Picture it. You’re in a subway. From across the tunnel, you hear a sound. Is it crying? You walk closer, pushing your way through the crowd. Is it laughing? A bulldog of a man in a dirty shirt catches your eye as he lights a smoke. The sound grows–it has a melody. My god, you realize–it’s a violin. Someone is playing violin. You’re not supposed to smoke here. The bulldog of a man puffs on anyway. In his rebellion you see both courage and hatred. The cigarette is a fuck-you to the world.
You realize, you’ve been thinking that a lot yourself. Fuck you to the world. Fuck you to that dude who invited you over every Tuesday night for seven months but wouldn’t call you his girlfriend. Fuck you to the co-worker who told everyone about Tuesday Guy and now you look pathetic. Fuck you to your sister for turning every conversation into a therapy session for her problems. When is the last time someone asked you about your problems? Fuck you.
From beyond the crowd, a song twists its way to you. You’re getting closer now. Fuck you too, Bulldog Man, you think–and then, he smiles at you. His hand is big and stained with work, like your daddy’s hands used to be. He asks, “you hear that song,” and then–you do. It’s one from your childhood. The one the choir director used to play. Something without words. Something that gets big, and soars. And beyond the crowd, you see her–a small woman, young, fiddling her heart out.
Is it “fiddling” when it makes you feel like this? Like a soccer field, a dandelion, jump rope, and mama wasn’t mad and boys didn’t matter and daddy wasn’t dead and your sister bandaged your knee–and I’m sorry, Bulldog Man, maybe it’s not all a big fuck you, and maybe, how could it ever be, when there have been dandelions, and a soccer field, and sister that bandaged your knee?
The artist has the power to shine upon reality a light that alters our way of seeing. Usually, when this art comes in the form of specialized skills–such as playing a violin, or carving marble–we recognize that behind the art exists a skill set. You don’t simply wake up knowing how to crack open a stranger’s heart with a song–such things require craftsmanship, skill.
If you didn’t already know the importance of the written word online, I bet y’all see it now. Being able to write in a way that grips and moves your readers will get you everywhere in life.
Join me for “What Dem Captions Do,” a six-week online writing course giving you the basics of how to move the people with your words. In this course you will learn how to connect with folks meaningfully through your social media posts. We’re talking six pre-recorded writing lessons, plus six live workshops from your favorite former English professor and lifelong degenerate poet.
CLASS STARTS ON MONDAY AND IS ONLY AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE THIS WEEKEND! This workshop is part of my Stripcovid Survival Pack, but can also be bought separately for $85. This is a steal of a price and won’t happen again, so if you’ve ever wanted to take a writing course with me, now is the time.
You’re gonna get:
1) Six weekly pre-recorded writing lessons that teach you step-by-step how to move people with your words.
2) Six weekly live Wednesday Night Readings, broken into segments that include:
- Write Now, a weekly freewriting prompt
- Wednesday Night Words: share your writing with the class!
- Q & A with ya girl
3) Spotify playlists to inspire creativity and focus (as well as drown out the remote-learners and homebound spouses crowding your space?!)
Homie, when it comes to writing, there are tools. Tricks. Theory. Learn the craft, and gain the power. These words can change everything for you and the people around you.
Session runs from Monday, March 30 through Friday, May 8.