I’m writing to you in the middle of my stretch break, while swinging my left arm in circles in between sentences. I’ve done this after every vaccine I’ve gotten and I’m convinced it’s one of the main reasons why I haven’t had any major side effects. Something about blood circulation. A heads up that there’s a brand new vaccine from Moderna called the Spikevax and it protects from the latest COVID strains. You can find it at a pharmacy near you via this link if you live in the states. We’re currently experiencing the largest wave of COVID cases since the start of this ongoing pandemic. Please do what you can to practice collective safety, whether it be wearing a mask in crowded spaces or getting the latest vaccine!
Anyways.
I’m writing to you in the midst of multiple creative projects. I’m slowly editing stories and essays for my second book, which is actually an iteration of the first book I tried to write. This Way to Change is a book I wrote while avoiding the first book, while processing pandemic trauma in real time. Sometimes it takes years to build the courage to do something.
There’s more I’ll share about the contents of This Way to Change but the first section is titled “This Distance” and it contains poems, practices, and channeled wisdom I wrote while feeling conflicted between personal and public safety. The world was “opening back up” with the first wave of vaccines in 2021 after a year in lockdown and I was wishing for a greater level of care in the way New Yorkers were gathering in public spaces.
I’m working on the second season of an audio series with Deem Journal, called Dreaming Different (we are looking for sponsors, if you have access to funding and are interested in supporting a project that’s disability and neurodivergent focused, please let me know!), writing a script to submit to a screenwriters competition, just wrote/designed/released a zine called HOW TO BUILD A WORLD: an imperfect guide, about to jump into a 5-week run with the New York Neo-Futurists (we have a weekly off-Broadway show every Friday and Saturday 10:30pm where we attempt 30 original plays within 60 minutes) where I’ll be writing, learning, and performing new material every week from January 19 to February 17, and (I’ve circled my arms like 20 times at this point) I’m in the process of reaching out to people to gather support, endorsements, and ideas ahead of my debut book’s launch on March 19.
Which brings me to the part about asking for help.
I am not physically, emotionally, or spiritually able to do all of the above without asking for constant help.
When writing, I ask help from my guides. I’m asking god/universe/source/ancestors to help me tell the stories I have stirring within me, to channel wisdom into words, to help me be of service to what’s needed in this lifetime. For book launch planning, I’m asking my agents for time and collaboration, my editor and publisher for logistical support. With the theater company, I’m asking my mentor and other cast members for information and grace, knowing I’m going through a very scatterbrained era of my life that involves lots of missed messages and late replies. To loved ones, I ask for affirmation and feedback. In a way, every letter sent to you is an ask for something too— time, attention, some kind of support.
Being a practicing artist trying to make a full-time living through my art (including public speaking, workshop facilitations, modeling and brand campaigns) while building a body of work is…a terrifying act of self exposure. It’s not just the feeling, thinking, writing, editing, collecting. It’s also the releasing, sharing, and constant stream of promotion so people can see the things I make.
It’s “putting yourself out there” to be judged, rejected, or maybe even worse…ignored. I’ve learned, this is the cost of your calling. Following your dreams is a vulnerable thing to do, but the alternative is worse (I’ve tried it, all those years of suppressing myself really damaged me).
I don’t have it figured out. I’ve been sending emails around to writers I admire, cold DMing people to ask if I can send them an electronic advance reader’s copy of my book, and churning out a steady stream of “content” on Instagram while listening to my body’s need for rest and staying tuned in to the ongoing genocide in Gaza (currently tracking updates coming out of South Africa’s genocide case against Israel in the International Court of Justice). I feel nauseous asking people to write an endorsement or review for my book while there’s so much despair in the world, while I know so many people have so much on their plates during this time of polycrisis.
So here are a few things I’m telling myself, a mini guide to asking for help (for context, I am diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder so…there’s that element too), I hope it can help you too:
GIVE PEOPLE A CHANCE TO SUPPORT YOU.
I keep reminding myself that my book is about personal and collective change, with themes of queer awakening, decolonization, abolition, disability justice, inner healing, and the healing power of friendship. I’m remembering that the confessions and stories and practices in this book are needed by someone, somewhere, that people are looking for something to help guide them through all this grief and despair. My book is full of hope, and I want to give people a chance to experience it. I’m trying to reverse the roles. For the past few years, I’ve preordered books from a plethora of writers because I was excited to read their work and because I know how much preorders support book trajectories. It was a loving exchange of offerings, and I’ve experienced so much pleasure supporting people’s creative endeavors. And get inspired to make work of my own! So, maybe I’m forgetting that there is joy in the process of supporting, and that it’s not a one-way street.
IF SOMEONE DOESN’T REPLY TO YOU OR SAYS THEY CAN’T HELP YOU, IT’S LESS A COMMENTARY ON THE QUALITY OF YOUR WORK AND MORE A PIECE OF INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR CURRENT CAPACITY.
This one is hard because I spent the first few years of my career / period of increased visibility responding to almost every email and dozens of messages a week to share resources, information, make introductions, and be the most helpful person I could be. I was exhausting myself trying to single-handedly balance the scales of social inequity, one interaction at a time. At a point, friends had to intervene. “Jezz, you’re one of the most generous people I’ve ever met and that’s fantastic. But you cannot become a martyr, you have to have better boundaries. It doesn’t make you a terrible person for not responding to someone.” Liberating words to hear. The people I’m reaching out to are busy people with established, packed careers. I have to remember this, and know that I’m one message out of many, one ask out of a handful, and they are allowed to have boundaries.
EVERYTHING IS MADE UP. WE LIVE IN A WARPED ILLUSION OF MERITOCRACY.
I was watching an episode of Abbott Elementary the other day to unwind my mind and Melissa said to Gregory, “you can't choose when people acknowledge you.” (The transcript of that convo is here, if you need some mental floss from all the news).
The book process has been a confronting one because here’s a well-known secret that I didn’t know until I started learning about the literary industry: publishing is still a business, incentivized by fame, popular demand, and $money$. I’m really trying to take the evil out of this, because this can be said about every other creative industry— the art world, Hollywood, music. If I’m going to be a working artist for the rest of my life, I have to accept the mechanics of the money-making machine while I find ways to do things my own way.
There are so many books on the market. I read more books than almost anyone I know, and I still have a stack of books I've been meaning to pick up for months. I can’t choose when someone will choose my book, or if they’ll even want to read it.
I can only speak to my passion for it, describe it in as many ways as I can, in as many places as I can, so it can reach whoever it’s meant to reach. None of this says anything about my worthiness.
At this point, I’m laying down, writing you from my couch with my laptop propped onto a pillow on my lap. I am tired. I am letting myself rest. I’ve done as much as I can today, and that’s enough.
If you have any thoughts about asking for help, reframes that have helped you, or any general words of encouragement— please leave a comment here! I read them all and positive feedback is always appreciated.
Lastly, I have a special offer for 20% off preorders with a platform for book lovers called Tertulia, and you can buy my book This Way to Change for $19.09 + shipping at this link here. I’ve put decades of wisdom into this collection, and I hope it can guide you through any changes you’re going through.
Thank you for reading all the way!
xoxo
Jezz
Reading this before bed <3 I’ll make sure to call my local bookstore to pre-order. With excitement, Greisy