Writing every week
Or: putting my money where my keyboard is
I’m learning how to sketch. I’m using Brent Eviston’s The Art & Science of Drawing - the paper copy, so that I can count this a truly analog hobby. Think of me as the sketching equivalent of a kindergartener, with homework like “draw 100 circles” or “draw 100 straight-edged shapes.” Every circle, every square is low-stakes; mess it up, move onto the next. In the end, I have a sheet filled with shapes, which fills me with some unexpected look-Mom-at-my-macaroni-card pride.
It’s freeing to work on a brand new skill like this. I have no priors, no identity wrapped up in it, no external expectations. Curiosity and joy drive me forward. There’s a lightness to it.
In contrast, writing is not a brand new skill for me. I love writing, because I love the way it forces me to notice the world, but I also fear writing because I’ve wrapped up part of my identity in it. I think of myself as a good writer, which means I find it paralyzing to just finish a damn post, send it off, and move onto the next. I’ve gotten way, way too precious with the whole thing. There’s a heaviness to it.
So: I’ve decided to run an experiment. I’ll write and post something here every week for the next 8 weeks. These might be one-paragraph musings on an idea I came across or a song I heard for the first time. They might be the long-time-coming final drafts of essays I’ve been bouncing around for a while, like the many words I typed after putting down my dog, Voodoo. I’m hesitant to set a minimum quality/quantity bar on these posts - the whole point is to get reps in, so in good faith I promise to write about something that at least I find interesting.
To keep me from getting lazy, I’ll pay each of you $50 if I do not post by Sunday night 11:59 ET for the next 12 weeks. I’m no Matt Yglesias but I have enough Substack followers that this would actually hurt.
To keep you invested, I’ll only pay you if I miss and you email me at ianyanusko@gmail.com to collect your debt (send me your Venmo!).
I don’t know how this will go. It might be a drag, or it might unlock reams of new material. Maybe I’ll never write again, or maybe I’ll decide to write a book. Who knows! But here we go.