Freelance writing is HARD. I still, technically, haven’t become a freelance author, I haven’t yet gotten paid for my work. It’s that cutthroat of a business. Almost all of my peers on Twitter are freelancers and get bylines all the time. I struggle to publish one or two pieces a year, but I have much more prolific success on my own personal Medium page.
By self-publishing, I can talk about whatever I want, which, 90% of the time, is television. I recap The Bachelor, I discuss Frasier, whatever. In June of 2018 Netflix released Nanette, a sort of anti-comedy comedy special by Hannah Gadsby. I had heard about Nanette from its run at the Edinburgh Fringe festival but when it was released on Netflix it took the Internet by storm. Everyone had a hot take about it, including me. But my hot take included references to a whole other work.
James Acaster’s Repertoire, a series of four connected stand up specials, was released on Netflix in April. I watched it maybe four or five times a day, discovering something new each time. It was low key, it was whimsical, it was silly, everything that Nanette was not. But I still found myself comparing the two.
At three AM one June night I started writing my thoughts of the works, about how Nanette is made for the cisgender and heterosexual, how it reinforces the hate I face every day, and how Repertoire is my escape into something else. I didn’t edit it at all, much to my own detriment. I had to retroactively correct many typos in the following weeks.
I published the piece at 8 am the next morning. My peers in publishing read it and started recommending it in threads debating the worth of Nanette. It easily became my most read piece on my Medium page.
In the early hours of the fourth of July, I weirdly woke up, not my usual routine at all. Groggily, I checked my phone. James Acaster just followed me on Twitter. The creator of Repertoire himself. I quickly gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out what to do next. Because he followed me, I was allowed to send him Direct Messages. I carefully composed a message with a link to my piece and how much Repertoire meant to me. Before my eyes, I watched him text a response.
He read my work. He loved it. He saw Nanette and it made his work seem frivolous, but my piece reminded him why he does comedy and why it’s worth it.
My work did that. My work encouraged someone who encouraged me. Skills that I learned and honed here at Agnes put me in touch with someone who saved my life. In the future, all I want to do is chase that feeling of worth I got when James responded to me. It means everything to me.
