Not Safe For “Work”
Or: Lily Miller Is Trying Her Best To Feel Comfortable Being Seen As A Comedy Writer
It’s go time, baby.
Since wrapping up my most recent freelance projects, I’ve been taking the last handful of months to sit with myself and my work thus far- specifically, my comedy writing. I’m still, truthfully, working through a lot. I’ve got a lot of scribbles and half-formed ideas that need to be developed. But I also have a lot of really, really solid work. Work that probably has been ready to submit to queried agents for months, if not years.
That said, I needed all of this time to work through my own personal shit, which is its own never-ending job. I have a severe, crippling fear of being seen and celebrated as an artist for years. Honestly, I’ve been this way my whole life, but I put on a good enough mask in the Bay Area for my Shipwreck shenanigans. Once I moved to New York, though, and especially once the pandemic kicked off, my falsified confidence fell away. All that was left was my fear, and the anxiety surrounding my personal delusion that anyone who would see my work would learn to hate me as much as I do. Add in my own personal complex PTSD, depression, and whatever slew of other mental health issues I’ve struggled with, and you’ve got a very funny, very smart gal from the Midwest who has been told by many folks, online or in person or even from loved ones, that she’s only allowed to shine if she’s given permission, if it’s safe enough for her to shine.
I thought moving back to Chicago and picking up improv classes again would help me get back in the groove, but the combination of my toxic work environment and an increasingly negative experience in the theater classrooms and stages only fed my internalized shame. It’s taken nearly a year since my last improv class and since walking out of my toxic job to realize that I really, truly have nothing to be ashamed of. My work is good. My comedy is good. My performing and acting and improv is good. My writing is PHENOMENAL.
So, it’s go time. I’ve polished my query letter drafts and signed up for IMDbPro to research comedy and writing agents, and I’m starting to send emails to said agents this week.1 All I’ve ever wanted in my whole entire life is to work in film and television. Books are fine, but they were never my dream. They were a fallback dream for coming of age at a time when my family’s finances were wiped out over and over again, and I was all but told I shouldn’t pursue theater or film in college. (Which, to be frank, is a massive reason why I feel like I need permission to shine.) I tried to be a good daughter, a responsible daughter, and put myself headfirst into a white collar career track as closely aligned to my talents and interests. But working in book publishing is not how I’m supposed to be spending my time and life and energy.
That said, my Shipwreck stories, while I consider them to be an essential part of my comedy portfolio, are probably not the best material to share with film, tv, and comedy agents.
This isn’t because of the subject matter. It’s because of the length. It’s because short stories are considered literature and not entertainment (even though, yes, literature IS a form of entertainment. Just not in the day and age of TikTok and Instagram Reels). As much as I want to send my Shipwreck stories to the agents I want to work with and for, I’ve been told that those agents probably won’t be able to do anything with them. Which makes sense. If I really wanted to, I could take my satirical smutty fanfiction and rewrite them into sketches. But good god, I am REALLY FUCKING GOOD AT WRITING. I love how I’ve written these pieces. I want to celebrate them as they are, right now.
Plus, my mentors were encouraging me to just keep posting my stuff on here anyway, and since I have total ownership of my Shipwreck stories, I’m going to start reposting my satirical smut on here. Like, in a few days.
I’m writing this lil post because, although most of my current subscribers and readers already know me and my previous Shipwreck work, there are some folks reading my Substack who probably don’t want to read sexually graphic details from my classic literature and SFF fanfictions. So, if you are not comfortable with reading erotica, or erotic fanfiction, this is your cue to opt out. My Substack will likely only get weirder from here.
I’m sure some folks will say, “BuT LiLy, wHaT AboUt yOuR jOb sEaRcH?!” I do not have the energy or the time to give a damn about this having a negative impact on my job search. A friend and former colleague from my Wiley days told me years ago that I don’t want to be working for anyone who doesn’t like and appreciate the writing I was doing for the Shipwreck shows. And she’s right. Remember earlier in this post when I said my confidence fell away when I left the Bay? It’s because I felt I had to hide this part of myself to get a job, any job. And especially with having worked in social media and seeing the decrepit bowels of society find the ability to create and share soul crushing, manipulative messages online, I felt I had to hide in order to survive. Especially once I moved back to the Midwest.
But I’m over surviving, and I’m very much over censoring myself. I’ve taken years to heal a lot of dark shit and learn to waltz with my shadow, and I’m ready to fucking THRIVE. So I’m getting back to my roots, and sharing my Shipwreck stories on here.
P.S. My birthday is coming up soon! Yay! If you feel like celebrating me, you can leave a tip, or make a pledge, but most of all, I’d love to share my work with more people and grow my subscriber base. If you want to help me with that, I encourage you to forward and share my stories and comedy with your friends and families. (But maybe not your grandparents, unless they’ve got really open and humorous minds.)