Authored By Alyssa

diary of a melancholy marketer: entry #3

I struggled to put pen to paper all week. I journaled maybe twice, and I wrote a handful of titles and subtitles, trying to force my muse to come. For the life of me, I could not find an idea worthy of exploring. Getting agitated because the week was halfway over—I didn’t have a rough draft written, and I’m traveling Friday evening (so when will there be time to write before Saturday morning when the newsletter goes out?)— I needed inspiration to strike.

So what did I do?

The Spiral of (alleged) Procrastination

I scrolled through Substack, Pinterest, dodged TSITP spoilers on TikTok, and thought about writing. I read a few chapters from my current book rotation:

• Blue Sisters: a birthday gift from a friend

• Sophie’s World: where I found my OG bookmark from 2010 when I first read it

• One Last Stop: my smutty book club’s August read

I listened to Olivia Dean’s new single, went to the mall with my mom (thought about writing), took my dog for a walk, got my nails done, and played Tiny Bookshop on my Switch (while feeling guilty about not writing).

In the fictional town of Bookstonbury-by-the-Sea, you play the owner of a small mobile used bookstore and sell your wares to the most literate population to ever exist. As you play, you unlock different locations around town, learn the town lore, and get invited to events.

After spending a few days selling books in front of a cafe, flea market, and the beach, Tilde (the former town bookseller, who is quite opinionated and addicted to crime novels) invited my sim to attend a bonfire at the beach. To celebrate the beginning of fall, several of the villagers and I wrote our fears on bits of paper and burned them in the fire. Tilde said that whatever fears I burned would be with the wind, and I could go into this new season unburdened.

The Muse (kinda) Strikes

After spending most of the day behind a laptop working, I honestly felt a little guilty logging on to play. I was going from a big screen to a little screen. I was messing around instead of taking my craft seriously. After two weeks of posting on Substack, my discipline was already waning. But I had a headache from designing graphics and writing social media copy all day—and I really didn’t want this newsletter to become a chore. The spiral was on a loop in the back of my head as I played.

Watching the embers disappear into the night sky, I remembered that creativity doesn’t exist in a vacuum; it comes from what you consume. It’s something I say all the time to my team of young women who are just getting started in this industry.

Look for inspiration everywhere.

It’s a poem you see on your feed. Your favorite artist’s album cover art. Something your mom said to you in the car. What the sky looks like when you walk your dog. In conversations you overhear at the nail salon. A videogame bonfire.

Creativity dies in the chasm between two extremes.

Now, there’s a time and place for discipline, diva. Some situations require wearing noise-cancelling headphones, tossing your phone across the room, and writing with intense focus. Too often, though, I’ve observed creatives putting unnecessary pressure on themselves (shocker, I know). We are marketed the idea that it’s all or nothing.

My daily screen time is either 34 minutes or 6 hours and 34 minutes. I’m either getting up at 5 a.m. for a complicated morning routine, or I sleep in until 8:55 a.m., feeling guilty for not seizing the day. One week, I’m breaking up with the hustle. Next, I’m devouring articles on how to grow my subscriber list.

Creativity dies in the chasm between two extremes.

Diary of a Melancholy Marketer is a newsletter I’m writing to make sure I don’t fall out of love with content creation. It’s a space for me to remember how to write without using AI (more on that later) and muse to my nine glorious subscribers (hi, I love you!).

Of course, my muse came to me in the form of a cozy book-themed video game. Why—because this newsletter and Tiny Bookshop bring me joy. Musings need joy. Otherwise, it’s all melancholy. And who wants to write and read that?