←

rambles and half-essays

Tag: personal writing

  • following up and nonfiction

    KM Brunner

    I learned a lesson last week and that was to follow up with publications if they haven’t responded to your submission in months. I had a piece accepted (“Sellout,” link on my works page) by a small digital magazine and they just…hadn’t posted it.

    That’s on them, of course, but it was nice to get an acceptance in my inbox, even if I had to remind them of the piece.

    If I’m being honest, it was a throwaway; I wrote it off a long time ago, and I’m flattered they decided to give it some attention.

    I’ve returned to nonfiction (and a bad romance novel, which has been fun) since I completed it. It’s not a reflection of my current work, but it feels like a time capsule, in a way. And so I enjoy it.

    It’s also flash, which helps. Not much to be insecure about when the piece is around 500 words.

    I feel weird about my return to nonfiction. Part of me feels bad, like I’m invalidating my years of writing fiction (during which I got nowhere), and another part of me is excited. It feels like a homecoming. I likely needed to write fiction for a while so I could see nonfiction for what it is: storytelling in community.

    If you tell a real story, it usually involves people. People-ing usually involves friends, family, coworkers, etc., and so in the act of telling a true story, you must write about an ecosystem of people rather than just your “subject.”

    My years of studying communication, philosophy, and circulation theory haunt me.

    Writing in community is thrilling. It’s frightening if your subject is still alive, but I find it easier to write about systems and stories and big questions when the narrative is tethered to reality. Does that make me a fraud? Because I’m definitely not a journalist, nor am I a memoirist.

    What I am is up for debate, but a friend recently outed me as a historian to myself. If you spend hours – weeks – researching a subject because you’re consumed by it, create spreadsheets and reach out to archives, really immerse yourself…you’re doing historian stuff.

    You’d think I would clock that but I often surprise myself.

    My immediate reaction to the news was embarrassment. I used to think of historians as people who studied war, a subject that I find upsetting. But they’re not just that; of course they aren’t. They’re doing what I like to do: tell stories about systems.

    Again, I’ve nothing to leave you with but a reminder to check in with any mags who haven’t responded to your submissions, and a little recommendations list.

    Podcast: Behind the Bastards, hosted by Robert Evans

    Things:

    • Been into drawing more lately and I like soft pencils. This is my favorite.
    • Got a new air conditioner and it’s been a revelation.
    • I’m into plants now and really want a moonshine snake plant. Here’s an example. There might be one at Home Depot and I’m planning to go liberate it on the 3rd.

  • drowning in inches

    KM Brunner

    I heard a long time ago that if the conditions are right, a person can drown in a few inches of water. I think about that fact – if it is a fact – often. Doesn’t matter how I’m feeling; I just…think about it.

    I don’t mind all that much. Death doesn’t scare me. It probably should but I’ve already done it and it’s not bad.

    I know that I think about drowning not for the death element, but for its metaphorical potential. What, besides water, do we drown in?

    Well, lots. Obviously. It’s not exactly an unexplored thread.

    There is not much point to this post. I’m not interested in writing about my circumstances or anyone else’s. But I thought about drowning in a puddle again, and I needed to exorcise that spiral.

    Recommendations:

    Music: Jason Isbell’s new album came out. Some of it is good, some of it is disappointingly bro-y. “Bury Me” is great. Very stripped down.

    1. Currently reading: Words are My Matter, Ursula K Le Guin (I love her collections, even when they’re dry.)
    2. Bought a subscription to the NY Times because if I’m going to read about sad stuff, might as well have it be written well.
    3. I’m not sure why, but using traditional pencils makes me feel nice.

  • rage and trying our best

    KM Brunner

    Often I feel like I’m not doing enough. Enough work, enough connecting, enough good. There isn’t a cure for feeling this way; it’s a cyclical process, to feel content, discontented, angry, desperate, determined, and content again. It’s unrushable and right now, for me, only just bearable.

    Because I am so tired. It isn’t burnout – or it is, just not a kind I’m familiar with.

    A week ago, I was walking home from Davis Square when I started to notice that the sidewalk was filling with people. It got more packed until the crowd erupted into Tufts Park, along with metal barricades and yelling and two people being cuffed by the Boston Police Department.

    All that sounds very dramatic but it wasn’t. The yelling was from bullhorns – “go to Harvard Square!” – and the arresting of protesters seemed like an activity both parties (protester/cop) were submitting to, rather than relishing. A reporter and his cameraman sat on a curb smiling, sharing a cigarette or a sandwich (couldn’t see in the dusk), and I walked into the park and around the barricade without issue.

