I sat down to write this week’s episode knowing I wanted to write, but not knowing exactly what I wanted to say, which feels like the most honest place to begin. Last time I mentioned that I wrapped up scriptwriting, and while that wasn’t untrue, it also wasn’t the full picture. What actually happened is that we finished a few episodes and will be picking back up at a later date; however, we’re still not entirely sure when that date is. I think I was a little unclear and brushed over it, but if I’m honest, my vague-to-professionalism ratio remains just right for where I am. I’m excited, I’m proud of the work, and I’m looking forward to continuing it into the next set of episodes or possibly even a second season. I’ve had a small taste of show business before—one theatre role, modeling through high school and college—enough to understand what the culture can be like, but not enough to prepare me for this. As someone who is deeply addicted to learning, being dropped into an industry where everything is still unfolding, and the limits aren’t visible yet, feels incredibly energizing.
At the same time, I’ve noticed that I haven’t written in my journal in quite a while, and I miss it in a way that sneaks up on me late at night and early in the morning. I’ll feel the urge to write and then hesitate, not because I don’t want to, but because the notebook itself feels wrong. It has no spine, it’s bulky, it doesn’t fold down into a single sheet, and it hurts my wrist because I write like a Notre Dame monk whose only remaining value to the world is her cursive. It also gives me paper cuts that make me look like a teenager going through quite a terrible time. It’s a beautiful notebook, leather wrapped, textured recycled paper, but maybe that’s exactly the problem. It’s built for permanence, and I think I’m currently in a phase that requires something a little less sacred and a little more forgiving. So maybe I’ll get myself a new notebook for my birthday this Saturday. One that bends, perhaps, one that doesn’t injure me.
I’ve been thinking about whether I should bring the voiceovers back for each episode, which is ironic considering my voice is currently cracked, gone, and spiritually located in California on fentanyl. At the beginning of this series, I recorded myself reading every episode because I thought it might give the series a little extra leverage and help me reach more people: readers, listeners, anyone willing to stay. The truth is, recording myself each week wasn’t really adding anything. It didn’t change how the writing landed, and it didn’t change how people connected to it. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to turn this into a podcast and upload the audio elsewhere, because that isn’t what this story wants to be right now.
After skipping the audio for a few episodes, I put up a poll and asked all of you whether I should continue it. With the sweeping number (or more accurately, the number swept quietly under your rug), responding, I decided not to. It also made sense practically. Writing an episode from rambling to sending usually takes me about two to four hours, depending on how critical I am of myself that day. Recording the audio took roughly the same amount of time but required a far more controlled environment. You need a quiet space, solid equipment, and in my case, three different softwares programs to clean, revise, and tune the audio, because yes, I am a perfectionist and no, I am not interested in pretending otherwise. Throughout the week, when I have a notebook that bends and doesn’t cut me, I’m constantly jotting things down for the episode. By Wednesday, I usually have an outline built out, and from there I ramble, adjust transitions, revise, and then cross my fingers, close my eyes, and send it to your inbox.
I know I’ve said before that I created this series as a way to open up, get social, and let people see what I’m doing and who I am, but what I didn’t anticipate was how much it would change the way I move through the world outside of it. I’ve caught myself mid-conversation with strangers, thinking, Oh my god, Sheridan, did you just overshare? And then I realize that I didn’t actually overshare at all. It only feels that way because of how much of myself I kept reserved for so long, how used I was to keeping my inner life contained and carefully managed, like something that needed supervision.
I used to believe that branding was everything, and in some ways, I still do. I was an odd kid, and if I noticed my peers, parents, or siblings shying away from something, I often did too, or I learned how to keep it hidden, like hiding in my closet to play with my sister’s Barbies because I was the football-playing tomboy daughter. I carried that instinct with me for years. My first semester of college, I was so quiet and reserved that people thought I was a Russian exchange student, and the fact that I wore fur, pearls, and stilettos every day definitely didn’t help clear that up. I actually spent two weeks alone in my room trying to teach myself a Russian accent. When I failed, horribly, I might add, I decided to let the rumor die with the semester and kept up my mute act.
As women, we’re taught not to let anyone know we’ve been treated with anything less than perfection. We’re taught that if we reveal negative patterns in our lives, we risk inviting those patterns back in, consciously or subconsciously. This isn’t to say that I became reserved because of a bad boyfriend—that’s not the story here. What my life has shown me instead is that I learned to rely on restraint as power. I stayed quiet. I stayed composed. I used my outfits, my hair, my posture, and my body language to control the image people formed of me. Whether that meant pant suits with a clean ponytail and no lipstick at work, or showing up to a local creatives bar in a silk necktie, stockings, and a blouse that suggested I wasn’t American, I understood branding deeply. For a very long time, it was the primary way I knew how to enter a room.
This year, though, has shifted something internally. Landing a new writing gig, finishing new pieces, and having publishers reach out weekly this month has forced me to recognize what’s actually carrying me forward. The branding I curated so carefully does its job when I need it, and I’m grateful for that, but it isn’t my greatest strength. What’s carrying me now is everything underneath it—my voice, my curiosity, my willingness to be seen without armoring myself first.
So for my birthday this Saturday, I plan on being the queen of the dance floor. I’ll blow out my candles, wish for my writing career to continue growing, and thank all of you for staying with me through what has been an absolutely insane, dramatic year, one that still doesn’t feel real.
xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
WhatSheridanSaid.com
Life Behind the Artist: Wed at 9/8C
