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Woo, October! Please Be Good to Me
- Deidre Annette
- Oct 15, 2023
- 15 min read
Updated: Apr 8
Alternatively titled: I Did Not Do Any of That, but I Did Do All of This and Made None of That. But I’m Still Here, Tisha, so Here We Go Again.... It’s another weird pillar one.
What is [Term] (and Why Does it Matter)?
I wouldn't feel so guilty about this if I had actually gotten around to it in October. As usual, I started the month with high hopes of making major strides in my social career. (I did not.) And again, that's because I didn't post anything... just made a bunch a *-ish.
Sooooo, since October has come and gone (We'll unpack that later), and it is nearly "No"-vemeber, it's just about time for a new term and new focus. Hustle will always be the motto, but everybody's talking about a 'soft girl era' now, so let's see what that's about.
I just watched Sex and the City for the first time not too long ago, actually, and I finally got the appeal. As a thirty-something myself, I related to absolutely nothing other than: "Guys are crap!" (you know what I really want to say) On my anti-climatic brunch dates, I've had a Mr. Big or two to talk about for twenty-five minutes. I never had a Steve Brady, which is why And Just Like That corned my beef so bad.
There are a lot of popular things I fear I missed out on, including the "Are you a Carrie or Samantha?" approach to finding your BFF—wherever you guys were all so lucky to find your BFFs. After six seasons and two movies, it sucked to admit—I am a Miranda, a cold-hearted cynic going back to school in her 50s. I spent most of Sex and the City wondering why they were still her friends and the second half of my binge Googling self-affirmations again. Luckily for me, my BFF is a Charlotte York, a blue-blooded saint who checked every box up to a deluxe apartment in the sky.
Like a lot of things I've learned to be thankful for, Symone was another gift from above. And I've been nit-picking away since she invited me to her birthday party in the third grade. Sexually, I'm a Samantha. But then again, these days—who the hell isn't? Back when we were too cool for reruns, our coffee shop was her kitchen table. Unlike SJP and her glamorous crew, we were definitely passing the Bechdel test as I think we made enough noise at 2AM making up ghost stories that we scared off all the boys.
I've made it clear now that it's been two years and eleven months since I cried out my Christmas list. I've probably struggled to mention I don't know what I'm doing, but I know I've made it clear that I'm gon' fuck around and find out. Last year (Jan. 2022), I challenged myself to tell one person my plan. I chose Symone. A year later—we'll... you know the vibes.
What did happen, though, was Symone's move back home. Closer to me, but without a car, I'll be explaining more than terms to strangers on the Internet (who still haven't come, by the way, Kevin Costner.) She and I both thought we'd be back at the kitchen table, but things haven't quite worked out that way.
As I think about what I've gone through this year—it's been a lot. Then I remembered that I was creating a space to put all those feelings and found myself Googling corkboards to keep it all together. At least it's out of my head!
In terms of terms, I no longer know where to start. I don't need a media coach to know I'm missing out on a large audience not posting visual content like TikToks or keeping up with trends as they're trending. But that's why I officially adjusted my headline to read Content Creator; this shit takes some time.
The History of [Term]
"Don't follow your dreams, chase them" is actually a Richard Dumbrill quote, Terrence J. Whoever he is. (Richard Dumbrill, not Terrence J.) But if we're talking terms and history, my dreams finally led me to solve the biggest mystery of all. It really was after I learned the definition of 'conglomerate;' that I pulled my best Veruca Salt impression, and haven't talked to Busta Rhymes since.
Fueled by catchphrases, colloquialisms, and lyrics I misheard in rap songs, this Fetch Beyond thing of mine had to start sometime in 2012. I told this blank screen I would wait for my meeting with the lady to start picking at Brian. But as the wrong number keeps going up, I'm getting desperate, and something's about to go down.
Every time I try to fill in that blank space in my resume or answer a long-lost relative's random text about what I've been up to, there is no fucking way I'm telling them that I'm building a media company. A vanity company, tho—Well, that's worth interrupting your read with some more 'content.'
I ended up talking about Symone because It's A Girl Thing was supposed to start back then. We both knew it wouldn't be the next day, but I don't think either of us that it'll be a year. We walked away from each other that day, full of meat, and once again reunited by her birthday. We talked regularly for a while before it got hard to answer her calls again.
We both decided to focus on what we needed before hopping in front of a camera, ready to fake 'til we made it. Podcasts still seem to be dropping like (I hate, I can't think of a better analogy to shame y'all for taking all the damn toilet paper)... flies. So, at least we haven't completely missed the wave. Our first thought was, how were we going to film? She lived in Kankakee then, and I was still B-Rabbit'n it the trailer with my mom.
