Photo credit: Roco Julie
I recently met up with a younger writer to acquaint ourselves and offer some journalism advice, and at one point of the convo I asked something to the effect of, “do you have any other questions about journalism?” In hindsight that probably came across as rude, but I was genuinely curious about whether I could share more of what I’ve learned. I orient myself well with questions, but I’ve always been bad at speaking at length about myself, or knowing what to volunteer as advice. That’s probably cause I’m always a little surprised to be someone sought out for advice.
I try not to think too much of myself, writing-wise especially. I feel like letting ego settle too deeply into your craft just sullies the process, like a rotten egg in the midst of a cake batter. We’re not gifted to boast about our gifts but to offer them to the world. My writing colleagues and fans of my writing have urged me at various junctures not to be “so humble” about my craft. I don’t always know if they’re just being generally munificent or if they actually feel that highly of me, but I like to think it’s the latter.
I have pride in what I’ve accomplished, as evidenced in my recent self-indulgent Twitter thread. At the least, I figure i have enough respect for the craft to know what solid writing calls for. I’ve had my moments in the past several years. It’s brought me a stable income, my own place, a shitload of press passes, and a lot of other perks that I’m grateful for.
Over time, my work’s caught the attention of a lot of younger writers and readers seeking advice. It’s happened more often since I’ve been writing for Complex, and it’s still humbling every time I get that email or DM of someone taking time out of their day to say they’re a fan of my work and want to get some game. I exist in an unceasing funnel cloud of internal flux, self-doubt, and ceaseless pondering of how I could be better, which means I rarely feel like I’m someone to be getting advice from. But, as others have always done for me when I asked, I do my best to share what I’ve learned.
I can be long-winded or get over-focused on the minutiae of the different kinds of pitching and other aspects of journalist etiquette, but my kneejerk response while reading requests for advice is the self-fortifying mantra that propelled me to where I am now: just write. My lived experience shows me that the work takes care of everything else. Write about what you’re passionate about, wherever you can.
Some of you reading this in your e-mail may remember when I was more active with the more fire newsletter. In 2020 I was going at this at least once a week, along with freelancing at various other outlets. Before then I had some pieces that did well at various outlets, but several conversations have made me realize that it’s the work in this unfiltered platform that put me in front of powerful editors and eventually made people know my name, instead of any given piece.
And that work came from a tenacious edict in the back of my mind: just write. That mindset didn’t just come out of COVID quarantine boredom, but before then, a response to grief in my personal life that was best quelled by writing. I was writing a piece in 2018 when I learned about a loss in my family. I was shellshocked but figured I should just finish the piece before I inevitably fell apart. And from there, the work held me together.
I have an ex who used to joke that I had a big head because it was full of ideas. And she’s no longer in my life, but my ideas still are. I’ve always been curious and asking questions. For a long time in my adult life, I had no outlet for those ideas. I’ve mostly been around people who didn’t share my curiosity and mostly wanted me to shut up with the overanalysis. But I had one friend, in the midst of me working a soul-sapping, imagination-stripping job I hated, who urged me in 2011 (or so?) to start writing again. She didn’t say, “just write,” but she might as well have.
From there came opportunities to write on free blogs, which I parlayed into periodic paid opportunities, and eventually, the opportunity to earn the bulk of my income from writing. I’ve seen firsthand that if you focus on what enthralls you, refine your technique by reading and learning from others, and find your audience, you’ll eventually get where you’re supposed to be (though not necessarily where you want to be). And I’m not close to the best writer I know, so I know this is practical advice anyone can put to use.
That’s not to say that my journey has been a rosy, bubbly parade down easy street. Along the way, I’ve hopelessly compared myself to peers who’ve ascended to places I haven’t. I’ve felt like the Squidward staring out the window meme looking at pieces (and audio/visual content) go viral communicating the same ideas I have in lesser-read pieces. I’ve felt like my politics made me a misfit for rap and culture writing. I’ve wanted to stop altogether. Even recently, I’ve encountered obstructions to my writing process that had me questioning myself in an unproductive manner. They macerated my imagination and motivation for writing. But ultimately, after all the griping and feelings of powerlessness dissipate, I catch another spark and the power is in the pen. Along your writing journey, you may be underappreciated, unheralded, and underestimated, but you’ll still be a writer. Just write.
As a straight Black male predominantly covering an industry centered on straight Black men, I might be oversimplifying the writing journey out of convenience. But I can only express what I know. So if you’re a young writer reading this, just know, before I reply back, the main thing you should be ready to hear is about the importance of being undeterred in your focus, pursuing your passions (no matter how niche or unlucrative), and writing through the doubt. I believe from there, things will work out how they’re supposed to.
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“I have enough respect for the craft to know what solid writing calls for” love this.