Semilingual : C'est MOI
Not what I had in mind, but here I am.
Historically, my writing life and my online life have always been pretty parallel. Once upon a time, I had a Livejournal, MySpace, Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram. There are so many reasons to hate these platforms– the way they monopolize our attention, sell our data, extract affective energy that could be put toward more noble activities, like art or revolution– but in some very essential way, for better or worse, they offer forms of self-publishing that satisfy the desire to be encountered in a more immediate manner than those afforded via traditional magazine and book publishing.
I think of a line from Simple Passion by Annie Ernaux, translated by Tanya Leslie:
“It is a mistake therefore to compare someone writing about his own life to an exhibitionist, since the latter has only one desire: to show himself and to be seen at the same time.”
Do I want to be seen? No. I want to be read.
It may be early yet in this new experiment - a newsletter? a blog? a reader’s diary? - to explore the difference between being seen and being read.
I would like to be perceived through the veil of writing.
Therefore I must not only write, but also publish if I wish to be perceived.
For the past 2-3 years, I was focussed on reading and writing fiction. That was … different, and I hope to do it again, but not right away. After finishing the novella last Fall, some desire was satiated. Now that I am “in-between projects,” I would like to return to this sprawling associative form: the essay, feeling more emboldened after reading Lauren Markham’s Immemorial (Transit Books, 2025) which I really enjoyed.
I happened to come of age as a writer in the era of the personal essay. I have affection for that mode as I also periodically reflect on its limitations. I also feel pretty rehearsed in the routinely self-valorizing rhetorical mode and form of the caption that accompanies Instagram, but after 12 years, I’m exhausted by the hierarchy that places words second to images. If I feel fatigued or unrewarded (paradoxically unseen?) by the practice of depicting my ideas via some grid or carousel aesthetic, then perhaps it makes sense I should arrive here, to Substack. Maybe it’s the battening down of the intellectual and expressive hatches in the US that is happening now, but I feel like an idea machine and I want to be euphemistic that in this fairly nascent technology, I can be reunited with my ideas, or encounter them anew. I will likely continue to use image-making and picture-taking as part of my creative process, but I don’t know that I wish to rely on Instagram to visualize that part of my practice as much as I used to.
Both Tumblr followed by Instagram helped marry what had been a developing personal interest in visual culture with writing and online publishing. However, when I began using those platforms, I was a 22 year old grad student living in Brooklyn, interested in exploring the relationship between image and voice, self and art. Alt lit and gurlesque writing movements were this backdrop upon which to participate in alternative socialities and subcultures whose interests revolved around art, feminism, performance, theory, and the internet. Some memorable classics from that era: Megan Boyle's selected unpublished blog posts of a mexican panda express employee, Chelsey Minnis' Bad Bad, Ariana Reines' The Cow. I love these books, and I still have a lot of affection for the digital selves that carried me through that time (RIP worn out joy or my old OKcupid handle, grifted from a Sylvia Plath bio: pain.parties.work).
So what is this? Why write a newsletter when I could embark on something that might be perceived as more ambitious, is eligible to receive funding (like a book), or promise to spin off into other opportunities? (This newsletter will be mostly "free" unless you want to opt-in to pay. Some select posts will only be available to subscribers).
The short answer is: I want to write. And I would like to do so in some kind of transitional space that isn't intended to become anything other than what it is (but again, who knows what this log will become; my intentions today are likely to evolve over time). I also want to think in a manner that is a little unweildy and less rehearsed.
While I did not come of age in an MFA environment, my life as a writer coincided with pursuing various professional roles and relationships because of my interest in publishing. This "professional" relationship to writing has only intensified over the years, and while I mostly enjoy it, and am grateful for the support, I'm also wary of chasing some model minority exceptionalist career as a tenured dancing bear. Rather than seek time off, I’m seeking time to replenish my artistic reserves and rewire my brain before officially embarking on a next book. By committing to a public writing practice, I’m setting time aside to be breezy while my brain heals from the pain-staking and detail-oriented labor of writing and publishing fiction and poetry.