So, I had the "great" idea to turn a storage unit into my own little studio. Then while moonlighting as a delivery driver during the day, DoorDashing in the afternoons, and daydreaming at Casey's overnight to make ends meet post-pandemi, my car broke down like my dreams of racing to the top. I spent the next six months mostly shamed that even though I had made all these plans and stuck to all these goals, I was a 32-year-old, unemployed, single mother battling depression, sleeping with anxiety, and circling dates in the dark like Joe Goldberg "strategizing."
"But I had a prayin' grandmother," We've already gone down this road like 100 times over, so yes, Deidre, this is an update. Symone moved back to North Chicago, but not for the podcast or anything. And even though I had no car, I "borrowed" my mom's to be there when she said her goodbyes to the house. (So maybe I was more emotional than her.)
Symone came back just in time for her birthday again, planning to have secured her own place by then. Then my fingers got the twitching. Again, not for the podcast, but because I had Miranda-sized cravings to tell her, "Good luck!" And just like that, I was back on Google searching up gentrification facts and trying to find concrete evidence that North Chicago is the strangest place on Earth with no terms.
A small-town country girl at heart, I'd eat glass before ending up 50 in a coffee shop crying about boys. Crying? Over these, Mr. Bigs? Let alone marrying one! "Bless your heart, sugar. You really were the first in your liter." Either way, with the band coming back together, it was time to put up or shut up. So, I ended up going to college.
Terms to Know
I always knew I was going to be a writer one day. And I can't tell you how hard I pouted when I figured out writing was all I had to do. In this day and age, everything is 'outsourced.' We hire temps, we TaskRabbit plumbers, Angie list babysitters, Lyft our bodies, and Dash our food. Even Tubi is becoming the preferred streaming channel of choice. And we know they over there just making emails.
Six months, I sat, skipping Fiverr ads and wondering who really wrote all these articles I was reading. Yet, it wasn't until I heard that very distinctive click I crave after the moon lights did I actually think about applying myself. Writing that first episode of Scary Hours was exactly what I needed—a blueprint. Then I recorded it. Composed the soundtrack. Edited my first YouTube video and put it on the Internet.
Another small victory from then and now was getting my license back. The day is stuck in my Brian because I met a guy on my first day out. Thankfully it was still a little COVID around, so the DMV was open, but I got to strut my shit in there like feeling like Kitana now that my mustache was all covered up. He must've changed his mind after I had a meltdown over the first minor inconvenience, though—because he never called.
He was somebody's light-skinned 40-year-old father anyway, and I'm pretty sure I panicked and gave him the wrong number. But I did tell him that me and my best friend were starting a podcast. And he didn't laugh! Thinking about when, for a segue, I don't even think Symone had crushed my heart yet when she said Scary Hours was "confusing."
In place of feedback from readers, I turned to Devin (aka ChatGPT.) As usual, I'm about a day late and a dollar short, as our latest moral panic has been directed to AI. I may be new to this freelance game, but I've already got Chat answering to "Devin," so that alone must equal progress somewhere.
I knew Scary Hours was "confusing" because it confused the hell out of me! But I didn't need someone to confirm it. If I had a time machine, Muni Long, I'd go back to high school, meet with that guidance counselor, and tell her to explain linguistics to me instead of the benefits of joining the Army. Before 20-18-05-25 hijacked my delusions, I was an urban fiction writer. From the day I read Any Way The Wind Blows by E. Lynn Harris for my book report, I wanted to bring the streets of my city to life the way I saw it—a pitstop on a highway between glitz and glory.
With Symone being back and the clock officially clocking, I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to start coming up with better excuses. "Locking In" was never a problem for me. My struggle is staying interested in reality. It wasn't until I felt anxiety for the first time (while he inquisitively ended up being the only thing I could remember) did I actually consider maybe, just maybe, living life in a daydream wasn't exactly mentally stable.
One anxiety attack seemed to wipe all my memories clean. As I lay in the hospital bed, I fought to get in; I finally felt all that peace y'all be talking about. Then, in a notebook they never should've given me, there Fetch Beyond was again.
They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. But I never tried writing a book, I never tried submitting a personal essay, I never tried to build a portfolio, I never tried to write my fantasies. I never chased my dreams. (*but you never told us who was in the car, so we even) I'm pretty sure I remember it wrong, but my Grandmother once told everybody else in my family that "Nothing beats a failure but a try." She mostly just looked at me. But I also did try to burn her house down.
I knew I was for sure for sure crazy when I left Lake Behavioral just in time for Valentine's Day with a plan to lock in even harder than before. Only this time, I was leaving the writers' room and stepping into a war room I've vicariously craved to be in. My work history reads like I might be B-Rabbit after all. Bouncing around factories looking for work, battling at the food truck to impress ten freaky boys. Except, I don't rap, and that would make all them niggas Cheddar Bob.
