baby wiggling in her high chair and crooning to her mashed potatoes.

“Oh, I was thinking about eating this. I’m so glad you’re home. Do you want to go to the swamp with me tomorrow night?”

“Sure. What are we gonna do?”

She sprinkled hot sauce in her rice and thought about it while she stirred.

“Um, I don’t really know yet. I just got a feeling to go. I dunno, it’s like I can hear it. I asked Mama about it but she didn’t really know what I was talking about. Well, she kinda did but you know the swamp makes her nervous. She acts like it doesn’t but if it’s nighttime, she kind of hates it.”

He nodded.

“I know. I’ll be home a while. We got things to do.”

“What kinda things Daddy?”

He dropped his voice to a raspy bass.

“Man things.”

She giggled and tried to copy him.

“Man things, fo sho.”

They ate and giggled together. The moon rose outside and they both looked up through the window at it. Their eyes glazed, the moon tickled their blood and spoke to their bones. Through Tinny’s blood there was a link to moon magic. Not the usual menstrual, fertility magic that runs through many bloodlines. This tie was a line to something other, the magic was almost like something alien.

Both of them sat, stupefied with their fingers and toes tingling. Their eyes fixed and in the light turning a burnished silver. Anyone watching would have seen the light flash between them, a circuit completed. Nanita would not remember. As with so many of her gifts, as she came of age many were asserting themselves in her but, her body and brain were not ready to fully see them. Tinny would remember. It had only happened one time before with his beloved Maman Aprille.

I’ve been writing some other fiction. Not much because it is hard to do with no computer

On the computer front, I’ve got a Dell 5000 series picked out and a corporate discount ready to use. I’m super close to being able to pay for it so I should be up and running by February.

Given that my personal life has been a shit sandwhich of late, I’m getting my shit together piece by piece.

AND to end, a new/old poem. I performed this at Margin Shift’s litcrawl event last October. Enjoy.

A Real Round Up

HEY.

So I’ve decided to do a whole ass second but better year end wrap up for my writing shits this year.

First check this shit out in another window. I minor tweet stormed about my work this year.

All righty then.

I realized as I was doing those tweets that, this year has been pretty lit.

I was feeling pretty down about the failures of the year. None of my side hustles really worked out.

I made less than 50$ with both Etsy and medium and that really sucks. I mean, it hurts me on so many levels.

That said.

I wrote like a mother fucker and wrote exactly what the fuck I wanted when I wanted. I finally fully divested myself from trying to be a freelance super earner. Like there are literally two editors I will pitch to and dassit.

I learned that finally, I can say I’m okay with being unable to financially sustain my creative life. It sucks but I can’t force folks to do shit.

All I can do is do what I do.

I was really feeling like, all this, all the angst and crying and stress just made me the worst.

I dunno y’all. I may not be able to like, pay bills with the words but fuck I write like a mother fucker regardless.

So what is happening in 2019?

I’m making moves.

Patreon stuff is happening, I’ve got a lot of plans.

I’ve also realized that part of what has freed me to write the way I have been this year is that, I’ve been learning to accept some things that are real for me.

  1. My obscurity frees me. I have a job that basically sort of pays the bills. So, I don’t have to eat shit when I freelance. I can say no and I have learned to say no. I had a piece that was commissioned and was a pretty good payday. After realizing that the editor and I were quite far apart on what we wanted. I let it go and put it on Medium.
  2. Speaking of Medium. The other edge of my obscurity is that, regardless of what folks say, 80% of my audience refuses to give my work material support. Folks don’t share, don’t clap on medium etc etc. I don’t know why. Some folks tell me to trust my community to come through and, well frankly most of the time they don’t. It hurts but whatever.
  3. I AM going to write the shit anyway. I’ve tried to stop but nah son.
  4. I am allowed to work this out however the fuck I need to.

Those things have led me into some stuff I’m VERY excited about and will share with y’all soon.

Overall 2018 beat the dog shit out of me. I wrote some of my best shit and it was lowkey sorta okay.

NOW. Over at medium behind the paywall but this is the friend link. A lesson on how I learned to write non-fiction.

Hustleverse and fails.

Buckle in babes. It is gonna be a lot.

For reference today I’m going to be talking about Patreon, Medium, and other specifically writing related hustles.

Before I get into my feelings, I really want to stress that yes, YES OF COURSE as I tell my patrons every month I appreciate the fuck out of them. They have fed me, helped me pay bills and they are great.

As far as the platform itself goes, I love Patreon. Very simple. I enjoy it in terms of the user experience.

My problems have more to do with eh, okay.

Let’s start with engagement with both my current audience, my social media audience, and other maybe or likely not interested people.

I’ve done (I’m looking at them) no less than six 4 question surveys in the last year.

The first survey was a single question survey posted on Patreon, Twitter, Tumblr, facebook and in my newsletter.

