Why am I even here? Discuss.

The task was simple: record an audiobook version of my second novel, Crash Bang Burn. I was ready. I had the equipment. I had emotional support. I had technical know-how. I even had a cup of tea.

Go ahead, Dawn. Mic is live. All ya gotta do is read your story in 3…2…1…

Three pages in? Yeah, no. The only thing crash-bang-burning was me. It wasn’t just hard. The soundproof booth became a fiery echo chamber of my own merciless stupidity. My words, my voice, and finally the entire summation of my life’s work: nothing was safe from the brimstone. I collapsed inward like a dying star, dabbing my tears on the print-outs.

Chris sat at the opposite mic, pensive as I withered. He told me to start smaller.  Forget the audiobook. Read one paragraph of something else, something more accessible.  So, I did. I picked one of the first essays I’d ever put on this blog, and read it aloud for him. What followed was a confessional about the futility (and irresistible possibility) of making art, raising children, and trying not to lose hope –  while feeling stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.

I thought about all the other artists who, like me, were also not marketing and business geniuses. For me, the only thing more depressing than hearing another artist self-promote, was hearing myself do the same thing. But at a time and in a corner of the world when art is treated as insignificant, we outliers are often left to ponder the void.

“Why am I fucking HERE?” I asked Chris.

And he said: “That’s a good title.”

It’s not always easy to broadcast a snapshot of yourself wallowing in your deepest fears and frustrations.  But I learned a lot and came out the other end feeling lighter and wiser – which is what I love so much about writing in the first place: absolution through confession.

I look forward to continuing the discussion. For now, here’s Chris and me in “Shipwrecked’ – the first episode of our podcast “Why Are We Here.”

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