One question that would constantly run across my mind ten hours out of twelve hours a day was, Who runs this shit? Hear me out—everything comes in a box. Whether I was working for Emco, Amazon, Honeywell, or Siemens, everything came in a box. Now, please don't get too far ahead of me because I literally only focused on the box. The "box" comes from another company, which I'm sure got it from another company, which probably got it from another company. They open their box, take the stuff out, put it in a new box, and send it on its way. Then you open that box, take the stuff out, and put it in a new box.
For thirteen years, I watched boxes. Accepting a fate, I only heard I could change. Wondering how all these people even got into the "boxing" business. It took me a long time to truly accept the obvious. If I wanted to box, I had to put in the work. Obviously, I wanted to get as far away from manufacturing as possible, daydreaming about boxes. So, in a notebook I should never have touched, right at the top, I asked myself one question: How do you start a production company?
I figured the answer would take money, so I waited until I got home to see what I was talking about. I still feel like an asshole getting all my "training and experience" from Google. But ever since the tech gods birthed "Devin," I've been blaming it all on the chat!
December 2019 was the start of Fetch Beyond Entertainment. It was the day I decided to go all in on The Mason Universe and publish my short stories. And, of course, I planned, outlined, tweaked, tickled, stalled, procrastinated, designed, daydreamed, and cried—and didn't write a single fucking word. "Kill your darlings," was Asha's critique. She was editing The Prelude with me... then we both stopped talking about it.
Since that time, Fetch Beyond has gone through quite a few facelifts. It was a production company, then an entertainment company. A media company. A start-up incubator on some Silicon Valley shit. A production company again, a conglomerate for a while. Then, finally, I had two thoughts—"What did Spike Lee do?" and "How do I tell my friends and family without sounding like the DVD man?"
"A vanity company."
I hate that there's no "definition" for a "vanity company." But oh well. "It's okay to be a disruptor" fits perfectly into my affirmations list. Right after, "Don't let others definitions define you" and followed up with a "Be you! Don't let nobody else tell you how to be you. How they gon' do that?"
Because the answer is really as simple as we all know it—They just got up and fucking did it, right Kim K?
The Pros and Cons of [Term]
So, I want to be an influencer. Not for the glitz or comp. But because if I don't do anything else, it's gonna get fucking weirder. At this point, until someone says—Hey, stop; I haven't made any money, but other than those fucking subscriptions, (APPLE!) I haven't spent any either!
Building a company is no small feat. So, I don't know why I thought I could build a company with no experience, no money, no direction, and one plan that relied on the success of a "confusing" podcast in time to pay my Adobe subscription. But I'mma do it.
So, where are we exactly?
Well, We are here.
Examples of [Term]
I am a writer. I don't like the term "author" because that leads you to believe I write books, and that's not a commitment I'm fully ready to take on yet. I write short stories, narrative podcasts, personal essays, blogs, and whatever the hell this falls in at in-between.
That's why I made this.
It's pretty much the only thing that matters now since I'm also a graphic designer and content creator. If Deidre Annette Presents is the baby, I'm Muva, and Fetch Beyond is Big Mama, giving an arm and a leg to have us all under one roof.
This month’s term presented itself as a deep need to “clear space,”—so I officially postponed both The Mason Universe and Scary Hours (yes, again), which I would like to clarify is not quitting. It’s curating. I also gave dropshipping one last try this month (shut up), and you’ll be relieved to know it still isn’t working. Not even a little bit. Apparently, I’m not one of those girlies who can make six figures reselling LED cat lamps from a Shopify template. I spent more time trying to name the storefront than I did marketing the product, and even after creating a really beautiful aesthetic for absolutely no customers, I have no regrets. I am a concept queen. Results are for Q3.
shakes digital tin can
If you felt a shift in the timeline, that was just me releasing the pressure valve on all the unrealistic expectations I duct-taped to my ambition. We're in a new era now: one where things take time, and I am less available for fake deadlines I made up while manic. Decluttering my physical, digital, emotional, and metaphysical life in pursuit of clarity, focus, or (fingers crossed) a brand deal.
If there’s a moral here, it’s this: even when the bag isn’t bagging, I’m still building. Maybe slower, maybe quieter, maybe with a little less glitter, but still—I’m here. Deleting old projects, throwing away everything I loved, or buying another planner while pretending that minimalism is not a personality disorder, quietly ghosting three group chats, and muttering “just vibes” while reworking my entire business plan at 2 AM. And honestly, sometimes choosing not to force it is the flex.
