📰 Structural Writing, Queer Ecology, and the Benefits of Free Writing
Last updated: 22 hours, 50 minutes ago
I just finished reading How to Rewild Your Writing Practice. I think it's the longest piece from Brennan I have read so far. It's also one of the... "oldest"? When they said they began longform writing consistently.
I think it took me an hour to get through it despite the clock saying it's a 24 minute read. Not surprising for me. How long something takes me to read usually depends on how interesting it is. The longer the better.
This piece reminded me so many memories and made me tie several together.
Structural Writing
Writing is something that time and time again I have been thinking and acting on trying to make a living out of. I am an Environmental Science undergrad but since I started writing as a hobby at age seventeen, I have had the ambition of doing this exclusive for the rest of my life.
It's been more than a decade since then and I haven't made a cent out of it. The more I learned about writing as a career, the more I learned the taxing labor that goes into it. Apart from improving the craft, there was business lessons, marketing, speaking, etc, etc. Not to mention all the attention that came out of it.
I felt that so much of it was giving and giving and receiving so little in exchange. The entry barrier seemed insurmountable. I just wanted to share what I wrote with the world without thinking about food and rent and whatever other real adults had to do!
During my long undergraduate degree, I took one writing class outside of general education. It was about the four forms of writing, prose, ... I can't remember the rest. Whatever poetry is made out of. Perhaps experimental, and maybe-oh who cares. It's on the linked essay anyways.
Part of the comment I wrote under that post was how 'dreadful' the experience was and how I was not attached to any of the pieces I created back then. Maybe one idea from that dialogue exercise I can't remember is worth salvaging but I would have to dig through my external drive to even remember it.
The only way I got through that course despite my love of write and rampant major depression was making each assignment meaningful to me. If I had to make shit up every week, I would at least have to make it worth my time. And I did. I wrote some poems for on characters I liked. I thought taking a writing course would make me a better writer, to communicate my ideas, but all I remember was frustration because I felt I wasn't good enough.
That was an unusual semester where I experimented with thoughts and ideas I never had before. That summer I wanted to take part in a writing camp but I already had other plans so I desisted, keeping my writing aspirations.
Similarly, the Composition writing course, second level writing or whatever they are called, where just as frustrating. I explored racism in the U.S in the sixties for one essay and presented about a song written in Italian from a videogame close to my heart. There was an essay I got a B or C and I don't know if it was that one. I felt like the research behind my interests was secondary to the quality of the work I produced. I read a book and listened to a song on repeat but when it came to performance it was lacking. I didn't like my writing being judged, is what a somewhat learned.
I kept on with my STEAM degree, morose that writing and science didn't seem to go hand in hand. It was several years later that I took a course at another university called Science Communication. In it, we explored different forms of science writing, from presentations to reviews, to proposals. I hope I aced that course because it gave me hope that two of my passions could coexist. I finished my Biology associates and began pursuing an Environmental Science Bachelor's after learning such an interdisplinary science existed.
I also joined the university's Honors college on a whim. I wanted to make my remaining time intellectually enriching. The previous university had one but I felt I wasn't 'good enough' for it. Applying was one of the best choices I made me in my life, for I was the kind of student they sought for. I met so many like-minded people with a myriad of talents and interests, all equally if not more neurospicy.
Meanwhile, my writing took different forms. I was a fervent note-taker and Notion user and bullet journal user. I wrote articles on Wordpress, created a personal knowledge management system, posted on social media. None of these are easily accessible on the public internet for the same reason why I couldn't write any more than three post on my Wordpress blog. It wasn't good enough. I hadn't done enough research; hadn't polished the word sharp enough.
Of the few that were on Medium once, I receive a comment. I remade the WorryTree method it into an Excel sheet and attached it to a post explaining how to use it. How I had been using it. In a piece of paper but I digress. This thing I wrote resonated with someone and they left a lovely comment about it. I think they also suffered from high anxiety just like me and they wanted to try it. It really stuck with me.
My point is that writing in public and writing about science, quality matters less than accessibility. Writing that matters. That persists is the one that connects with the reader. The reader has a need, a problem and if something resonates, a connection occurs. Yet I was back then, throughout my science writing internship and still am deathly afraid of not writing the first draft, of it not being 'good enough' under metrics that do not matter to the people I want to reach!
