Star Burst Epilogue

“Here I am, once again…”

They say it’s never too late to start over. But realistically, I’m unsure how many attempts I have left to rediscover my “wheel,” the big thing I’m supposed to do in this world.

I should explain why I’ve been silent on the writing front – but the gag is, I actually haven’t been. Last November, I began a trial run as a contributing writer with an entertainment news site. It was the second such position I accepted in 2024 following an ethical and personal mismatch with another web publication earlier that year. That role lasted less than 60 days.

At first glance, this new opportunity fielded better incentives than the first, including better pay for writers and the promise of free reign regarding article topics. Though it took time to get comfortable with their publishing process, I eventually found my way. Two weeks in and after receiving heaps of praise from multiple editors, I was offered a permanent role. I happily accepted.

Within a week of that acceptance, however, the red flags began to show; including how editors selected which articles were worthy of being promoted on their socials, as well as willful ignorance of common writing styles ("It's just different," they relayed when I asked. "We want to stand out"). By the end of the year, the flags multiplied to the point of weighing me down with mental and emotional exhaustion.

While on a lunch break two weeks ago, I received an e-mail from my head editor that my contract would be terminated. They claimed my articles weren’t getting enough views, and hadn’t improved in the four days (!!!) I was first informed of the issue. Despite daily notifications on my phone from social media users clicking my articles, I chose not to argue. It was clear that I overstayed my welcome.

In the two weeks since, I confirmed something that first dawned on me in 2017, when a lack of interest from depression led me to be let go from another publication -

I don’t like writing for other people.

One thing you learn early as a creative, no matter the type, is to nuture and protect your voice. Your voice is what attracts others to your art. Your voice is your originality, your experiences, your humanity, you. To quote the iconic filmmaker Kevin Smith, “[Treat] your voice [as] your currency in this life. The prism of which you see life is uniquely yours.”

When it comes to most occupations, employees are to present themselves as representations of a larger whole (retail workers, personal assistants, etc.). Their uniqueness becomes muted; subjugated, even, for the sake of corporate entities that promote self-identity under the guise of assimilation.

When a creative comes into a creative space that isn’t theirs, it's expected that they'll become a representative of that space and the voice who leads it. However, I've always believed that a creative’s best work comes from what they know. As I get older, I find it more difficult to adhere to situations where my voice is filtered through another’s; more so if that person is privileged in ways I will never be, which most in entertainment media are.

Since 2012, I have used my voice to amplify others. Once I would move on from these roles (of my own accord or otherwise), I would experience issues separating their voices and/or agendas from mine. I would tackle personal writing projects to keep active, only to find myself questioning and second-guessing myself the entire way through. In these cases, the art of writing, something almost second nature to me, felt like a stranger.

My daily battle with RSD (rejection sensitivity dysphoria) increases this struggle tenfold. If an editor approaches me more than once with suggestions on how to "stand out to fit in," it triggers my inner saboteur. Their advice, no matter how it may be presented, often feels like an affront to my writing skills. It's tough to see otherwise until I've settled my oft-scattered brain.

There might be, however, a simpler truth that explains what I’ve been feeling – and it’s one that has been swimming about for some time:

Perhaps I’ve lost interest in the entertainment/celebrity news space.

When the former webmaster of a long-defunct site first took me on in 2012, I was in my 30s and bursting at the opportunity to be the newest voice in celebrity-themed media. Now in my 40s, my priorities for this gift – this voice – have seemingly shifted.

I feel my best posts involve two aspects that are often missing from most celebrity-related media: Relatability and humanity. Those who read my pop culture and music deep dives are keen to how I weave bits and pieces from my own life into the narrative. Likewise, I often express how these subjects impact my life and help me relate to and understand the world a bit better.

For as long as I can remember, people have asked why I’m so invested in pop culture – and I never had an answer that summarized my feelings. I believe I have one now, however.

Because, as the funky Nikka Costa once sang, everybody’s got their something.

Swifties. Beyhive. Bronies. Moonies. Twihards. Whovians. The list goes on and on. Everybody’s got their something, and I do mean everybody. This is where the relatability occurs, and that relatability helps to forge genuine connection. Even if the topic is a base-level link, it’s an opening that can lead to someone feeling a little less alone in this mad world.

This is what I want to use my voice for. While I’m unsure how to work this into something I can make a sustainable income from, I know there are options.

I have no regrets for what has gotten me to this point, but I humbly believe aggregated news media has taken me as far as I can go. I think I needed one last go-round just to be sure of it.

The voice I possess has already taken me beyond my wildest dreams, and survived nightmares that sought to mute it permanently. Placing my faith in this voice in the past helped me to aim for the stars. Maybe if I do so again, I’ll go even further.

There's only one way to find out, however... onward!