Would you be interested in occasional to bi-weekly shortish podcast type posts about writing as a Patreon perk?

100 views.

6 responses.

1 yes. 4 no. 1 no with a I can’t afford Patreon.

Across my social media, I have approximately 5k followers with probably about 500 overlaps.

I reran the poll several more times and got no further responses.

So that was useless time spent for me.

Another data gathering thing I did was via twitter specifically.

I posted this freebie read  and asked folks the same question and specifically asked for it to be shared. The tweet had about 250 impressions, 10 likes, 4 retweets, 0 replies and 6 clicks.

I have more data but the upshot of my promotional efforts, engagement efforts and more so asking my community for what I need, is failure.

At this point, I know how to use my technology. I do what a lot of the advice (as I am ALWAYS talking about) and frankly it ain’t gon’ work. I’ve been on this quest to figure out some kind of sustainability for my income and writing, and I just am not sure it is going to work out for me.

Part of the problem is who I am. I am a Black Queer Purple lipstick wearing loudmouth. I am not palatable on any level to a lot of people. I know that. Quite frankly, at this point I’ve given up trying to not do the work that works for me. I accepted that a long time ago.

That said, if you do some quick googling you’ll see that as it is, there is generally a lack of support for POC creators, Black women and femmes in particular. Our fundraisers go unfunded, we do a lot of heavy intellectual lifting, we deal with a lot of specific marginalizations that result in not much cash for most of us. The reality is that for every ONE funded, successful Black woman/femme author, there are hundreds of us struggling.

I think I’ve reached the understanding that unless something very drastic happens, I will not be one of those top tier folks. That’s okay. I don’t need that.

That brings me to this.

I can’t find the entry but really, the world at large, my network, is not super interested in my hustle and my work in general. This is something as I’ve mentioned before that has been a problem since I started. I work at it.

Some stuff I do:

  • I offer a shit ton of free stuff. Fiction, poetry, non-fiction. Social justice. Etc etc.
  • I ask my community for what I need. If you can’t buy, please share. If you’ve been here a while you’ve seen it.
  • Offer and create resources.
  • Make a variety of methods for support clear and available.

This shit takes time and effort. A lot of my time spent working on trying to upgrade my Patreon to give readers more bang for the bucks, to share literary work,  is honestly a waste.

With Patreon specifically, I am feeling really conflicted. I average around 40 patrons and the most number of folks who read the patron only stuff is less than 80% of those subscribed. What has happened is that over the last year, my patrons have steadily declined and I can see from the data that likely they weren’t interested in what I was offering but they might have been feelings support and they dropped off.

This leads me to a few things.

  • Folks don’t really like where Cycle 2 is going.
  • Folks don’t care about the work they just want to offer some support.

I have asked how folks are feelin and we already went over engagement so bloop. Except for a core of ride or die folks. I have a list and literally the most shares, thoughts and support come from about ten people who have been doing it for years. Y’alls are the real Gs and I am not talking about you.

#2 y’all. It just makes me feel bad. I appreciate and need the support so much, but I am not about that rookin folks life and don’t want folks paying for shit they don’t actually want. Part of why I was looking into offering extra goodies would be to draw in those folks who maybe don’t like urban fantasy but would want writing class downloads, exercises, AMAs etc. However, if there’s no interest it can’t happen.

The other thing is this. My Patreon project is a LOT of work. All in with everything else I do, I probably write about 7-10k words a month. 95% of those are free. 100% of that involves a lot of emotional labor. I work a full time job. I feel like I’m just burning myself down for nothing.

I have to play capitalism too. I have to eat. I also feel like my grand experiment in sustainability etc is just a big ole fail. I also get really depressed.

The depression is why I haven’t posted in a minute. I get discouraged when I go all in to help my community, show up and provide for folks and not very many people respond. I did this list of folks who need financial help and it took DAYS of me asking where THOUSANDS of folks could see and it was a struggle.

I get discouraged when I literally take the step of making EVERYTHING that I charge for seriously financially accessible. For Patreon in particular, my intention was not to set tiers but to leave it at, hey if all you have is a dollar per month you get this stuff too. My lit stuff at etsy is 5$ and under. And I can’t get shares or responses.

It hurts.

I’m discouraged. I’m tired.

And really, if people just don’t want what I have to offer it is fine. But, that also means that I will need to scale WAY back on what I give for free because, as much as my heart says to just give everyone everything, that is unsustainable and bitch gotta eat.

I have been doing some lit world submitting and that is good. I’m at a bit of a personal impasse I suppose. I’m sad because my dreams of things I KNOW I can provide and that would be a great value to folks cannot go forward if I cannot get the eyes and shit.

I’m accepting that my social capital does not translate well to my work as a writer.

I’ve accepted that for a lot of folks I’m just a big nope.

I dunno y’all.