And I am. So goddamn. Mad. About It. Over and over I read how the highest quality work does not get recognition. The best rated project proposal not getting the funding (I cannot and will not look for that toot; it's somewhere in the Fediverse). How misinformation and hateful narratives are shared at astounding speeds. How Youtubers with amazing video essays have less followers than those who produce low-effort content.
If a product's quality doesn't matter in a product, then what the fuck does?
There was another error in my approach, that recognition matters. The score. The metrics. It doesn't matter. None of that mattered.
Queer Ecology
On my first semester at my second graduating university, I took my first Honors course. Geography, American Writers in the Wilderness. After I signed up for the course, I was vibrating with excitement. I did some prep work during the summer. Read about some of the authors lives and visited a museum dedicated to American writers during my trip to Chicago.
I learned about people's relationship with nature in ways my background hadn't allowed me to. I learned about the non-intentional and more than zealous genocide of the Indigenous people in what's now the U.S., met seminal nature writers of the 19th century and a sliver of the diverse writers writing about the world that exist today. This course broadened my horizons that whenever I can make a connection with any of then concepts, I will not shut up about it. It was a life changing experience.
The concept of queer ecology did not appear during this course. I learned about it from a Youtube video about queer media. I did however, met Robbin Will-Kimmerer through her book, Braiding Sweetgrass (which it seems I considered I had read enough about on that course that I did not buy the whole book. What a fool!). Looking back, the RPF speculative fiction between Thoreau and Muir that I wrote for an assignment, convinced they would get along and something more does seem to fall into that concept.
Since then, I have been starved with finding references to the concept. From a comic about a non-binary author finding solace in nature to a both at a Pride event educating about animals outside the heterosexual, gender and sexual binary (hello clown fishies who change sex, hello male seahorses who give birth, hello nautilus who behave as female to sneak into the alpha male harem to mate, and hello to albatross creating male pair bonds as a response to less female availability! And so many more). The nature IS beautifully queer. It was humans to hid and erase this diversity, crafting a narrative that suited the interests of the powerful.
Lately, I have been bogged down by labels in the rainbow. It's so commonplace in the places I visit I had forgotten humanity's labelness natural state. Queer existence outside the political. Perhaps because our existence seems so important to care about that technicalities like 'everyone is queer by nature' seemed counterproductive.
Freewriting
Since creating and consistently maintaining a website and online presence, the perfectionism I had successfully ran away from by not sharing my writing in public had returned. I had made no progress in those years. If I wanted to have any hope of becoming a science communicator, I had to face that fear head on.
My final course to graduate was an internship. Because I like making life harder for myself a challenge, I wanted to take part in a science communication internship. I applied to several and a couple of writing adjacent ones to no avail. It was only by reaching out to the internship coordinator and them contacting the rest of the faculty that I got the opportunity I craved for. Finally, I could prove myself! I could write! Test that I could really do this! Write professionally!
Oh, was I excited, but fear was ready. By the second week, I had already missed the deadline for the first piece I had set for myself. I had tried different things, looked at several topics. 'It's not good enough', a voice told me, 'nobody is gonna care about this.'
Time was ticking and I had an internship journal to fill. I poured my feelings into it with such intensity it raised the professor's concerns so I decided to set up a blog at micro.blog and chronicle my struggles in a space that bothered nobody who didn't want to be. I've found this feature of the Indie Web quite reassuring. No well-meaning person finds you or keeps coming unless they wanted to because it takes a lot of effort. There is no algorithm. Only intent. I wrote in a blog in a platform for four months and never got a single comment. I didn't want any, for the most part. That blog was more like a journal. It was intense. It was emotional. It was also public by all technicalities. I don't know if I had any followers. I don't think micro.blog has notifications for that. If it does, then I turned it off.
A lot of my journaling was about my lack of capacity for being able to write what I wanted, science. I couldn't muster a review, or a blog post, or a report. My fingers froze on top of the keyboard, unable to move forward to the next sentence.
