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Last night, I sat down to write. When I write, I pull a chair to the side of my dining table. I either light pillar candles or turn on a lamp. I pour tea or wine, I turn my phone and laptop on do not disturb, I open my notebook where I jot ideas and plot structures, and I stare at the blank page until something comes to me. I almost always write at night, when it’s quiet. From seven or eight until midnight. Occasionally, until three or four in the morning.
I intended to write more of a novel I’ve been working on and to tweak the short story I plan to use for MFA applications. If fiction wasn’t flowing, I decided I would write an essay for this publication. I read over my old writing, decided it was absolute shit, texted one of my friends who is also a writer and told her that I had lost the gift, that my talent was extinguished. It was a false start and I am actually no good at this and all out of ideas. Then I opened a new tab on my computer and started writing autofiction. Autofiction blurs the line between memoir and novel. Autofiction, at least the one I started writing, is a story from the author’s life where she gives herself permission to write what feels true without the ethical burden of fact. I have written and then rewritten a memoir but it always felt clunky and heavy and sad. I am not a heavy or sad person and I didn’t want to write a heavy sad book. So I stopped writing it.
This is not an essay about writing, this is an essay about my relationship with the internet. I am not a famous person but I am recognized and approached in public. I know that at some point, everybody I date will google me. I have not googled myself in over a year but I can imagine that they find some combination of the online presence I’ve created and other people’s speculation about my life. I imagine the search bar auto-fils with things like “Hannah Stella divorce” “Hannah Stella boat” “Hannah Stella net worth” “Hannah Stella reddit”. I am sure that at least one person has been horrified enough by what they found that it caused our relationship to end before it began. I am honestly fine with that. It is a fact of my life that I have made the decision to invite others to observe and speculate, anybody who is deeply troubled by that is likely not the one for me. That there are online forums dedicated to speculating about my private life is not my favorite thing (it is, actually, one of my least favorite things) but if I do not read those forums, they do not exist. So I do not read them. I think I have a good disposition for being online. I am largely unbothered by what people think of me. I enjoy attention. I like people and genuinely appreciate it when others approach me. I like making videos and sharing my outfits and what I am doing and reading and thinking. I have a career because of the internet. But I want to be a writer, not an influencer.
Last night, I wrote about twenty pages of a fictionalized version of what happened in my divorce. I re-read those words this morning. This is good. I thought. I might really have something here. Keep this up, keep all of this up. I canceled my Thanksgiving plans. I think, instead, I’ll go to a local restaurant alone and spend the long weekend working.
There are downsides to the internet. I do not enjoy harassment or willful misinterpretation of my words. I don’t enjoy the misogyny, which is most often propagated by other women. I despise slander about people I care about. As I was writing this, my sister texted me that she was told that people on reddit were talking about her and that it hurt her feelings. “I’m so sorry, I get it.” was all I could say.
“I’m a writer” I respond when people ask what I do. It’s true but it isn’t the whole truth, obviously. But as I write more I am overcome with the desire to make money only from writing. I have developed the dislikable artists’ affectation of wanting complete creative control over my work. All of that to say, my goal is to grow this publication and to sell books and to be able to support myself completely by writing. Making a full time income that allows for a life in New York City is a very lofty goal. If I am able to, it will only be because one day a few years ago I posted a TikTok video.
This is what I am trying to say. Almost three years ago, I made a silly TikTok video about being a housewife in Sun Valley, Idaho. Since then I have gotten divorced, made money writing, lived on a boat, moved back to New York City, restarted college. I don’t think any of those things would have happened without social media. I’m thinking about selling most of my Hermes bags. They feel like they belong to someone I almost was.
I love you,
Hannah Stella
Hannah I’m so elated to read this Moxie post. I’ve been following since the Sun Valley days and I have immense respect for you as a writer and admire how you have navigated the last few years. Cheers to what’s to come 🥂🤍