Alice Bradley on Writing and NFD — Nameless, Faceless Dread

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Writer, blogger, and now podcaster Alice Bradley seems to have gotten inside my head. I'm half-way through THE PARIS SPY and am at that frustrating awful horrible point where nothing is working and I'm starting to panic. I think of it as my old friend, anxiety, but Alice calls it the Nameless, Formless Dread, which perhaps makes it a little less terrifying.

Maybe?

Anyone?

HELP ME!!!

ALICE BRADLEY:  Looking over list of tasks for the day, Alice hears a disembodied voice*. 

?: Ha ha, you’re not going to accomplish any of it. Again. 

Me: Who said that? 

?: Good morning. I am The Nameless, Formless Dread! 

Me: I need to cut down on my coffee.  

While working

Me: Huh. Did I eat something weird? 

NFD: Hello. I am the Nameless, Formless Dread. 

Me: Jesus—get off me! I’m trying to work. 

NFD: I will help. That thing you’re doing is bad. 

Me: How is this a help? 

NFD: How about this? That thing you’re doing is very bad. 

Me: Please unhook yourself from my abdomen. 

NFD: But it’s so soft here. (whispers) Too soft. 

After walking past group of neighbors who don’t seem to notice when Alice smiles hello

NFD: Nameless, Formless Dread, here! Ouch. That was awkward. Boy do they not like you. 

Me: That’s ridiculous. Why would they dislike me? 

NFD: (Shrugs) They have very good reasons that they’ve all agreed on but you’ll never know what those are. 

When the phone rings

NFD: AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH DON’T ANSWER IT HIDE HIDE THE NAMELESS FORMLESS DREAD SAYS HIDE 

Me: What the hell? 

NFD: Someone is dead! Or mad at you! 

Me (looking at number): It’s a telemarketer. 

NFD: Why don’t your friends call? Oh, because you’re… never mind. 

And then later 

Me: (closing laptop) 

NFD: Hey there, Nameless/Formless Dread, blah blah, hello, are you getting up? Where are you going? 

Me: I have a thing I’m supposed to go to. 

NFD: No way. Do you know how many things could happen to you out there? And why are you wearing that? Look, I brought kettle corn! 

Me: This kettle corn is stale. 

NFD: That's an early warning sign of dementia, you know. Thinking, uh, things are stale. I haven't thought this through yet. But don't worry, I will.  

In bed

NFD (clambering atop my head): Oh no, oh no! You forgot! YOU FORGOT! 

Me: What? WHAT? 

NFD: … I can’t remember. Huh. Well, at least now you have all night to figure it out. 

*(Don't worry, not really.)  

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Does the NFD come to you, too, when you're working on something? Trying to sleep? What do you do? 

P.S. And does anyone else now want kettle corn?

Alice Bradley

I'm a writer, and I live in Brooklyn, New York, with my husband Scott, my son Henry, my dog Hazel, and Izzy the cat.

I write short fiction, personal essays, humor, and feature articles. I've created content for all kinds of publications and brands. Here's a selection of my work. 

I've been writing Finslippy since 2004 (back when I thought I could call it a nonsense word I came up with in my dreams, since no one was going to read it). In the beginning I wrote about parenting, but these days I blog about creativity, art, mental health, our surly cat and hilarious dog, and whatever is going in my life. 

I've got a podcast with Deanna Zandt called The League of Awkward Unicorns, It's about mental illness (depression, anxiety, etc. etc.) and emotional wellness (things that help, whether it's medication, exercise, or wrapping oneself up in a Snuggie while binge-watching The Mindy Project). We were called "funny, frank, and accessible" by the Guardian. 

Find us on iTunes here. 

I co-authored a book called LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES! with the beloved Eden Marriott Kennedy. It was published by St. Martin's Press, and we're quite proud of it. You can read all about the book (and enjoy our book trailer, excerpts, and reviews) over here.

I'm also a teacher for Gotham Writers Workshop, and often teach online courses in writing and creativity via this very website. Want to be the first to know about upcoming courses? Sign up for the newsletter! 

As of June of 2016, I am officially, unapologetically, calling myself an artist. Want to see my work? For now, it's mostly on Instagram. 
 

I love emails from readers. My favorite comments include the following:

"You write as if you're listening to the voices in my head."

And:

"I usually find things amusing online, but don't always laugh, like with my voice. Today I did."

