Finishing my first draft - And how the rest of my life feels neglected.

Substackers,

A lot of you who follow me are writers, so you can probably understand the excitement I feel right now.

On October 21st, I finished the first/rough draft of a story I technically started back in 2005-2006.

The story has evolved millions of times—concepts, characters, endings have all changed a ton. And that’s before I even started writing this manuscript. It wasn’t until earlier this year, after finally realizing what my story was, that I was able to piece together a cohesive narrative.

Some of it’s posted on my Substack, but a lot has changed from that draft. Starting with the title: Angel, Mixtapes, and Everything I Learned About Love. This title better captures what the story is actually about.

For years, I couldn’t explain what I was writing.

People would constantly ask, “What’s your story about?” And since I was completely in the trenches—adding lessons, character traits, conclusions—it was hard to sum up in a way that could be easily explained, especially in our TikTok-brain era. Basically, I didn’t have an elevator pitch.

Then there was the judgment side of things. The part that worries about being vulnerable. Being seen as less than a “man.” Here I was writing a story about Black family trauma in a way that was more The Perks of Being a Wallflower than Boyz n the Hood. I was writing about old relationship(s), and characters that people close to me might think are them or someone they know.

So what did I do? What do I recommend if you’re having the same issues?

I said fuck it.

If the creative portion of your brain is telling you to create something, create it. Go film it, sing it, write it—whatever. And when it’s done, consume it. Then you can decide whether it’s worth sharing or just something you needed to do.

But sitting and wondering about things outside your control will only result in sleepless nights. Not producing something your spirit feels called to create will only result in hurting yourself.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Maya Angelou beautifully captured the feelings I’ve felt for 20 years. Nagging dreams. Paragraphs of stories going nowhere. Waking up in the middle of the night feeling like I’m not doing something I should be.

So start it and finish it. It doesn’t have to be shared. Doesn’t have to be perfect. You can keep working on it, you can keep it for yourself. But you can’t deny yourself the moment of knowing you finally told YOUR story.

As for my story:

I “finished” the first draft on October 21st. Told myself I would print copies on Lulu.com, take a break, and return to editing in 2026.

So naturally, I went to print it, saw a few sentences I didn’t like, and rewrote a whole chapter. Then that chapter threw off a different one, so I rewrote another. Added a character. Changed another one.

Basically, I’m saying—it took everything in me to stop.

I finally submitted my own personal copies of my rough draft to print on November 1st. The cover was too big. The back cover didn’t fit. And I literally don’t care.

In a few days, I will have something in my hands that proves I can finish things.

Here’s what I won’t romanticize:

I’ve avoided social gatherings, neglected my mental health, fallen behind on things, elevated things I shouldn’t have—all in the name of creativity. I don’t recommend any of it. Each step, every time I opened Google Docs, I felt like I was neglecting something else.

But I also know this: that nagging feeling—the untold story—was worse than any of it.

So if you’re sitting on something, if there’s a story you’ve been carrying for years, if you keep telling yourself “someday”—

Start it. Finish it. Even if it’s messy. Even if no one ever reads it but you.

You deserve to know what it feels like to hold your story in your hands.