Last week my friend and co-founder of this blog, Payton, texted me about relaunching the website. He emailed me a link so that I could sign in as an admin and I could claim my old writings that he had imported to the new site. Since he was the only admin at the time it attributed everything to him, so I needed to revisit all these old posts and change the author name to the ones that were mine.
You know how no one likes the sound of their own voice when they hear it on a recording?
Yeah… it’s like that. There are some gems among the trash, some half-baked ideas that might be worth revisiting, and some things that I don’t even remember writing (which is kind of worrying, honestly). But as I sifted through those old memories and cringed at the attempts at more fanciful prose, I braced myself for the reality of my future. Relaunching the website meant writing more blog posts, which meant putting myself out there for others (and my future self) to critique. Which meant eventually coming back and cringing at old lines like,
“But as I sifted through those old memories and cringed at the attempts at more fanciful prose, I braced myself for the reality of my future.”
Like, let’s all just go ahead and roll our eyes at that little nugget of writing.
I have a bit of a self-confidence problem. I once used a public restroom and as I walked out a teenage girl walked in and my first thought was, “oh no, I’m in the women’s restroom.” As soon as the door closed behind me I checked to see if the symbol on the outside was a little stick figure male or female. It was male, but I still wasn’t convinced until the girl that had walked in hurried out and crossed over to the other restroom.
As you can imagine, every time I post something online, it is agonizing and exhausting.
Why did I write that?
Am I oversharing?
Does anyone even care to read that?
Ugh, Strunk and White would roll over in their graves if they read this.
Writing is a kind of performance art and I’ve got the worst case of stage fright. However, I know that putting yourself out there, and just trying, even if you have almost no clue what you’re doing, can sometimes have fantastic, results. To illustrate this point, I want to tell a story about my first time going to a drag show.
Nobody emanates a supreme level of confidence like a man dressed in a leotard with a blown out wig and sparkling makeup, strutting around lip-syncing to pop songs. In the same way a favorite album will be the reference point for which you’ll judge all other albums in that genre, the towering, boisterous, drag goddess known as Brown Sugar will always be the lens through which I see other drag queens.
It was during my second year at WSU that my friend Amber suggested we go out to see Brown Sugar host a drag show at a club called Fantasy. Or maybe it was Fantasies. I can’t remember if there were multiple fantasies going on or if there was just one singular focus.
For Amber, this was just another night out, so I follow her lead. We grab some drinks at the bar and take a seat at a table near the stage. Out walks Brown Sugar, towering over us, decked out in glitter and gold. She lip-syncs to some songs, tells lewd jokes and introduces each of the drag queens before they perform. In between sets Brown Sugar suddenly asks, “Are there any straight boys here with us tonight?”
Amber is out of her seat immediately calling out, “Over here! Over here!” She’s pointing at me and I’m just hoping Miss Sugar doesn’t look our way. But she does. So me and a fellow straight guy are up on stage with Brown Sugar between us explaining what we’re about to do and all I can do is look at Amber and shake my head in a way that says, “Why would you do this to me?”
It turns out that our task as set by our mistress of ceremonies is pretty simple. She wants us to runway walk across the stage, give a little turn, and walk the length of the stage again…
In high heels.
My competitor goes first and does admirably and the crowd cheers for him as Brown Sugar hands me a pair or red stilettos. I kick my own shoes off and slip into the narrow heels trying my best to balance. God forbid I fall on my face in front of all these people before I take my first step.
I remember as a kid me and my sister trying to walk across the living room with a book balanced on our heads, and I figure that might help if I channel that kind of posture and gait. I was right. Wobbling a bit at first I soon found my center of gravity and kept going until I reached the end of the stage. I easily turned and sauntered across the stage again unaware of how everyone was reacting, but not needing their feedback since I was pretty sure I was killing it up there.
Once I finished and slipped out of the heels Brown Sugar asked everyone to cheer for the first contestant if they thought he’d had the best walk. The crowd cheered loudly and I shrugged, positive that he was going to win. But when it was it was my turn the room erupted in nearly the same amount of whoops and hollers. I still thought the other guy had a few more supporters but Brown Sugar surprised me by declaring me the winner and suggesting that someone should buy me a drink, which no one did, but that’s fine.
Not everything I write is going to be a winner. Not every performance is going to elicit whoops and cheers from the audience. I could just have easily told the story of my first time playing guitar for a crowd in a café back in Arkansas and how I mumbled the lyrics and realized halfway through that my guitar was out of tune. But writing is a passion for me, and I’m fortunate enough to have plenty of people in my life that will encourage me to continue to put myself out there even when break a heel and fall on my face.
The Barberry Writers 