While any financial contribution would help support me, as of right now, I’m not really here to monetize my writing practice so much as recommit to my practice and continue experimenting with alternative forms of self-publishing in ways that harken back to an earlier moment in my creative life. Before I published anything in journals like Fence or Academy of American Poets, I was publishing my little fragments on Tumblr. The world of online publishing has changed a great deal since then, as have I, and now I want to honor my capacity to think. Instagram privileges superficial forms of engagement, but I’m not a salesperson or an influencer, and I don’t feel personally energized by making content… I write. And writing is not without effort for reader or writer. I don’t feel like I need to be secretive or embarrassed by that anymore. With Instagram, I started to feel like so much could be perceived, and so little returned. That is the addictive nature of the swipe and scroll function. You keep looking for something that never really materializes. The boredom and sameness reminds me of those final months spent living in New York cruising the dating apps. I did not like the worldview I had been fostering as a result of that practice. I feel similarly now.
So what do I mean to convey with this title…?
I decided to call my Substack Semilingual* because I realized all the handles I was initially excited by seemed to harken to an earlier internet era (one other contender was “PURA BASURA” … there’s a joke in there somewhere?), whereas Semilingual* tracks with what I hope to reflect upon in this space: fiction, poetry, writing, language, and literature in translation. I asked Robyn of wwwork to design the wordmark, among some of the other features. We briefly exchanged some words on the subject of Substack’s standarized template. Possibly frustrating for a designer in that it refuses too much customization, but exhilarating for a writer insofar as this forced minimalism can draw the focus back to the content. It’s incredibly easy to hide behind images and aesthetics when you are lacking in considered ideas. With writing, not so much (on Instagram, I think I appear dumber than I actually am: not good. I thought at first this was because I am not “good” at Instagram, but then I started to realize this is a function of the app). Maybe an app with a limited word count is good if you don’t actually have that much to say, beyond, BUY THIS / LOVE ME.
I realize: what I have to say might be better said here, under this new banner, Semilingual* : I found the word in a linguistics manual. It's a term that describes a person who knows multiple languages, but is not fluent in any. C'est MOI. I am ESL (english-second-language) and ELL (english-language-learner). I’m not claiming this as some kind of imperiled or minority identity, but it is an important part of my narrative because it helps me articulate via some stupid shorthand the nature of my interests. The way I want to think about literature is from this vantage point, as a stranger: someone who is a half-step removed. Semilingual* is a deviation from more recognizable forms of fluency. The root lingua invokes for me the image of the tongue, 👅 , in emoji speak, and that harkens back to the insubordination / soft subversion of the gurlesque. The internet says the tongue emoji may be used as “a childish sign of defiance”— as I said to Robyn: that is very on brand! But the asterisk, like a footnote, also hints at some sense of possibility beyond speech or subversion. In tandem, all these elements suggest a disinterest in mastery, exactitude, or strict definition. This tracks with my personal history: I have a PhD in English, but my first language was Spanish, and as I rediscovered on a recent trip to Montréal, it turns out I can read a little French. But to invoke the writer Ágota Kristóf: I AM AN ILLITERATE.
My hope is that here, I can pull back from the personal announcements and commission-based logic of publishing so I can be more impulsive and less polished. I also hope writing under my own banner will free me from the obligation of fitting myself into some other organization’s, curator’s or masthead’s house style or editorial vision. I want a longer leash, and until someone gives me a column (ha-ha): this is it.
Am I worried my essence will be demystified in some way? Yes. My dreams of having a 1 sentence Anne Carson style bio so I can pen a newsletter feel unceremoniously dashed away. Whatever. Like so many other platforms and publishing technologies, this one probably won't last forever. Am I nervous my present, past, and future employers, co-workers, and students may read it, and this will extinguish whatever fantasies may be floating around about me? A little– but I'll get over it.