And then there were two

It’s hard to believe that I’ve been writing this book for eight months. November 29, 2022, was the first time I sat down and wrote for BTS Not Guaranteed. I wondered what would happen with this project that I had anxiously pinned all of my hopes and dreams to. Would I be able to write consistently and use this book as a means to get where I want to be? I feared the hype would die down, for both me and you. I feared I would run out of things to say. I so badly wanted to escape my life. To change everything. To burn it all down and move to Seoul and start fresh. If you were to have told me back then that eight months later I would still be writing from the same bed in the same house in the same town, I would have been so dismayed. But here I am. 30, still living at home, with no idea how or when I’ll be leaving. The hype has died down many times, but it has come back, too. I ran out of things to say, or perhaps more accurately, the desire to say anything, just about every second week. But I persisted. I hope to have shown you over the past eight months what a genuine journey of trying to ‘make it’ looks like. It’s not fast, though things can happen quickly. Most of the changes are internal, and involve little to no one else. Some days it feels like I’m miles ahead of where I started. Others, it feels like I’ve backslid into my teens. What I will say, though, is that I am once again a whole lot closer to my dreams than ever before. 

“Am I in my creative renaissance?” I asked myself on day 221 of writing in a row. I had just watched the first episode of my Neo Limerence documentary–at mum’s request–and it was feeling rather legitimate. I’m actually doing this, I’m actually writing another book. After all this time, I’m actually doing it. The next day, I didn’t feel too good. The day after, I felt even worse. The flu was going around the factory, so much so that we were operating with a skeleton crew in most areas. People were showing up sick, desperately needing income. I caught it again, for the third time. But it mostly manifested as immense fatigue and severe body pain. This was the beginning of a downward spiral I had hoped I wouldn’t encounter again so soon. It was only in May that I started my positive upwards swing. Less than two months later, I was on the descent, and it was maddening as hell.

I soon began to notice just how impactful my emotional state was on my physical body. Each time my emotions became negatively impacted, I could feel my energy literally draining from my body. Like I was rapidly losing blood. All it would take would be someone to say something to me that reminded me of the emotional complexity of my former relationship, and I would become numb. My body would become weak. I found it difficult to speak and think. Even while writing this, my eyes aren’t focussed on the screen and my mind is wandering. I knew this was happening to me regularly, but I had never had such a clear view of it before. Up until this point, it was largely unconscious. 

In the second week of July, I identified a pattern of behaviour I had been struggling with for well over 10 months. I would become disappointed, either with myself or someone else, then I would become embarrassed, I’d feel immense shame, and I’d become violently self-loathing in the blink of an eye. Take the Namjoon story submission disappointment for example. I was disappointed that my story wasn’t selected. I became embarrassed that I even assumed I was worthy of being selected. I experienced intense shame because of this embarrassment. And then, I punished myself with self-loathing. Because I know myself better than anyone else, I went for my biggest insecurity, my appearance. A highly refined defence mechanism. I’m protecting myself against future disappointment. That’s why it took me over six months to show my face online again. The shame I was feeling had its roots in disappointment. And as I’m writing this and re-reading what I wrote, I notice that I mentioned worth. Worthiness. I do not feel worthy. Or perhaps I do, but then when faced with disappointment, I feel that my worth has not been affirmed. Of course, that is the danger of seeking external validation. But I am not perfect and I still do sometimes wish to have my worthiness affirmed. Perhaps my mistake was in seeking it with someone who means so much to me, the same someone who has no idea of my worth, as to him, I do not exist. But I had to try. 

This pattern of disappointment to shame to self-loathing continued until July 11, when I fully grasped it. I fully grasped it and sought to neutralise it with an array of techniques and emotional tools I have been refining over the past eight months. I thanked my subconscious for protecting me and began rewiring my emotional response to disappointment. I won’t know if anything I did worked until the next time I am disappointed, and I dare say it will be a work in progress for quite some time. But it felt like a huge emotional shift. 

Of course, things didn’t immediately get better. But a few hours later I was anxiously looking at my phone. I opened up all my apps and looked around. Trying to find something. Exactly what, I was unsure. I opened Twitter and at the top of the feed was a post from someone I had followed for quite some time. They were talking about how they had worked on the BTS book project. ARMY were excitedly flocking to them, as is only reasonable. It was their moment in the sun. Seeing this made me even more anxious. Though, as previously established, writing a 10-year history of BTS was not what I wanted, it was still a project I would’ve loved to be involved in. Books and BTS. What more could a girl want? It wasn’t necessarily jealousy that I felt. But an added stress to my own circumstance. Here was someone who I had been cordial with for maybe one or two years. They were incredibly talented. I already thought that they would go down in history as an integral part of publishing in the specific area that they work in. Their contribution to culture is immense. So of course they worked on that project. Of course. They did something that I could never do, I mean this quite literally. In seeing that they were a part of the project, I became more anxious about my own lack of a major BTS project than ever. 

