“Art doesn’t owe anything to anyone. Songs are about how it felt, not the facts. Self-expression is about what it feels to live, not whether you had the right to claim any emotions at the time.” ~Taylor Jenkins Reid (Daisy Jones & the Six)
Hi everyone, it’s me, Lauren. I’m writing—sometimes a little bit, sometimes a lot. All I know is that, right now, I’ve got things to say: memories to reconstruct, grudges to forgive, relationships to reframe, hurts to heal. Luckily for me (and maybe you?), writing is one of the only ways I can move on from plagues, pain, and people. Intertwined in fiction, essays, and now blogs I write are the remnants of my past, the faults within myself I’m ready to let go of. People I’m prepared to let go of. At this point in my life, to be completely honest, I fear being seen in such a way. There’s a certain level of vulnerability in creating art that derives from the assumption that art is borne from the depths of ourselves.
So, to ease myself in a bit, I’ve given myself the gift of creative freedom in this unfiltered blog. I’ll ruminate and expose myself. I’ll dig up the pieces I thought were too personal to share. I’ll write what I’ve been waiting to write, once paralyzed by the terror of naked vulnerability, is now dissipating into power. I’ll be, for lack of a better term, emotionally slutty. The thing about sharing your scariest truths is that maybe, just maybe, they’ll reach someone who’s suffered the same scars you have. And maybe you’ll help that person feel seen and feel less alone. It’s why I wanted to become a writer in the first place. Brutal honesty has only ever taken weight off my shoulders, never the other way around.
Consider this Lauren’s Version of media like “Late Night Drive with Ellie Schnitt,” “Sex and the City,” or Sylvia Plath’s integration of her life into her novel, The Bell Jar. In just a few months (74 days, if anyone was counting), New York City will be the backdrop, just as in Ellie, Carrie, and Sylvia’s stories.
Welcome to Emotionally Slutty. These are my stories, and I have the right to turn them into art if I please. Art owes nothing to anybody, and that’s the most comforting part.
