Crowdpleaser
Do you want to write a viral piece?
Do you want to write a viral piece? The one that gets a gazillion likes, glowing comments? The one that people share, and remember with a smile. A crowdpleaser. A bestseller. Top of the charts. A melody so intrusive, yet so undeniably charming, people couldn’t get it out their heads for days. Don’t lie. You would. You would like to be everybody’s sweetheart, the golden child, the next big thing. I would. I have ambitions. I really would but I can’t. And I won’t. And I never will.
Is there a theoretical recipe to become a crowdpleaser? Or to create a piece of art labeled by everybody as “crowdpleaser”. Let’s see. Produce lukewarm content. Nothing too brash or emotionally wrecking. Choose popular genres. Follow successful writing patterns to a tee. Don’t ever let any of your personal thoughts and convictions spill into your work. Or if you do, make sure it’s the socially acceptable ideas of the time. Or better not. Don’t ever speak publicly about politics, religion, ideologies, sexuality, nothing controversial. Be kind. Or rather be tolerant above and beyond. Spread positivity, who needs uncomfortable truth? Be active in the community. Positively active, no need for negativity, whatever the reason. Follow the trends, be on top of everything viral. Be careful who you hang out with. Don’t let anybody find you supporting people with shady reputation, or outcasts. The public opinion is your opinion, whatever way it turns over time. Or rather pretend you don’t have an opinion. Nobody likes free-thinkers. Free-thinkers are not likely to become crowdpleasers, at least not in their lifetime.
Why have I dropped any illusion I might ever become a crowdpleaser? Because my head is too full of stubborn thoughts. It truly is a can of worms. I’ve opened it, and I don’t think it can ever be fixed. Not because I’ve done shit on Substack I should’ve done, if I wanted to be successful here. But because of who I was, who I became, and who I don’t ever want to be again.
I’ve always been socially awkward. I’ve seen many people on social media/Substack claiming they’re socially awkward, and weird for whatever reason, yet I see them blending in with the “crowd”, finding their way into the theoretical community, and generally being very much socially successful, normal even. I’ve never been able to be a part of the crowd, even if I tried. I was always that weird kid, falling behind, because I was looking at clouds, thinking, dreaming. I sucked at team sports. You can imagine, nobody wanted me on their team. Classical Hollywood movie situation, the poor looser kid whom nobody wants. You see, nothing has changed.
I wish I knew how to blend in. You know, to be normal, and just blend in. But I can’t. I can’t turn against that little voice inside my heart. The one that urges me to speak my mind. Even if I’m wrong, that voice I can’t go against. I can’t go against the teachings of God. Which many find wrong. I know my life would be easier if I’d just keep quiet. Especially if I want people to like my art, or my fiction. Just don’t speak about politics, ideologies, religions, sexuality! Be a quiet little fiction writer, that’s a good girl! People have a hard time separating the art from the artist. You know it, Kathrine, so why do you do it? Why all the self-sabotage? I can’t be different. I’ve been a doormat for far too long, before I stood up. I don’t want to slide back into being a faceless, voiceless piece of trash people walk all over. So, I speak my mind, and I keep losing. So be it. I’ll be the loser, if such is the way to freedom, and authenticity. I’ll be that loser, not picked to play in the winning team, but at least I’ll be free.
Lately I’ve been thinking about Substack. Non-fiction, these rants or essays, call them what you will, were never the part of the plan. There wasn’t even a plan of any kind, to begin with! I didn’t expect any of my rants will draw readers in, but they did. So, I went on. Success gets into your head, you know? Maybe I got a bit carried away at times, stepping over some red lines, stomping over the feelings of others. I am at the crossroads now. I’m torn between writing fiction, and non-fiction. Or writing for Substack at all. Posting on social media definitely wasn’t my plan. I can confess, not a day goes by, when I’m not thinking about deleting my Substack. Or at least the rant section. Although, it probably wouldn’t make a difference by now. I’ve been called a bigot today. Twice. You think it doesn’t go to my head? You think it doesn’t hurt not one bit? I’m only a human. And it hurts. Trolls, poets, racoons, and editors are allowed to laugh now. They never knew they won. If their goal was to make me feel pain, they won. Trolls always win, and they don’t even know it. I’m good at hiding my pain. A skill I acquired early in my childhood. If you cry, they don’t stop, they just yell at you harder.
So, fuck the idea of becoming a crowdpleaser. Fuck that. I’m not, and I’ll never be. I don’t know what the fuck I’m writing or doing. But I’ll keep writing my stories. At least the ones I promised to finish. What about non-fiction? Nobody needs it. It’s a spectacle. It’s just hurting people. Maybe some are entertained. Maybe some even like it. But is it worth the pain? Both mine, and those who feel offended by it? Honestly, I don’t know what to do about it. Do you have any ideas? I know there’s some stuff I could rant about, but I don’t want to write something with shock-value only to stay relevant. That’s what crowdpleasers do, right? They work hard to stay relevant. I don’t want that. I want to be free to speak my mind, in written form, if I can’t do it any other way. And if you hate it, I’m very sorry, but I’m not going to change. Because breaking myself would hurt too much.
I also want to delete mine very often (and it's not like everybody runs to read me). I might be paranoid too, but it seems my very existence kinda annoys.
I don;t even need to write anything per se, I am just who I am, that's enough.
Moreso I want to delete my FB (where I don't write for years myself but do check on people couple times a week) but then remember they have groups for finding this and that and info etc; and that these were helpful several times.
Also I know I can be very impulsive so I try not to, unless my impulsivity will win -or the decision will be made regardless.
Also. I know I take it hard when somebody leaves. It's very childish maybe, they did what worked for them- yet I feel very lonely..and scared they might felt lonely too, and maybe I was a part of it. Of their loneliness.
As for popularity it seems I had my share, and more, and it , too, didn't require from me anything but being myself as I was, only I was much younger and energetic and ...well, we change, times change, countries change, you name it.
Problems change. Now every morning starts with checking whether people are alive...prayers and such even though what use my prayers can hold; but one can always hope
The thing is I didn't betray myself -in the most important things-once, and it makes me incredibly lucky, come to think of it, popular or not.
And I hope to never get tortured, it's hard being in charge of one's faculties then.
I'm sorry for the rambling; that incoherent writing coud be probably shortened to "yes, I understand"
and no though, I don;t believe the trolls win. I can't even understand the concept that well. I mean I understand; but surely one must get tired very soon of taunting people.
Teasing is different if among friends. And even this can suddenly fall on some bad time, one never knows.
Ok. Shutting up; hugs, Karthine.
Doing quietly without fanfares what's needed to be done is very underappreciated. But that doesn't mean it's not the right road, even if we'll loose the horse, the sword, and, eventually, ourselves. I'm pondering it a lot lately.
The guru sat calmly writing, throwing each page away, seemingly unaware his surroundings. The children picked the pages, reading them. The best ones saved in a scrapbook for the local wise men and journalists to marvel about.