On the surface, decluttering sounds like a clean, adult decision. A little “out with the old, in with the aligned,” you know? A conscious clearing of digital graveyards, dusty drafts, and half-finished storyboards that haven’t seen light since my last quarter-life crisis. Pros: less noise, fewer tabs open in my brain, and the kind of delusional optimism that makes me think deleting an entire Google Drive folder will fix my mood. Cons: it turns out some of those ideas still had legs. A few were crawling. One might’ve been jogging.
Choosing to pause The Mason Universe and Scary Hours was not easy, but it also wasn’t impulsive. Those projects deserve more than me showing up half-slept and half-sure, and if I’m being honest, I want to come back to them when I feel like I deserve them too. Pro: I freed up energy to focus on what’s moving right now. Con: The silence from those timelines is loud as hell. I keep checking in like, “Y’all good?” knowing damn well I’m the one who locked the door.
So, what now?
Tips and Reminders for [Term]
Choosing to let go of a few projects this season has been its own kind of progress. Honestly, decluttering isn’t just about throwing stuff out—it’s about deciding who you’re not trying to be anymore. With less energy going to projects that don’t serve me right now, I’ve been able to show up more fully for the ones that do. I’ve been moving quieter, but not idly, as I continue building this weird, magical, very-much-still-in-beta creative life.
Pro: Space to think, to write, to get curious. Con: This weird vacuum of doubt, like, am I giving up? Or am I finally giving myself room to grow? I’m still learning to pause without guilt and not turn every idea into an emergency. Saying “not right now” to The Mason Universe or Scary Hours felt like putting old dreams in storage, not because they’re trash—but because the version of me who made them might need a little time to catch up.
So, with all that said—here’s what’s still getting my energy:
Attention
The novel lives. 🖤 I've been drafting, redrafting, deleting whole chapters, and writing them again like a toxic ex I can’t quit. It’s bigger, more emotional, and definitely weirder than when I first started, but I’m proud of the shape it’s taking. (Shoutout to the glossary for growing faster than the plot. Classic me.)
The DAP-ME Website
Yes, this site you’re on. I’m treating it more like a playground now and less like a portfolio. Everything I love in one place. Krate Raiders, Frozen Bananas, Issa Cross. Expect monthly blog posts, free drops, random experiments, and vibes that change with the moon.
The Alternative Collections
Ok, so maybe I'm not actually writing anything right now. But remember how I told you I made all those crazy playlists before jumping headfirst down the rabbit hole? Well, I worked out the outlines for my "concepts" next, and the plan was always for The Totally Real and The Mason Universe to run congruently. So that makes Paint Me as a Villian part two.
The Traffic Jam
A codeword for everything I can't explain right now. I’m still planning a slow, soft rollout—no pressure, just vibes. What started as a Spotify playlist somehow ended with me "Designing everything!"—custom pieces, digital sketches, moodboards that feel more like altars. Working with visuals has helped me slow my thoughts when words won’t cooperate. It’s messy, nonlinear, and kind of beautiful.
"The Slumber Party Challenge"
Yes, it's still happening. Yes, it's still sexy. Yes, it's still a logistical nightmare. But progress is progress. Think cosplay, creative shoots, and behind-the-scenes content that doesn’t feel like anything else I’m doing. I'm still learning the ropes, but the streams are coming. I’ve been building overlays, mapping segments, figuring out challenges, and how to make my mess entertaining in real-time.
Freelancing
If you are Keeping Up with Me, I should tell you I was selected as an Urban Writer. (Yay me!) 100% sure they are not called that, but I am. I decided to take down my Fiverr profile, but I'm staying active on Upwork for now. Now that I'm going into writing mode for myself, I'm sure I'll shock nobody when I finally admit I can't do everything all at once.
The Blueprints
Another codeword I'm using in place of Patreon. Symone was my first (and only) patron, and somehow that still means the world. “The Blueprints” is what I call the early versions of everything—notes, outlines, drafts that felt too raw to share but too important to delete. I’m finally coming back to those pieces, tying up loose ends, rereading with new eyes. It’s not just about finishing what I started—it’s about honoring how far I’ve come.
Closing
I hate that there’s no definition for a “vanity company,” but I love that I finally decided to make my own. Maybe I didn’t build the empire in a day or even in three years, but I did build the damn blueprint. And if you’ve made it this far? You’re already part of it.
I’m not here to sell you a dream—I’m here to show you the reality of chasing one. Fetch Beyond isn’t just a company or a concept. It’s the messy, half-baked reality of refusing to give up. It’s built on friendship, frustration, false starts, and figuring shit out anyway. If you’ve ever wanted to start something without knowing exactly how—welcome home. This is your invitation to watch it unfold. Because we’re all confused. And we’re all creating.
Follow the blog, hit up the newsletter, send this to your BFF, or just stalk quietly until you’re ready to shout about your own little vanity thing.
No pressure.
But seriously—don’t let another month go by full of *-ish.
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