The Realness
As I wrote about a few weeks ago, I recently went on vacation. Vacations can be a bit of a struggle for me because, usually, I thrive off of activity. My ideal day is one in which I get up, have something on my schedule to get me out of the house, and have even more obligations after that to keep me busy throughout the rest of the day. Those obligations can be work-related, social engagements, or leisure activities; I just like to have something to do. I love that feeling of getting into bed after a busy day and, thinking of all I did within that day, passing out from a sort of successful exhaustion.
That being said, I was really looking forward to this vacation. My life has changed pretty drastically in the past six months; I moved to one of the largest cities in the world, I have written tens of thousands of new words, and I have also been trying to put myself out there as much as I can, so long as I am able to muster the will to do so. Put another way, this metamorphosis, despite still being in its nascent stages, has already demanded a lot of my energy. As such, I was really looking forward to some much needed rest and relaxation. Additionally, I was starting to understand how the change of the past six months acts as a constituent part of a much bigger transformation that’s been going on over the past two years, which, not to sound like too much of a twenty-three year old, is my transition to life post-college graduation.
While I was unwontedly looking forward to this brief intermission, proud of the effort I have put into making this newsletter consistent again, I wanted to make sure that a piece was published while I was soaking up the Mexican sun. After some quick deliberation, I decided I would publish some preview excerpts from my forthcoming manuscript.
Thinking back to the project’s origins, the details prove quite murky. I can tell you for certain that I started writing this story in the summer of 2022. I remember typing out the first couple pages as I laid in my childhood bedroom, which means I was either visiting home or I had already moved out of Pittsburgh altogether. Now, from what I remember, I did not wake up that day with the intention to write a book; or maybe I did. It is precisely the kind of vision of grandiosity towards which I often find myself inclined. I do know the idea existed in the “Random Ideas” note in my phone, which, at this point, has hundreds of seeds from my mind, just waiting to be germinated by the action of my creation. That day, for whatever reason, one seed in particular had taken root and was making my brain throb. While the throbbing can be alleviated in a multitude of ways, including looking at my phone or, as Fran Lebowitz suggests, eating something sweet, I made the “unseemly” and “unproductive” decision to start writing.
To tell you a bit more about this project, I started writing it as a story about a relationship. The protagonist is happily in love until someone else walks into his life and completely upends it. My story, in part, asks the question of what is, and, perhaps more importantly, is not appropriate within the confines of a romantic relationship. In a literary world with plenty of stories about how people come together, my story is much more fascinated by how people come apart (I recently got to meet an author I really admire and they complimented me on whatever variation of that line I gave them). Although, as I write more of it, I now understand the project is not singularly about the relationship seemingly at its center. Rather, by allowing myself to show up on the page and play around with it, I have realized the work is also intrigued by the nuances in different kinds of relationships; romantic relationships, platonic relationships, and an individual’s relationship to themselves. At least, that’s what I am thinking about the project right now. By nature of it being a first draft, to borrow a phrase from one of the greats, “the rest is still unwritten.”
Publishing a sneak peek of my first draft was attractive for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it seemed like a pretty easy option. After all, the words are already sitting on my computer. I could have copied an excerpt from the document and pasted it into a separate one, cleaned up any typos, perhaps even changed a couple of lines and called it a day. I also envisioned throwing together a little reflection on the process of writing in a new form and what that has taught me. Then, having scheduled the piece before I left, I could enjoy more time with my friends.
Ultimately, it would have been much easier than what I tried to do, which was writing a hard-hitting exposé of US tipping culture while simultaneously preparing for the trip, going to work, and tending to whatever other obligations I was juggling that week. Put another way, what was the easiest option also became the most attractive one.
That is until I literally read one opinion to the contrary. Well, that’s not necessarily true. In fact, I had heard from and read about many different authors who stress the importance of never sharing your first draft. At first, I did not know how to reconcile that attitude with my desire to do what was easy. However, with this being my first earnest attempt at fiction writing and, thus, not having my own process when it comes to the form, I decided that, before publishing anything, I needed to further interrogate that school of thought. So, doing what anyone else would do in my situation, I searched “should I let people read my first draft” on my phone’s Internet browser.