    Not even a sideways glance from a cop.

    I was carrying a bouquet of tulips. Someone complimented them (the flowers were gorgeous) and I said thank you, hoping they thought I was carting flowers around for a good cause. Really, the tulips were given to me for five years spent working at the university. A corporate gift.

    Part of me wanted to go to Harvard Square with the protesters, but mostly I wanted to go home. I had a long day, so I denied the part of me that wants to do good. I don’t know if I regret it.

    Rage is an emotion that exhausts; I feel a lot of it, which is why I’m so tired. It’s making me feel my age for the first time in my life, which is a weird symptom I didn’t expect.

    Like most of these entries, I don’t have a conclusion. There’s nothing for it, anyway; our rage is alive and almost creaturelike – autonomous. It’s all I can do to keep it leashed, you know?

    Recommendations:

    Music: Billie Eilish is growing into her voice. This live session blew me away.

    1. Over the weekend I went to the Power of Narrative Conference at Boston University and it was inspiring. Terrifying, but inspiring.
    2. Been bringing the books I don’t want in my library to a used bookstore for credit. It’s just a good thing to do! I don’t want them to get pulped, which is what I think happens to a lot of book donation places.
    3. A friend of mine started playing regularly at Café Zing in Porter Square! They’re very good and so is the café.

  • they say romance sells

    KM Brunner

    With the next four years looking confusing and concerning, I figured I should turn on my marketing brain and try to write something sellable. In general, I love what I write. I follow my interests. But I’ve only got my one job, and diversifying my income seems like a good idea.

    That said, I’m only one person and diversifying means more work, work that I don’t know if I have time for. And so I am looking at the things I can change, things I can make work for me. I know that with writing, I might be able to pivot and maybe, just maybe, be able to sell whatever comes of it.

    My first instinct is to turn to genre fiction – maybe romance. Who knows? The last time I tried to write romance it did not go well. That said, I was writing a boring, hyper-straight couple because I thought I wanted to sell my soul. I’m not going to do that, this time.

    Or I could get back to music reviews. I did that for years; there might be opportunities there.

    I’ll keep you updated on my progress. I’m frightened. I do not like that these posts are getting more personal as time goes on, but it’s difficult to separate myself from, well, everything else. It takes effort to stay objective, and most of my effort is going into staying sane.

    Recommendations:

    Music: Sugar in the Tank, Julien Baker/TORRES (folk/indie rock)

    Book: Reading plays lately. Just started Fences by August Wilson.

    Things:

    • I’m redoing my wardrobe, but I also have a conscience, so I’ve been buying from ThredUp, an online thrift store.
    • Here are my glasses. I wanted to look like a librarian or a detective in a small town. Not sure if I got it right.

  • family, tradition, and growing up

    KM Brunner

    I want to start by saying that I love my family. I had a fabulous time with them over the holiday. Best one I’ve had, I think. Ever. Of course there were difficult moments, but we each have our failings and challenging personality traits, so that’s to be expected. Ultimately, though, I love them. And that can be hard, because we’re so different.

    I was the black sheep of the family the moment my sister arrived. My sister is a fantastic woman. She’s smart, confident, and loving. She can be intimidating, but so can I. Thing is, she’s unique in ways that elevate her in American/traditional society, I’m unique in ways that alienate me from it. Regardless, I think she’s very cool and in some ways, I envy her. I certainly envy her easier navigation of the world.

    She doesn’t question much. Her life is her life, and my family understands that life. They lived that life, and are thrilled that she, too, is living it.

    I do nothing but question. It can be exhausting. I can be exhausting. My family doesn’t understand my life – and it has nothing to do with my being gay. It’s ’cause I think too much. That’s it. And that molded me into someone so, so unlike my family. A little changeling creature.

    But I’ve been like this forever. Mom used to say I was “born forty,” but I know that’s another way to say “strange.” I never stop at what. I always have to interrogate things, get to the why. And once you understand something, you can’t un-understand it. If you’re like this as a child, you get stuck with knowledge you don’t know what to do with, and worse, knowledge of things you can’t discuss. So it’ll fester. Little things will start to grate, especially things that to the rest of the family, might not seem like a “big deal.”

    They are, though. Some small things – word choice, teeny judgements, off-colour comments – the roots of them are serious and so, so telling. The things that grate are the things you can’t unlearn, only ignore, and ignoring is tough.

    My sister is an amazing woman. My parents are fabulous people. I love them more than is reasonable and will continue to love them. Still, when we are all together, I feel so different from them that it’s almost unbearable.

