Seven years ago I sat down to write. What, I did not know. That would take time to figure out. At some level the figuring is still happening, if I’m honest — though now the bulk of the work is done and resides outside of myself. I’ve closed a chapter on that period in my life. Ten of ’em, actually.

“I am Andersen,” it began.

If that sounds purposeful, let me clarify that it wasn’t. I had no character vision or story arc in mind, I was simply trying to write about my experience, without writing only about myself. So I slipped into a pseudonym, a rented identity to get me feeling frisky enough to join in the cosplay of fiction. I couldn’t tell you where it came from or if I even considered it anything more than a one-off writing prompt. We get this idea that life hinges on critical choices, on intentions; and yet it’s the non-decisions that tend to topple the first domino.

More came, in fits and starts. Typically after a day of work, the writing an evening decompression ritual to balance what were the confusing early days of a young career. Some of us are not the pursuer in our creative pursuits, but rather the escapee — fleeing the day job to sit at our own desks where, if we aren’t quite in control, at least we are unbounded. Let me check myself here, though. To label what I was doing at that time as “creative” would be to self-award a participation trophy. The writing was glorified journaling, heightened purely by the fact that it was instantly made available, on the internet. Thoughts digitized and archived, and at the same time disseminated to get a few likes and reblogs or, more often than not, to disappear into the deafening silence of the un-influencer’s social web.

This continued for well over a year before I started to understand what was going on, what it was that I was going on and on about. I was trying to cobble together a philosophy for myself; to raise a middle finger to a culture of platitudes; to find a way to deal with, and within, the world. In those first couple of years I made some modest progress. Still had no idea what I was doing in terms of writing a book or weaving a narrative, however. And I learned pretty early on that I don’t even particularly enjoy writing. I was escaping the office but it was still work, there was a job to be done.

When a blinking cursor nags at a blank page it is a clock, a hacking movement counting away the seconds for which you have nothing to show. Writing this book took seven years. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that here. Because I do question if the time investment was worth it. I know it’s good, in the sense that it’s complete and true and not shallow, but I’m not sure if it’s seven-years-good.

Here’s what I am sure of:

• The book is a novella, meaning it’s long enough that you can savor it for a little while, chapter by chapter if you’d like, but it ain’t no 400 pager. You can also read it in a couple hours and get on with your life.
• It is a story about the forces that have had the most pull on my life throughout my twenties, the essential gravities: philosophy, technology, love, New York City. If you’re close to me, you’re probably in there somewhere too.
• The spirit of Vivid & Vague lives on, so if you liked that, you’ll dig this. If you didn’t enjoy Vivid & Vague, the narrative structure of this new book makes for a completely different experience, so it might be more your speed. And look, if you never read Vivid & Vague in the first place, that’s fine too; you’re not alone. (It’s ranked #3,178,595 on Amazon).

What comes next is I find a way to get the book to you. That’s a process: further edits, potential submissions, and ultimately the decision of whether or not to self-publish. I kindly ask that you bear with me as I try to make this thing as good as it can be before letting go of it. In lead-up to the book’s release, however long and whatever that takes, I’ll reflect on the process and reveal some details about the book itself. The title. The music I like to write to. The authors that re-wired my head and lit a fire under my ass.

Thank you for reading. It means the world. And if it means something to you, I’d love to know. I’ll be in touch soon, watch this space.

Sign up for the Depth Department newsletter to get first dibs on novella news.