How I fell back in love with writing
Celebrating two years of Adryan's POV
Today marks two years of Adryan's POV! Support me as a paid subscriber on Substack, or send me a tip via ko-fi or Venmo (@ADRYANC215) for a comped subscription.
As a literature student at a small public liberal arts college, I believed the myth that successful writers drove themselves to depression over the dedication to their work. This was mostly influenced by larger cultural canon of The Greats, many of who were miserable old white dudes.
Ernest Hemingway’s influence especially was weaved into my personal life. I reblogged his infamous "write drunk, edit sober" quote on Tumblr from my dorm room. I was assigned “Hills Like White Elephants” in an intro to creative writing class.1 A college roommate was gifted a copy of Alcohol and the Writer by Donald Goodwin—a text exploring Hemingway and other Great (white male) Writer relationship with alcohol as well as the high rate of alcoholism among writers more generally—for her birthday. My college boyfriend received a vintage copy of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls from his fraternity brothers on his birthday.2
Similarly to Hemingway, I thought it must be noble to find your work miserable. There were high stakes of self-sacrifice: your writing must drain you of everyone and everything you love.
During my sophomore year, another influential (but living) writer Joyce Carol Oates spoke at my college. Though I'm still hardly familiar with her body of fiction work as I was over a decade ago, she was overwhelmingly commended for her output that night. She has published over 60 novels and nearly 50 short-story collections, stats I can only expect from my Sim character assigned to the Writing career. During the Q&A portion of the event, she was asked, "How do you do it?" As a full-time writer, she’s able to dedicate her life to writing, and therefore, it was her only priority professionally.
I, too, have been a working writer in journalist. When I freelance journalist full-time years ago, drained was understatement. I relied on sativa bong rips and black coffee throughout the day—and occasional Citywide Special, a shot of whiskey with PBR for a then-$4—to keep up, despite struggling with an undiagnosed sleep disorder that often made me restless at night, prone to ruminating about story deadlines and other late stage capitalist woes. By my mid-20s, with a few years of therapy under my belt, I didn’t want to be drained emotionally and physically in order to be a Successful Writer, but it was because I needed to survive—to afford my rent and overall cost of living in a major U.S. city. I listened "This Must Be My Dream" by The 1975 on repeat yet I was absolutely miserable; most of the time spent in therapy was spent speculating whether this was all worthwhile.
Between hustling for the next assignment, following up on late invoices, scheduling interviews with sources, and researching subject matter, I never felt I did enough actual writing despite working beyond eight hours a day. On the outside, I churned out story after story for notable outlets. By then, I finally started being asked, "How do you do it?" Do what, survive? I scoffed, baffled. How was I getting asked the same question as Carol Oates? I hadn’t even published a single book.
I realized that I was recognized far more often for being a prolific writer than the actual quality and impact of my storytelling, which exacerbated my already-worsening depression. I realized I much would rather write One Really Good Story a month than a dozen mediocre ones.3
When quarantine hit almost five years ago, I finally had the chance to figure out how to pivot. Luckily, it wasn't difficult to break into the tech industry as a copywriter and later content marketing strategist. Journalism's reputation gave me social capital and privilege in my career shift. Five years later, I—rather precariously—work in tech as my day job essentially to support myself as an artist in contemporary times.4 I recently joked—or perhaps maybe half-so—to a close writing friend that in 1928, Hemingway was published in the Brooks Brother catalog; how twisted that today's equivalent is probably writing "content" for VC-backed tech companies.
Two years ago, though, there was a personal shift: I started this newsletter. After years of indecision about a unifying theme, I realized the common thread was me—thus, Adryan’s POV was born. Suddenly, writing wasn't something that filled me with existential dread. It became something that filled my cup, rather than emptying it dry.
In 2024, there are many writing-related achievements to celebrate:
This week, I hit a milestone: 400 subscribers!
My essay about grieving my estranged ex who passed away was my first piece to hit over 1,000 views on Substack.
That grief essay was republished in a zine anthology and distributed in-person at Philly Zine Fest 2024.
After seven months of unemployment, I left a toxic tech job after five weeks—along with the highest salary and best health insurance I’d ever had (RIP)—after not publishing or writing for a month, which ate at my creative soul.
In my first year of paid subscriptions, I made over $400, which isn't too shabby for a small creator, especially one without brand partnerships.
I pitched a book proposal about growing up online at a literary pitch fest in November.5 Three—three!—literary agents are interested in my book proposal, which I have been diligently working the past month.
I went viral on Substack Notes—and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian author Sherman Alexie replied.
I finished my first full-length screenplay, a decade after taking my first screenwriting class.
My successes as a writer wouldn't be possible without an audience. Sure, I could otherwise be shouting into the void, but having an eager, supportive audience is what makes this all worthwhile. This newsletter has brought me closer to what I love. After years of burnout as a working writer, this newsletter reignited my love for writing.
I'm eternally grateful. Thank you for being here.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Rachel Klein’s McSweeney’s essay, Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants” From the “Girl’s” Point of View, as a silly yet brillant rebuttal to the original short story.
A Lindsay Lohan cameo is only $525, everyone!
Admittedly, especially earlier in my writing career, I wasn’t invested or interested in the stories or subjects I wrote (electoral politics, Kyle Jenner’s lip fillers, etc.).
"Work in tech," I was told! "Work in tech" are the words that haunt me, after having been laid off twice in 2023.
Whoever decided to start a professional event the morning of November 6, 2025, we need to have a talk.
So beautiful
So many great milestones! Woooohoo!