    I’m still trying to understand the divide; when I’m not paying attention, I sometimes find myself trying to repair it. I found that sad, this last Thanksgiving. I don’t want to be more like them. They’re not bad, they’re just different, but I like the things that make me different and don’t want to sacrifice my personhood to make them more comfortable.

    This Thanksgiving, I felt the most myself than I ever have around them. It was a little scary. It was thrilling. It felt like I was daring them to finally acknowledge my strangeness. They didn’t, of course, and they won’t. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t brave of me to be myself, to maintain my boundaries, while in their house.

    ‘Cause it was. Anyway, I hope they never find this piece.

    Recommendations:

    Music: Illinoise is my favorite Sufjan Stevens album. It’s really cohesive and a fun listen. The song “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.” is buck wild and really unsettling, but it’s my favorite from the album.

    Reading: Just finished The Writing Life by Annie Dillard, and it was fun. Dense and poetic, but fun. I took my time reading it; I recommend a…slow digestion.

    I find THEMA, this entirely-analog small literary journal, to be really charming. Been submitting again lately (not to this journal, but to others), and damn does it take a long time to get responses back.

  • journaling and being mean in secret

    KM Brunner

    Most days I journal before I go to bed. Though the entries are exceptional only in their mediocrity, I’m fine with that. I endeavor to be bad when I’m writing for myself. I like that I can get to a place where I stop trying. The entries can be, sometimes, mean-spirited and arrogant. They can be full of yearning and are often (embarrassingly) pathetic. I read one recently that made me want to vomit, it was so delusional. Made me think:

    She just didn’t like you that much, you nitwit.

    But I have to put that garbage somewhere. Lately I’ve found myself interested in the act of journaling, of my process and others’. My process is unremarkable. I’d like to start writing things that matter, eventually. Seems like more work, but I want the entries to be more fun for my future self. Ideally, in a few years I could sit and, entry by entry, watch myself develop. Instead I’ve got lists of each day’s events and my failings (which doesn’t make for great reading).

    I have complicated feelings about reading the private writings of anyone, even long-dead authors, but a few days ago I read two of Virginia Woolf’s diary entries. They’re hilarious in their frankness and their fearlessness. Though it makes me feel a little sick, I’m going to include a couple lines because the writing made me laugh out loud.

    “I’m somehow reminded of an excellent highly polished well seasoned brown boot by the look of him.”

    “The book is a disgracefully sloppy sentimental rhapsody, leaving Rupert rather tarnished.”

    In some ways I suppose you could read her diary as unkind, but it’s a goddamn diary. Mine can be downright malicious. I am thrilled that they’ll never have a reader.

    In some ways you could consider this blog a journal but it’s not. It’s for you, not for me. I know someone might read these posts so I’m careful, more specific with my wording, etc.- even if the writing reads casually. I make Decisions (cap-D) here. In my journal, sometimes I don’t even write the words out, just the first letters.

    Also, my cursive is illegible. Someone called it “personal hieroglyphics” once. It’s doctor cursive, if you know what I mean. 

    I wish I structured this post to end with a lesson, or with a conclusion at all, but I started with no plan and it seems I’ll finish with only loose ends. That’s okay.

    Recommendations:

    Music:

    God. Get ready to cry. Jason Isbell is one of the great lyricists of our generation. He’s a folk artist with an Americana vibe. He sings this song with his wife.

    I really dislike the music video so here’s a live performance:

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JV7c8V5XLk8
    1. Turned my cellphone screen to greyscale and I hate it even more. It’s been fantastic. My screentime is down to like 45 minutes a day, maximum. Now if only I could match that with my computer. I’m working on it!
    2. Just read the bit of the Old Testament where David and Johnathan become besties and oh my God is it gay. The wording is just like wedding vows and it’s WILD. Love that Christians simply ignore it (I’m livid).
    3. This person (D’Angelo) is making shortish video essays at a worrying rate, but they’re fabulous:
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmNTwFdC9L0

  • leaning in, shame, power exchange

    KM Brunner

    I’m happy that I started this blog. I began it after re-reading one I maintained during college. The old site was less a blog and more a record of my failures. Good failures – the death of creative projects, explorations of different musical genres (and my subsequent abandonment), and a subconscious attempt to confront my chronic illness, among other things.

    I did confront it consciously, finally, about six years ago. I’m still working on it.