Pragmatism was the priority, so I feel back into another passion, web development. Yada yada, I revamped the website. Then I found other website-adjacent things to work on, looked into how the lab's activities where being broadcast and realizing the lack of accessibility of website builders in 2026.
I rambled about this on the science Mastodon, no expectation of receiving anything. I had shared the draft of the blog post about the website revamp and received no feedback despite requests. I had no reason to expect anything different from such a low-effort post.
Lo and behold, in less than twenty four hours, I got two comments.
Indeed, quality does not create engagement, or connection. To receive something, I had to stop asking, hoping, expecting. Like Brennan wrote in Steal My Work, "ego doesn't serve anybody.".
I felt like a goddamn fool. I had been desperate for connection, for attention. What I previous created and shared had the sole selfish purpose and it was unfulfilled. When I asked for a scrap, I got nothing. When I asked for nothing, I got everything. Truly ironic.
After I returned from graduation, I somehow stopped desiring attention. I think perhaps because on a Mastodon introduction post at the previous instance, I got too much and got scared out of it. I eventually blogged about it and laid that vestige of... capitalism (?) behavior behind me, hopefully. Now, what I crave is belonging, community.
I joined omg.lol as a bet. No hopes. No expectations. As a safe space for LBGT+ and disabled minorities, it's as a safe bet as I could. Posting on the Mastodon instance makes me nervous. Commenting on IRC makes me a little less. I made a little /now page, create a git account, and began using the status log.
I had such a lovely first impression of the social.lol instance. The founder, Adam, was working on updating the server and broadcasts it. He invited me to join. I did. It was the night of May 1st where I heard someone I hadn't met before say hi to me. My reaction was electric. I could feel the habits I wanted to leave creep back. Tempting me. I held back as best I could. Behaved like a decent human being I hope.
Um, I don't think this is why I began to comment on Mastodon more than I post. Although that's the narrative my fingers and mind seem to want to weave in haha (embarrassed). If I didn't want to be on the spotlight in a community, then at least I could become a supporter. Just getting a few comments out, saying I like this thing or that feels more socially fulfilling than sharing toots. Yes, I have begun to become to enjoy writing comments.
I think commenting is the way. It's doing something to my online presence. Getting my name out there. Somehow. More than posting every did. People are making cool things. I like supporting people. A few kind words are no sweat of my back.
I did just write that didn't I? Even though I tend to have such low energy for socialization? When so often I can't seem to find the words to express what I'm feeling? I have been commenting quite frequently these past couple of days though so it's no lie.
Somehow, doing the thing that comes less naturally for me leads me to the most fulfilling experiences. I didn't chose to pursue writing because it came easy for me. Heck, English isn't even my first language. I do it because I'm compelled to. The path of least resistance was some Engineering or Math degree. Safe. Stable. Wise. Leaning on both of my talents. But just like that agonizing Creativing Writing course, I cannot do something unless it has meaning for me. My curiosity compels me to learn more about the world, so I chose Science. But I wanted to learn about everything, so I chose Environmental Science. I didn't want to into go research despite being what every college professor assumed I was going to pursue (because it's the default path), I had to pursue Environmental Science Writing/Communication. Until two years ago, for the past twenty six years, I didn't know this career path existed. When I graduated high school I didn't know this path existed.
Clearly, whoever started the stereotype that STEM people were smart had not met me. Hah! Regardless, while I am still terrified of writing 'serious stuff' in public, I am not wholly miserable. I consider that a privilege in and of itself.
I have created blogs outside of my website to experiment with writing in public. I think of it as semi-public, as these accounts are hard to find and hard to keep up with. This is by design. I don't want anyone to have to read at my writing unless they wanted to. I also don't want to write at anyone unless I want to. Outside mainstream social media, very nice people have kept this possibility alive. These platforms are the metaphorical soil I tread on in this digital landscape. I am but another stray netizen seeking shelter from a world of noise and pain. Never before do I appreciate the work people are doing on the internet because my well-being and so many others depend on it.
This post is an exercise of free writing kindly encourage and guided at the end of the post it's based off. I think it's length speaks about the experiences I have been holding back on sharing.
There is so much I have yet to catch up.