Edition #100: The Idea Stealing Fallacy and Going Paid
Plus, 14 lessons learned by 40, this isn't your old toxic masculinity, and a alternative Valentine's date idea
TLDR: Today, I’m launching the paid version of this newsletter! To become a paying subscriber, simply click the Subscribe now button below and choose your plan. More details following the essay! I appreciate your love and support more than you know.
A Note From the Editor
I was excavating my way through a first date a few weeks back. We were at a dimly lit French wine bar in my neighborhood and things were going okay. We made it through nearly the entire date without talking about what we do, which is something I sincerely appreciate, but eventually, our jobs came up. He perked up when I mentioned I was a writer, and so it began.
“I’ve got a great movie idea,” he said, “but I don’t like to tell people because I don’t want anyone to steal it.” I did not push, for I wasn’t particularly interested in hearing about the idea, and he attempted to bait me. “I’m not going to tell you, because you seem just ambitious enough to actually write it,” he continued. It will come as no surprise to you that he did, in fact, share the idea with me shortly thereafter. It was ridiculous on the onset—an action movie made for Netflix, starring Chris Hemsworth. I suggested he take a screenwriting class to learn how to articulate his idea into an actual script. To this, he said, “Yeah, I guess it’d be good to write it so I can sell it and make some money.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard about someone’s “great idea” for a (insert form of creative media here), and I’m certain it won’t be the last. I’ve had dates tell me about the opening sequence of an imagined TV show, the plot of a murder mystery novel, the summary of a trilogy of movies. While I appreciate the imagination presented in these dreamed-up plots, I’ve found their presentations always have two things in common: the person is certain their idea is good enough to be a box office hit/a bestseller, and the person is afraid someone is going to steal their idea.
I had never put much thought into these interactions before, but something about that conversation at the wine bar stuck with me. Maybe it is because I am now writing for a living and have grown to understand what it means to put so much on the line—security, stability, sometimes sanity—for the sake of pursuing a creative life. Maybe it’s because I’ve been learning to screenwrite and have come to appreciate the utter complexity and insane amount of work that goes into writing a single episode of a TV show. Or maybe it’s because I love this art form so deeply and have experienced the pains of it—of facing yourself on the page, of sitting in solitude for hours and hours with nothing but your ideas and your doubts, of continuing to write something no one is asking for, day in and day out, for no other reason than the need to tell this particular story.
That is what drives artists, writers, and other creatives—an inherent need to express the things they are witnessing, experiencing, or feeling. Inspiration comes in many forms, but above all else, I believe we make art because we can’t not do it. The burden and blessing of existing, for some, can only be processed through their chosen medium. For me, it is writing. I haven’t ever been able to make sense of how to live in this body, in this world, without being able to work through it on the page. The things I write about in these essays, in short stories and scripts and poems, are not things I consciously choose with the intention of making a buck. They’re things I have to write about to make sense of it all. They’re things I have to write about to make sense of it all. They’re questions I ask myself, that I want to ask others, about what it means to be a human, to be a woman, to be rich or poor or important or powerless.
This is an important distinction because there seems to be this fallacy that writers and creatives exist on the hunt for “good ideas”. That if an idea is good enough, that’s all it takes for you to sell it to Netflix and make some cash. Writers are not going to steal your ideas, I’m not going to steal your ideas, because my brain is overflowing with ideas that I will never, ever execute simply because inspiration is a moving thing and there isn’t enough time.
It takes so much time, so much heart and work to creatively execute an idea. It takes mornings, afternoons, and evenings spent sitting at a desk, typing away. It takes saying no to other opportunities, to social engagements, sometimes to your grumbling stomach or your full bladder, when you’re really in the groove of it. I went to an author talk by Hanya Yanigahara last week and she said she always gives young writers the same unsolicited advice: You should only write a book when it feels urgent, because writing a book is a long, solitary journey and you’ll only make it through if you’re able to maintain a withstanding enthusiasm for the story. For that reason, idea-stealing is a fallacy. When a writer sits down and decides to commit something to the page, it is the start of an incredibly personal, incredibly laborious journey catalyzed by an inspirational spark. In short, it’s highly unlikely that someone else’s “great idea” for a Netflix movie is going to be that spark.