If you have anything to say, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks.

Alice Bradley on the Stupidity of Writing (and/or Living) for People who Dislike You

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: I'm delighted to introduce today's guest, Alice Bradley. She's a writer (Let's Panic About Babies), award-winning blogger (Finslippy), podcast host (League of Awkward Unicorns), and all-around badass, who's also working on her first novel. 

Recently, Alice wrote a post that resonated with me in a big way, titled "The Stupidity of Writing (and/or Living) for People Who Dislike You." ("It's as if you hear all the voices in my head!" wrote one of her fans — and I feel the same.) 

All of us who put ourselves out there (whether as a novelist, a blogger, or — hey — a human being) can one minute be having fun with our passion, love, and creativity, and then the next hear the negative voices (and there are always negative voices and punishing people — that's one thing to count on in this life, it seems) who seemingly want us to stop, to quit, to play possum, or worse. 

But we can't quit, not if we want to be true to ourselves, make the art we want — and lead the life we want. 

And so, what to do? 

Thank goodness, Alice has some advice. Welcome!

ALICE BRADLEY: Thank you, Susan and Reds. 

Halfway through my senior year of high school, a group of my friends decided they didn’t like me anymore. It felt at the time like the entire class had turned against me, but it was probably about five people. Nonetheless, they were five people I spent a lot of my time with, and they were fairly well-liked, so other people who had once thought I was cool now found me loathsome. I devolved from “somewhat cool to hang out near” to “What? No.” It was…difficult.

It was never clear to me what started it; over a period of weeks 

and months I was just frozen out. People who had once laughed 

at my jokes were now rolling their eyes. Then walking away. And 

when I asked them what I had done, they said, God, you don't 

understand anything. I’d call and their moms would say they were 

busy and their moms would sound embarrassed. Like that. If I had 

to dig through my memory I’m positive I'd find I wasn’t blameless, 

but luckily no one’s making me dig through my memory. (It’s messy 

in there.) 

So that’s hard to remember, but what’s even worse were my attempts 

to change their minds. Because I did not say, “Well, screw you” 
and concentrate on the few good friends who stuck by me. Oh no 
I did not. 

Instead I engaged in desperate and frantic bids to get their friendships 

back. Showing up at get-togethers that I wasn’t specifically not invited

to. Breakin’ the rules and gettin’ suspended to show that I was a real 

bad-ass. (And apparently dropping my g’s.) Worst of all, I made up 

gossip, literally made up dirt on people, to show that I was somehow 

in the know and worth hanging out with. You can imagine how well 

that turned out. 

In my spare time I was learning what "panic attacks" were and 

breaking out into epic rashes (the family dermatologist was fascinated 

by me that year), and when I was at school I playacted at being an 

asshole. Somehow I thought that if they didn’t like me, maybe they’d 

like this frantic, aggressive version of me. 

This strategy, not surprisingly, backfired, in that not only did they 

dislike me even more, the few people who were still brave enough to 

be my friends were beginning to see their point. Is it a coincidence 

that the one friend who was kind enough to sit me down and tell me 

what a dick I was being, and then forgive me when I acknowledged 

said dickness, is now a priest? It is not. She is a goddamn saint. 

The whole situation was pretty excruciating, and the only thing that 

saved me was graduation. 

This particular story was a dramatic example but not an exception to 

how I like to focus on someone who doesn’t like me and try and make 

them like me. I’ve homed in on the one person in my life who doesn’t 

think I’m all that charming and used all my charm to change their 

minds. And do you know what? This has always failed! Sometimes spectacularly! 

If someone doesn’t like you, it’s probably got more to do with them 

than you, but either way, I've learned, there’s not too much you can 

do about it. Unless you’ve actively been a terrible person, in which 

case you should quit doing that, for everyone’s sake. 

I’ve been thinking of this period in my life recently, because I found 

myself recently trying to understand why I’ve struggled with blogging 

over the past few years. Since I started it in 2004, Finslippy has been 

one of the most joyful experiences of my life. I gave it my random 

thoughts and it gave me friends, positive feedback, a book deal, 

television appearances, a stream of writing gigs, crazy speaking 

engagements and video projects, and more than one job. I owe my blog so much.

It also provided me with the weird sensation of reading about how 

much some people weren’t into me. Of course, right? Once your 

audience extends beyond your friends and family, it’s inevitable that someone’s not going to think you’re particularly interesting. I always 

knew that. I just didn’t know people would find me so not-that-great 

that they’d be compelled to write about it. And that so many people 

would agree with them. 

