one identity crisis at a time, baby

A while ago, I published a blog post called “backstreet’s back (it’s me, i’m backstreet),” and then promptly… once again did not update very much. I wasn’t back at all. Christ alive, I’m just not made for social media; being an influencer would kill me (but not before I walked into a river all on my own).

But here we are, Friday night drinking with a Happy Thursday, and I can’t focus on anything seriously while I’m waiting to switch out my laundry but also I feel like doing something, so here we are, hot on the blog.

Per that ages-ago post, I really do want to hop back into my Lifetime movie recaps, of which I have done a measly one. But! I have been rewatching You, so the mood is definitely on the horizon. More on that as it develops.

I more recently posted about signing with a publishing company, which is still very exciting and even more so because I haven’t had to do any book marketing while we wait to reissue. No word on those new release dates yet—which, you would think, would clear the way for me to focus up on book 3, and indeed my head is as clear as ever, if by “clear” we mean empty, moths floating listlessly about, the muffled sounds of “Your Daddy Don’t Know” by Toronto playing in the distance (for no apropos reason, that song is just always stuck in my head).

The book’s certainly been in development—I’ve been outlining the pieces, the players, what I’m trying to say… but I can’t get at how to say it. Maybe? It is, by and large, a deconstruction of the romantic comedy, and I can’t tell you the last time I felt even the vaguest stirrings of romance, andbutso the well of inspiration is just… running dry.

Or this could speak to some other deep-seated issue around my mental health, emotional stability, or whatever the hell else goes on with me most of the time. Then again, my love life has—if not always but at least often—been at the heart of that, and I’ve been sorting through how I feel about romantic love at this stage in my game…

I don’t know. I’m typing faster than I can properly think about what I’m typing. So. Suffice it to say, the lines between fiction and reality have well and truly blurred here, and I’m figuring that out.

So the book is on the way, just not as quickly as I’d like. But as if that’s anything new, regardless of such-or-other personal crisis; no, if I don’t finish an entire draft in a single sitting, I consider the day busted. I can’t exactly be trusted to track my progress in any reasonable sense.

I’m not sure how much I can say otherwise without my editor hitting me with a “Maj, please cease and desist, you absolute disaster Muppet” email, so—

In the meantime, here’s the link to the playlist so far, see what you dream up from that, and fingers crossed I don’t fall short of your wildest fantasies. Or maybe who cares, this is about my wildest fantasies and I am very self-involved.

*cigarette break*

Anyway, while we’re sort of on the subject of my love life, I am on the dating apps in an effort to keep an open mind—which might be more self-sabotage than anything else, because the dating apps aren’t really inspiring the open mind I’m going for.

It’s all foot fetishists and vasectomies and Snapchats. And while there’s nothing wrong with a fetish or a vasectomy (rock on, in fact), is that really what you’re leading with? Right there in your bio, next to your phone number like you have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever???

And there is something wrong with the Snapchats. Red flag, dealbreaker, sayonara. Why do you, as a grown man, have a Snapchat?

Don’t answer that. I know why, and I’ve seen enough unsolicited dick pics to last me through all the lives I could ever possibly live.

Back to the point I’ve derived from all this: It’s all about leading with the sexual, a focus on getting laid regardless of your assurance that you’re “Looking for: Long-term Relationship.” And maybe you are, but again I say—you’re really gonna open with “I got a vasectomy”?

That’s your ‘About Me’? Would you introduce yourself like that in real life?? Is this what dating just is??? I’m exhausted.

I mean, you could say it is, if nothing else, something more substantial than “idk what to put here” (suggesting you lack a sense of self or even one interest) or “NOT GAY” (suggesting both homophobia and an inability to read the simple prompts that would ensure your potential matches are a smorgasbord of heteronormativity—and yes, that’s a real bio I’ve seen, and more than once).

Sex is fine, casual dating is fine (not for me, but fine as a thing itself), but when you’re swiping through an endless stream of this and “looking for someone to share adventures with!” (both bland in its description and also aren’t you tired?), you experience the kind of burnout that only ends in the $2.99 Tears & Hysterical Laughter Combo. I feel like I’m going insane. No wonder I can’t get a handle on the romcom I’m trying to tell.

(I do, however, have to believe that this is going to bear some kind of creative fruit. I just have to lose my mind a little bit first.)

(…actually, that’s never not been my process, so. There’s hope for me yet.)

I guess I’ve always felt that my writing and my romances are intrinsically tied together. Because for whatever emotional stimuli I’m lacking in real life, I can write about it instead—take it apart and examine it, figure out what I want without risking anything real. This is why “I’m sick of dating apps, I’m just gonna Pygmalion myself a boyfriend” is my most beloved coined phrase (and! Another playlist).

Well, if I wake up tomorrow and Glen Powell’s in my driveway, we can call the Pygmalion method a success. Until then…

That’s about it on love and writing and finding the will to deal with them both. Much for me to mull over, as per ush. And much for you to look forward to as you sort through the confetti mess of what I share here on the blog.

Ah, well. Here’s some more playlists for your trouble:

• may i offer you a bop in these trying times? (possibly my most important playlist to date, current events considered)
• it’s dramatic singalong time! (let it all out, baby)
• pretending my life is a teen movie (my fellow millennials, this one’s for us)
• we’re here, we’re queer, fuckin’ deal with it (I mean, if they can’t “get used to it”… too bad)
• bangers (a classic)

See you when I see you. xoxo gossip girl