    I also wrote a lot about college, growing up, and moving to Boston. The writing was bad, but even worse than that, it didn’t sound like me. I guess it’s tough for writers to own to our voices before we’re ready, so I forgive myself for the posturing. But that truly is what it was: posturing.

    To be oneself is such a task.

    It requires consciously leaning into what you – and only you – want, know, need. Of course, borrowing traits and ideas is normal. Necessary, even, but once you come to know what you truly like, when you pinpoint what comes from only you…

    It is hard to abandon the shame of some things, you know? It took me years to write science fiction, but I like it. I finally got tattoos in my late twenties. I only just admitted to myself what I’d like my future to look like, and…I stood up to my father at dinner only last week.

    He was being particularly mean, and I cannot stand anyone forgoing kindness for a power trip. A little bit of exploiting ones authority can feel good in the moment, but that doesn’t indicate power, really. Any resulting compliance is a fear response.

    Want power? Play a long game. Usurp a throne (any kind will work) or better yet, become the throne’s right hand. Become the office confidant or the quietest – and most influential – member of the C-suite. Or maybe play chess and remind yourself that the king’s the weakest piece on the board.

    If all else fails and you need straightforward “power,” demand it from someone who’d like to give theirs to you. They’re out there (and gagging for it, honestly).

    Do not externalize your own shame and frustration. It’s embarrassing and frankly, crass.

    I’m done now. With the entry, not the blog. I haven’t decided on its purpose, so there’s no end in sight, yet.

    Some recommendations:

    Music:

    I like Paloma Faith. She’s great. This is her most popular song.

    I just really like John Oliver and this is a good, well-written piece.

    Been reading the best of Shakespeare’s plays. I had an idea for a character – kind of a sundowning scholar – and he’s a Shakespeare guy. Had to find some good speeches, didn’t I? I’ve been reading the Arden Performance Editions.

  • working hard while working hard

    KM Brunner

    It took me a long time to realize I worked harder than most other people. That’s the thing about neurodiversity: though you feel different than everyone else, you also believe that what you’re experiencing is common. Normal, even. When I was young I thought I was just sad or something, not inherently unsuited for the world around me. Turns out it was the latter, but I did okay regardless.

    I worked really hard.

    I work hard at my job but also at pretending to be normalish. These days I’m bad at it. My personality leaks out because I’m tired of being miserable, which is why people think I’m smart. Needing to mask is why I love to learn (I had to like it if I was going to pretend to be another person all the time) and it’s why I’m good at pretending to be likable.

    I don’t mask as violently as I did before leaving the agency world, but I still find it easy to manipulate my personality.

    Part of that is all the acting I did when I was young and some of it is the nature of the marketing industry. Drop a few (relevant) keywords into a conversation and you can make anyone feel important.

    It all sounds wildly manipulative but it’s not like I disliked these people. Often it was the opposite; I wanted them to like me for reasons beyond the professional.

    A friend once told me I was scary after I explained all this (to be fair, I didn’t articulate myself well). Though I understand their response, I disagree.

    They’re neurotypical. They don’t understand what I mean, really. It’s not malicious; it’s just how I operate. I think there are a lot of ways neurodivergent people can interact with society’s rules. One of them is that they catalog neurotypical behaviors, learn them, and strategically choose what they want to indulge. That’s what I do.

    Steeping myself in the psychology of marketing was helpful, but I think all the acting I did was the thing that made me good at it. ‘Cause I sound like this in my head. You can’t sound like this out loud unless you want to out yourself as a nerd. And in some places, speaking like this will make you unapproachable. Granted, that can be helpful, but you don’t want an ice queen reputation all the time.

    A colleague said to a group of interns once, while passing my office, “She’s really cool, but she’s not going to talk to you.”

    Part of me was proud because I felt all mysterious, but it did make me realize I had to go to happy hour at some point. Minnesota is weird.

    Nice doesn’t mean kind, there. It means palatable.

    This was a longer post than I expected it to be. I’m procrastinating dealing with the back end of some marketing systems which are just awful to look at.

    Recommendations:

    Music:

    Stick with me. This is a rock/metal song. It’s got screaming in it. It’s DEFINITELY not for everyone, but I love the build. GREAT tension. This band is very fun and their music is varied.