Writing is hard work, especially the creative sort of writing. It requires a mild sense of self-delusion, the belief that what you have to say is important enough to sit down and spend time, often unpaid time, working on it. You can pour your soul into a project and it might never see the light of day. You can express the deepest, darkest parts of yourself and be met with disapproval, or worse, with crickets. There is such a great degree of risk in pursuing a creative writing life that if I dig too deeply into those risks, I might psych myself out. But I won’t, I can’t, because there is nothing else I can do. Once I’ve had even just a small taste of what it feels like to channel all your time and energy into the thing you love most, I could never go back. No amount of money, security, or ego would ever be enough to convince me. I am writing, and I will continue writing, because I have no other choice, and I think that is the case for most writers out there.
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With all that being said, today is the day: My 100th edition and the long-anticipated (by me) launch of a paid version of this newsletter. When I started this nearly two years ago, I didn’t have any idea it would grow into such a sacred digital space where so many smart, thoughtful people would come to ponder. In this newsletter I came out, I challenged my views on marriage proposals, and I debuted my first piece of published short fiction. Whether you’re a new reader or you’ve been here since the start, I have a well of endless appreciation for you continuing to come back and read my work every Thursday. It has been one of the greatest honors of my life, and one I plan to continue for another 100 editions, with your support.
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Do you love me? More than you know, kitty cat.
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Cheers, my dears, and as always, thank you for reading. I am humbled and honored by your support. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
14 Things I’ve Learned by 40. What is it about these lists of advice that have been so appealing to me lately? Forgive me for suggesting yet another one, but this list, written by New Yorker correspondent Helen Rosner, is charming for its bluntness (everyone’s bodies are gross!) and its occasional softness. I discovered this list via another list, which is also worth reading.
This Isn't Your Old Toxic Masculinity. It Has Taken An Insidious New Form. There is nothing worse than hearing someone use Me Too as a verb, as in, "He got Me Too-ed," for it takes away all of the personal accountability and makes the assaulter sound like a victim. In the age of #MeToo and shifting gender dynamics, times are a-changin’. Traditional aggressive toxic masculinity is slowly, but surely, retreating from the acceptable mainstream vernacular, but the author of this piece makes the eloquent argument that it is only being replaced by a more dangerous phenomenon; petulant vulnerability. Using the language of genuine vulnerability to retain power— think, Kyle Rittenhouse crying in court. A point worth considering and an author worth checking out.
I’m Tired of Explaining Why I Don’t Drink. I was just having a conversation about drinking with a friend, in which I toyed with the idea of never drinking again. We agreed it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to exist with a social life in New York without alcohol, but we also agreed that we feel so much better when we don’t drink. Drinking is so deeply ingrained in our culture that it is hard to imagine not doing it, and this essay made me reconsider how I react when someone tells me they don’t drink.
Perhaps You Should…Take a Romantic Dance Class
If you don’t already follow Angela Trimbur, the adorably quirky actress slash dancer, you should. Her Instagram videos of her zany moves always bring me joy, and she recently announced she’s hosting a Valentine’s Day “Romantic Partner Dance Experience” in Brooklyn. If her overall personality is an indication, then this class is going to be a hilarious and fun alternative to the typical “let’s go to dinner” V-day plans.
**Bonus Content** (Whistle While You Twurk)
I’ve been on a late 90’s/early 2000’s hip hop kick recently, which led me to listen to this song—an old favorite of my 9-year-old self—on repeat. I then decided to watch the music video and, WOW! So many thoughts, especially on the ever-shifting beauty standards for women. Also, the fact that this official music video loops the same footage over and over had me chuckling.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“I don’t write because I think I have something to say. I write because if I don’t, everything feels even worse.”
-Writers & Lovers by Lily King
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.
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