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it's a hit


just throw it against the wall

and see what sticks

gotta write a hit

i think this is it

it’s a hit

and if it’s not,

then it’s a holiday for hanging

-rilo kiley


i’ve been writing on the internet, (very) sporadically, since 2010. i’ve never gone viral, i don’t have a following, and i have only ever been paid as a copywriter, which is essentially ghostwriting + marketing. i can write in someone else’s voice with reasonable ease. i can hide behind a brand, study it, understand the mission, and write with clear intent on behalf of the client. and i can do it because it feels safe and well, ghost-y. the only people i really need to answer to as a copywriter, are my clients - public opinion be damned. well, at least as it relates to me personally.


writing as myself, telling my own shit to the internet, is a whole different thing. i’ve tried to find my place in various writing spaces on the world wide web, but never quite fit. i’m a mom, but not a mommy blogger. i study philosophy, but not enough to write about it. i have big controversial opinions on society and the dangerous direction we’re headed, but i am not an activist. meanwhile, the whole time i was trying to find out what kind of blogger i could be, i was unpacking boxes and boxes of all my broken parts and trying to put them back together. forcing myself to face all the pieces of my life i’ve been running away from. 


wading through the swampy shadows and facing my dragons led me to understand what had been standing in my way the whole time. obviously, me. i am my own obstacle. and writing about my own life is the way through. (thanks ryan holiday!) it made me uncomfortable immediately, the thought of making me my primary subject. it felt gross to center myself. i even spent a little while trying to talk myself out of it because you guys, 


what if i fail? 


what if everyone hates me? or worse, what if no one cares at all? the who the fuck cares of it all gets me every time. then i get defeated by perfectionism and my own chaos. i am lost in the way it is supposed to be done and become paralyzed when i can’t fit my work into existing structures.


so i decided to quit trying. 


quit trying to be perfect. quit trying to mimic what already exists. quit trying to be or do anything other than what makes sense to me. i realized (quite recently) that i’m not even a blogger. i am a writer. 

don't be mad. bloggers are writers. but not all writers are bloggers.


happily ever whatever is a collection of essays. it isn’t linear or dated. just structured chaos. it’s exactly and perfectly me. a collection of thoughts and memories — whatever i want it to be. i’m not holding myself to a word count, structure, or a range of topics and posts will appear as they do, on no schedule. no seo, no marketing, just the inside of my brain translated into words on my very own corner of the internet. i built it from scratch. all of it.


so, welcome to my world. it’s weird (and sad) here. and i love it.



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