    • Though it’s kind of controversial at the moment, my friend and I are going to use NaNoWriMo’s website to track our November writing spree. It’s just a good place to keep each other accountable.
    • Been trying to pinpoint a good way to keep the stakes high and the pressure on for the middle bit of my novel, so I’m playing around with narrative structure. Here’s a quick and dirty explanation of a few.
    • I’ve started Martian Time Slip and I know I’m years behind the bandwagon but I’m having fun.
    • Obsessed with hawthorn trees because they have berries in the winter and HUGE spikes. Picture below:

  • long time no see

    KM Brunner

    I’m not sure why but I’m trying to work and write this post at the same time. I’ve been doing a lot of writing and also a lot of working. That’s not necessarily important for this post but I figured I’d say it so I’d feel compelled to write tonight. I have a schedule and I’m sticking to it as well as I can. Sometimes it’s difficult but I’m trying to push through that.

    I said in my last post that I find it hard to relate to people sometimes. I just cut off a romance I’d been in – she’s amazing, which sucks for me – because I couldn’t fully relate to her. She’s very cool but I’m a little intense. I know that about myself.

    Fortunately, she’s not as intense as me. Romantically, I need someone as specific as I am, but I’m happy for her, because she’s probably less stressed out. I’d rather her enjoy herself and never see me again than try to get through to me and watch me drown in self-pity (I’m working on it, ok).

    This post is more personal than I intended it to be.

    Anyway, work is difficult enough that I want to lay facedown on the floor and cry about it. I vacillate wildly from productive to miserable and am finding it difficult to steady myself. Honestly…I think I’m just so, so tired. I’ve been thinking of applying to different jobs but even that feels like too much.

    Then again, I may just be hungry. Or sad that I had to let that woman go. Or maybe I miss my friends.

    Could be because I’m all angsty about things. We’ll never know.

    Time for some recommendations.

    Music: “Never Surrender” – Combichrist

    This is a dark industrial song. Like if NIN had a baby with a male Poppy. I really enjoy it but it’s not for everyone.

    I’m currently reading:

    • Interview With the Vampire (I get why it’s so popular, but good Lord the book is wild).
    • The annotated version of The Phantom Tollbooth. I love this book. It’s my favorite book, actually. I think it’s the best children’s lit I’ve ever read.
    • Hum by…some woman whose name I can’t remember. I’m writing this at the office and my copy is at home. It was part of Book of the Month, which I canceled a long time ago. It’s a speedy read.

    I’m having a tough time thinking of things to share, so I’ll be going now.

  • i had an awful month

    KM Brunner

    I am not going to give a rundown of my month; you don’t deserve the frustration and I’m not interested in baring my personal life for folks to read. I’m no one’s friend here, and it wasn’t particularly interesting anyway. It was just…hard.

    Because I’m chronically ill, I forget what it’s like to experience violence from something outside my body. My day-to-day life is a minefield of managing a disorder that, when triggered, provides me with heaps of trauma that I then have to wade through. I spend months – sometimes years – working through my fear while still living in the body that is responsible for that trauma (and threatening to inflict more).

    It is not a fun place, my body – my brain, specifically. But there’s nothing for it except for suicide and I’d like to at least enjoy my thirties. Forties, too, if I get those years.

    Vigilance and violence are part of my life. They are part of my mornings, afternoons, evenings. They are part of my writing practice. I think about them when I cry, because the action is not entirely controllable. I think about them when I laugh.

    But this month was difficult because of an external force and it felt like a privilege to experience that. It was a perverse feeling and made me feel bad, like I was invalidating other people’s terrifying experiences with abuse, and yet I found it comforting in some ways. It gave me something to fear that didn’t come from me.

    I could lock the door. Separate myself from her. God, what a luxury that was.

    The month is over and the danger is gone. My apartment feels like my own again. I’m back with just me and my brain. I am glad for it because weathering that danger was exhausting, but there was something to knowing she couldn’t hurt me when I was staying with a friend, across town, that was soothing.

    Chronic illness is such a strange thing. The filter through which I see the world makes it difficult to relate to other people, and my relationship with fear and pain is very warped. I am a great listener and like to help folks with their problems, but I often find myself holding back when talking to friends, because their problems are so, so bearable to me. I’d love to have their problems, and only those problems.

    I’m going to stop with this self-pity and move on to my little recommendations section.

    Music: Delirium Division, Little Pink Houses. It’s a rock song. I just really love it. It’s been on repeat for me.

    Stuff:

    1. Comic: Vinyl by Image Comics. It’s about a serial killer with Alzheimer’s who is emotionally attached to his FBI agent. He saves him from a murderous cult. It’s very, very cool.
    2. Been wearing my half-rimless glasses. I like them but they make me look like a librarian. I’ve decided I don’t care.
    3. I’m going up to Marblehead on Saturday to drive around. It’s where part of my novel is set.