Recently I took a break from social media for a few months. Not a real break (who takes a real break), but I deactivated some and didn’t post on another for a while, paralysed by the strange pressure of immortalising a moment. There was a sense of doubt in my images, of what was seen and the value in what was seen, questioning what was even beautiful to me. But I missed it. Even as social media generally disintegrates around us, I miss it; the people I found there. My first friends in London. The conversation with strangers who slipped into reality and stayed there, sometimes.
More generally, also recently, lately I have the sense of a swimming back up to the surface of something. Hunger for cold air and light. I want conversations with strangers and not-strangers again. To observe the world and share (and overshare) in it. To write what I see and feel and hopefully for these things to be useful and interesting to you.
A little about me: I’m Sophie Mackintosh, a fiction writer, author of three novels (The Water Cure, Blue Ticket, Cursed Bread.) My shorter work has appeared in the New York Times, Granta, The White Review, The Stinging Fly and more. The first thing I remember feeling joy about writing was a story on my grandfather’s ancient computer. The second thing was an elaborate series of letters to a pen-pal who never replied. Maybe this is somewhere between the two. (But do reply.)
I know everyone has a newsletter now, so I won’t bother your inbox more than twice a month. Mostly things will be free, except for more personal or longer essays, and sometimes exclusive short fiction.
My first ‘real’ letter will be in a few days. Hope to see you then.