I am not a special case. This is in no way unusual. It happens to 

everyone who's put anything out there in the world. It’s the byproduct 

of creative output. If anything, I’ve gotten off easy. I’ve gotten off 

easy, though, because I’ve pulled back. And I’ve pulled back because 

the negative feedback was too painful. 

And it’s not like I was being attacked on the regular, by any means. 

All I got were a few comments on a forum here and there. A 

discussion thread or two about how non-exemplary I was. A couple 

of Google alerts let me know that I wasn’t nearly as great as I 

(apparently) believed. A couple of emails informing me that I’m 

a garbage dump of a person. That kind of stuff. 

In realizing that I wasn't alone with this phenomenon, I also read 

scathing attacks on my blogging peers and my friends. I sort of...

obsessed over these attacks. I saw people I understand on a cellular 

level being ridiculed and dismissed. No one was making me read 

those sites. But somewhere in the weird little frightened squirrel 

part of my brain, I was taking notes, trying to figure out what these 

people who hated everything would like, how I could be that cool girl 

who’d get a pass. 

It didn’t take long for me to really get these people's voices in my 

head. I became increasingly careful with what I wrote. I edited and 

re-edited. I second-guessed and didn't hit publish. I became 

increasingly self-conscious and reactive and every post just felt 

harder and harder. And then I gave up. It wasn’t fun anymore. 

But who made it un-fun? I did. I denied myself the joy of writing shit 

that I wanted to write. How stupid is that? Who was this benefiting? 

A few people who probably weren’t paying any attention? Would 

these people spontaneously contact me and say, “You know, I used to 

think you were boring and unfunny, but now that you’re not writing at 

all, you’ve really grabbed my attention. Want to get drinks?” And then

we’d get drinks and we’d be best friends and everyone would like me 

again and I’d be voted Most Misunderstood But Secretly Great? 

This is silly. It’s so silly. There’s always going to be someone who 

doesn’t think you’re great. Don’t read it. Don’t read negative shit in 

general, actually: it’s poison. 

And if someone doesn’t like you enough to fire off an angry missive 

about how you're the worst, just rest easy in the knowledge that that 

person is a miserable chafe of a human being who doesn’t deserve 

your time and energy.

Then reply, “For the last time, I’m not going to have sex with you.” 

This always freaks them out. Because secretly they wanted to have 

sex with you. They all do. Because you’re super hot.

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Thank you, Alice! And you are super 

hot, darling. 




Reds and lovely readers, have you ever gone out on a limb with 
something (artistically, personally) only to get a lot of negativity? 
(Not constructive critisism, of course, but that really personal, 

vindictive stuff?) Did it ever stop you for a while? Did it stop 

you completely? How did/do you deal with it? And how did you, 

or will you, triumph?




Please tell us — and Alice— in the comments!

ABOUT ALICE BRADLEY: I'm a writer, and I live in Brooklyn, 

New York, with my husband Scott, my son Henry, my dog 

Hazel, and Izzy the cat.

I write both fiction and nonfiction. I've written for all kinds of 
publications and websites. So many. At some point I'll provide 

a list, I promise. 

I've been writing Finslippy since 2004. I've been called a 

parenting blogger, but these days I write quite a bit more about 
creativity, art, depression, city life, our surly cat and peeing 
Chihuahua, my extended family, and sometimes, okay, parenting.

I've got a podcast with Deanna Zandt called The League of 
Awkward Unicorns, It's about mental illness (depression, anxiety, etc. etc.) 

and emotional wellness (things that help, whether it's 

medication, exercise, or wrapping oneself up in a Snuggie 

while binge-watching The Mindy Project). Find us on iTunes 

here. 

In March 2011 I co-authored a book called LET'S PANIC 

ABOUT BABIES! with the beloved Eden Marriott Kennedy. It 

was published in St. Martin's Press, and we're quite proud of it. 

You can read all about the book (and enjoy our book trailer, 

excerpts, and reviews) over here.

I love emails from readers, although I can't always reply to them as 
quickly as I'd like. My favorite comments from readers include 

the following:

"You write as if you're listening to the voices in my head."

And:

"I usually find things amusing online, but don't always laugh, 

like with my voice. 

Today I did."

If you have anything to say, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks.