Finish The Damn Book.

Why is it so hard to write intimately about myself

In late 2018 I was contacted on a whim by an American lit. agency. At the time, I was on my second year finishing my research degree in London. The owner of the literary agency saw a few news articles about me and decided to shoot an email.

“Have you considered writing a book?”

Oh have I. Before I even knew how to read I loved to tell stories. My first screenplay idea came as a response to being told to follow household rules. “Nana, get a pen and paper! Write what I say. I’m writing a movie called…Life Sucks For Kids.” My grandma still laughs about that till this day.

I wrote X-men fan fiction. I wrote self-insert Afro futurist space operas. I wrote cringey self insert YA stories about handsome boys. That turned into self insert erotica that I still can’t manage to get off of the bowels of the internet because I forgot my password. You can see the common theme here of me loving absolute fantasy.

I blogged off and on about documentaries I watched, fashion interests and pop culture. I never really talked much about myself, not beyond a surface level that is.

So fast forward to 2022 and the book that I’ve revised and rewritten and revised and scrapped and rewritten still isn’t done. Jake Adelstein, my Sempai/mentor/father figure/therapist acts as my literary agent. He’s very patient and sends me encouraging words of advice.

Yet everything else feels far more pleasant than finishing this book — San francisco happy hours, restarting my onlyfans, learning how to do nail art…it’s too hard to face myself.

I don’t let anyone too close and writing a book exclusively about myself is far more personal than anything I’ve ever planned in life. I moved to Tokyo 18 and did tons of crazy shit to escape myself. I was a sex worker as a teenager, which also allowed me to escape myself. I’ve been raped—which I’ve largely ignored. I’ve been heartbroken, something I haven’t really been able to separate from my sense of self. Most of my dreams, which defined me and all of my adolescence, didn’t pan out like I expected them to. Every time I write more I need to come up for air because these things are so hard to write about…

I’ve decided that I’m ready to introduce myself to the world, something that I’ve never done much in life. I need to finish the damn book.

So here it is — my goal is to finish the remaining fifteen chapters of the book by the end of the year. That’s two chapters a week which is totally doable for me. Are you ready to meet me?