Ultimately, I found my answer in a random essay by author Patrick Ness. In this essay, Ness, whose other work I have never read, discusses when to let others read your work and who exactly those others should be. Coming out squarely against sharing a first draft, Ness writes, “I've never trusted writers who write three paragraphs and then shove them into the hands of every person they know for instant feedback. Because they're not really looking for instant feedback, are they? They're looking for instant praise, which is a different matter and not a concern of serious writers.”1
Turns out, the library was open and Ms. Ness was reading me just a bit! In all seriousness, Ness’ essay made me understand that, in sharing a piece of my first draft, I was looking for something other than the ease of publishing what I had already written. I realized that, in addition to wanting my readers to experience what I had been working on, I was also looking forward to having others validate my work. I use the language of “validate” because, contrary to what Ness wrote, I honestly do not think I was only looking for people to “praise” my work. Much more simply than that, I just wanted people to acknowledge that this project I have been working on, this grand undertaking, is real. I craved that validation because, while I have only really picked up the project’s pace in the past four months or so, I have been alone with these words for what already feels like a long time. That loneliness, for some reason, makes my work feel like it’s a figment of my imagination. In fact, I still struggle to even discuss the project with others. Where do I get off talking about this mysterious entity that I cannot show to anyone? Ultimately, I wanted to pluck this story from my dreams and the disparate notebooks it lived in and take it somewhere that felt much more real and serious: my newsletter, of course. Therefore, while I initially balked at Ness’ use of the phrase “serious writers,” I realized that, by intending to share my work too early, that was exactly what I was trying to be.
I do not begrudge myself wanting this project to feel more real. In fact, I now read that want as a manifestation of some of my deeper dissatisfactions with my current stage of life. I began this piece by discussing some big changes I was experiencing. To say I am in love with the results of all of those changes would be a lie. In fact, faced with the dissonance between what I imagined my life would be like at this stage and the reality of what my life is actually like, I often find myself questioning whether I am making the right decisions. For instance, after moving to New York to pursue my art, I find myself not having made much progress as I spend a significant portion of my time working an actively dreadful job. I also have very few of those “ideal days” wherein I partake in various activities from sun up to sun down. As I consider this, I am faced with a certain realness, but not the kind of realness I had envisioned before moving here. Therefore, I was hoping that sharing a piece of my draft would, even in a small way, help me to bring about a new kind of realness; one that is much closer to what I had imagined for myself. A realness that would validate not only my work but also the choices I have made in order to pursue that work. It is an admittedly tall order to put on what is ultimately a string of words.
In the end, I quite obviously decided to heed the advice of Ness as well as that of many other writers. As such, at least for now, my manuscript will remain my own. I have realized I do not need to share it to make it real. It is already very real. In fact, it exists as over 20,000 words in my computer and hundreds, if not thousands, of others in my notebook. It exists as the many hours I have spent inside my head, or sitting at a desk, or riding on a train, trying to unwind this story. Perhaps most importantly, it exists as the belief I have in it; because, while it is certainly challenging, I believe deeply in the story that I am telling. I believe that it is a story people will want to read, and I know that it is one that I have to write. So, as I recommit myself to showing up and playing with it on the page, I am trying to let all of those beliefs be enough.
While I will not be sharing my manuscript any time soon, I do not want this entire essay to be a tease. So, in an attempt to make it a bit more real for you and me both, I have, in true Quinn Murphy fashion, created and curated a playlist. This will probably come as a surprise to you, but music is a big part of this manuscript. As such, I’ve included some of the songs that are mentioned within it. Beyond those though, there are other songs that, while not mentioned by name (at least not yet, anyway), are thematically aligned with some of what is happening in the story. It’s my way to share with you a sense of what is going on while not revealing too too much. Happy listening!
This week’s recommendations:
Problemista (2023), written and directed by Julio Torres
Snack Shack (2024), dir. Adam Rehmeier
The Real Housewives of New York: Season Seven
This performance of "I Know a Place” by MUNA
Chappell Roan’s Tiny Desk Concert
