A few things . . . an update, sort of

→ The other day, somebody unsubscribed from my newsletter and left the following feedback: “If I bought a paid subscription, the other person would at least subscribe to my site for free. That bothers me. I don't like the one sided nature of subscribing. I thought this was about helping each other out.” Listen, I can’t keep up with the ninety newsletters I’m already subscribed to and have over 200 unread posts in my inbox. There are dozens of newsletters I wish I could subscribe to but don’t because what would be the point? To subscribe to newsletters all willy-nilly and never read them would only be a slap in the face, I think, to the people who write them. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want people who subscribe to my newsletter to read my words. I understand we’re all busy. Some subscribers might not read my posts until a week or two after I publish them, and that’s fine. I get it. I, too, am busy, which is why I can’t subscribe to every newsletter that interests me. It’s not personal, nor is it personal when I don’t respond to a comment or promise to read your article and then don’t. I forget. It’s not you, it’s me. Notifications pile up. Shit gets lost in the mix. And—I’m busy. No, I am overwhelmed. I’m flailing around over here, trying to keep my life together. I want to help writers here, and I think I do. I try to, but I can’t help everybody. Not to mention, how would my subscribing to a newsletter I don’t have time to read help anybody? → A big thank you, hugs and kisses, high fives, ass grabs, and back slaps to my paying subscribers. Thank you for your continued support. It helps tremendously. If you’d like to help support this publication, you can do so here for $5 a month or $50 a year. No pressure. → Near the bottom is a poll and links to some memorable pieces of mine. I noticed new subscribers rarely read older posts, so I selected some favorites to see if anybody might be interested. I didn’t include the series on addiction because I ran out of room, so here is “Dancing with My Daughter”. It is the last essay in the series and is free. The first two essays of the series have paywalls after a few pages. → Here’s a cycle I can’t seem to break: I’ll work on an essay for a week and then switch to writing fiction until I look up, notice the date, do the math, and realize a week has passed since I published the essay. I panic and rifle through index cards and loose leaves, searching for an idea. Sometimes, I pick through scraps in untitled documents, find a sentence or two I like, and expand it without knowing where it’s headed. I’ll put the fiction aside and work only on the essay. Many people can probably bounce between forms without hassle. I cannot. I need to be alone and uninterrupted for at least twelve hours to write one usable page of fiction. My mind must be free of reality, empty of my surroundings, devoid of other work, and unfettered by my self-consciousness. A week later (two weeks after my last essay), I’ll publish the new piece and take a victory lap, excited to move on and torture my characters. Yet, instead of writing fiction, I respond to your comments. I enjoy your comments and our discussions, but it’s easy to get sidetracked because of them. Twenty-four hours later, I’ll spend two days readjusting my mindset. On the third day, post-publishing, I start writing new scenes. On the fourth day, I delete those scenes. On the fifth day, I jumble the story and decide to go in a different direction. I spend two or three days trying to piece together an alternative narrative, rounding out characters, and writing more false starts. Then, one morning, I’ll notice the date, do the math, realize a week has passed since I published my previous essay, and restart the cycle. → I’m learning to write shorter stories, something I should’ve done from the beginning. Three- to five-page stories seem more suitable for Substack than twenty-page stories. Also, shorter stories should take less time, though not as much as you might think. Deciding what details to omit and how to say what you want to say without saying it is a difficult task. But not having to worry about elaborate backstories and fully fleshed-out characters will relieve some pressure in my head. → The poll below is for paid subscribers, but free subscribers are welcome to answer the question in the comments. It would be helpful. Coffee Can Upgrade Subscription Don’t Look Down is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Upgrade to paid SUBSCRIBER-ONLY POLL What would you like to read more of? Fiction Prose like "Longing not to Belong" Profound gibberish like "Mashup" Personal essays Addiction and sobriety Longing not to Belong COREY SMITH · OCTOBER 20, 2023 Longing not to Belong Everything has its place, a keepsake, a date, admitting mistakes. I talk of tomorrow too often because prudence mocks my relationship with today and exacerbates yesterday’s headache. But it hurts in a different way, one in which I can’t place my body in the right place. Between locations and limbs, my wish for comfort … Read full story The Act COREY SMITH · NOVEMBER 19, 2022 The Act To begin what unequivocally will be a miscarried first newsletter, I shall shed a few foxed leaves of paper armor and dip into vulnerability. Consider it a necessary preface to explain today’s title and subject, which is (where did that outline go?) . . . Read full story Mashup #01 COREY SMITH · OCTOBER 6, 2023 Mashup #01 I sometimes wish I had insomnia. I might get more done. Eh, I would probably just open the fridge more often and stare at the yogurt I should’ve tossed last month. Do you think lonely people feel more lonely after reading an article about loneliness? I don’t understand. Being alone is freedom, especially when you’re so… Read full story The Blue Heron COREY SMITH · OCTOBER 16, 2023 The Blue Heron Three things happened at the animal shelter that day. One was we adopted a diabetic cat so old that he could’ve died on the way home. Much to my dismay, he didn’t. He walked with a limp, was blind in one eye, grossly overweight, and if not hissing, he wheezed. Oh, and he was black. It was because I wanted the friendly kitten with white fur and orange stripes that my daughter called me a racist. That was the second thing that happened. Very casually and without indignation, she could’ve been talking about Christmas or lipstick, no inflection, utterly impassive, “Don’t be a racist, dad,” and she giggled. For a moment, I thought I’d imagined it. I said I wanted her to have a cat she could play with for a really long time—one capable of using the stairs. “I don’t care if he can’t play. I want to help him. He’s oppressed.” Read full story How Can You Not Hear What I Hear? COREY SMITH · JAN 7 How Can You Not Hear What I Hear? I am constantly baffled at how difficult it is to communicate with people. Very naïve of me, I know. Kevin Powers frames it superbly in The Yellow Birds: “What is said is never what was thought, and what is heard is never quite what was said.” Maybe I hear a condescending tone in your voice, and because I abho… Read full story You’re currently a free subscriber to Don’t Look Down. For the full experience and to help this publication survive, you can upgrade your subscription here. Shh—I won’t tell anybody. It’ll be our secret. But seriously, it’s only five bucks. Either way, you’re awesome, and I appreciate you. © 2024 Corey Smith 548 Market Street PMB 72296, San Francisco, CA 94104 ...