An hour or so later, a revelation came to me. Warmth washed over my body, my anxiety eased, and I began to grin. Why? Because this person. This wonderful, talented person, who had worked on the BTS book project in a big way. You know how I came to follow them on Twitter? Why, it was because they followed me. Seemingly out of the blue. Either last year or the year before. I don’t use Twitter much. I stopped in early 2021. So to log in to find someone new following me was a surprise. I looked at this person’s account and saw that we both worked in publishing. But I still didn’t quite know how they found me. I digress. Do you know what was most exciting of all about my revelation? They worked with Hybe, with the author of the book, and perhaps even BTS. They know the exact people who want to make books about BTS. They are in the same rooms that I want to be in. They’re having the same conversations I want to have. They know Hybe or an intermediary equivalent to Hybe… and do you know who else they know? Me. Wallea. Wallea Eaglehawk. And they know exactly what I do, otherwise, they would not have been able to find and follow me on Twitter. Two degrees of separation. Between me and the people that can change my life forever. Heck, I’d go so far as to say there are two degrees of separation between BTS and I. It started off as maybe four, then three, and now… all of a sudden… there are two. 

So what do I do with this connection? 

Absolutely nothing. 

I stick to my plan. I do my work. I share my work. I persist. And one day, this person might see what I’m doing and mention my name in those rooms I want to be in. One day, they might be asked who they recommend, and they think of me. One day, it might just fall into place. But for now, I put in the work. And I take solace in the fact that I’m one step closer to my dream. 

I’ve still been thinking a lot about becoming an icon. In fact, more and more of the sheets of paper that line my walls–my wardrobe’s doors can no longer hold them all–are concerned with iconicism, as opposed to the micro-details of my daily life. There are, naturally, many people who are considered icons that I can study. But none, in particular, take my interest quite like the musicians that I’ve formed parasocial bonds with. I think there’s an argument to be made here that it’s perhaps musicians who are the most likely to create the highest amount–and most impactful–parasocial relationships with their fans. Of course, there’s a book you can read on that, but you get the idea. I digress. 

There are three main case studies that I have been reflecting on. BTS, The 1975, and Enter Shikari. Enter Shikari, I believe, are not going to go down in history as icons. Their music is very good. Their live shows, even better. The band as individuals, great humans. To their fans, myself included, they are by all means iconic. But to the zeitgeist, they are not. The 1975’s frontman, Matty Healy, I would say is definitely iconic. The band itself is iconic for its sound, but it is heavily helped along–in the realms of what it means to be iconic–by the performance of Matty Healy’s musician persona. BTS as an entire group is iconic. But there’s no singular member who stands out as the icon of BTS–I believe this is done intentionally. Three different examples: musicians who are great, but not iconic, a band who is iconic in large part due to its frontman, and a group who is iconic with no singular standout member. What is it that makes Enter Shikari not iconic, and Matty Healy, along with BTS, global icons? 

On a fresh sheet of paper, I drew six concentric circles. In the middle I wrote icon (me), in the circle around it I wrote the work, in the next circle I wrote the content, in the next one I wrote, the audience, in the next I wrote mass media, general public, culture and in the last one, I wrote zeitgeist. The work for the artists is music and touring, this is what they’re exceptionally good at. This is their bread and butter. This is their craft. It’s an integral building block to being an icon. The content for the bands comes in the form of short clips of live performances, tour videos, interviews, and the like. Both Enter Shikari and The 1975 do this sparingly, and it mostly ramps up right before and during their tours. BTS, however, do it to an extreme with the inclusion of vlogs, variety TV shows, travel shows, frequent documentaries and docu-series, live streams, and the like. Content highlights the work of the artists and also provides pathways for parasocial relationships to be formed. The greater the number and frequency of content, the stronger the parasocial bond. I would say that this is the one reason why Enter Shikari are not iconic–they simply do not make many pieces of parasocial content, if any at all. The audience is key to any artist trying to make it, especially for musicians who rely on tour revenue. Content is just one part of audience building, but the other is audience interaction. Enter Shikari and The 1975 do this sparingly. BTS do this, or at least have historically done this, to a greater extent, and continue to do so through live streams and in-person events. It could be argued that, due to the strong parasocial bonds between BTS and ARMY, they no longer need to actively interact with their audience in the same way to yield positive results. 

So the idea is that icons need a solid foundation of reputable, and of-public-interest, work. In order to draw attention to their work and to form relationships with their audience, content must be made. The audience then becomes a part of the marketing mechanism of the icon, spreading content far and wide, while also forming a solid community with attention that can be leveraged by the icon. In many ways, content creators and influencers do a lot of things similar to icons. The main difference, however, is that the vast majority do not have the ‘work’ foundation in place. There’s no product or service or experience that they can regularly and repeatedly sell. They’re merely just entertaining, and over time it can be assumed that they will not be able to maintain the same levels of attention from their audience. From increased audience participation and engagement, eventually comes the involvement of mass media which helps spread the work of the artist to the general public. This is where the artist can start to (potentially) impact culture more broadly, even if for a brief moment. But this still isn’t enough for them to become an icon. Based on my observations, it’s the repetition of all these steps (practices, elements, what have you) over time that can potentially launch the artist into the cultural zeitgeist, solidifying them as an icon. 

Now–and I promise this section will be over soon–what is of interest to me is the key differences between Matty Healy’s iconicism and BTS’. You see, BTS are iconic in large part because of their fandom. ARMY are so vast that it didn’t matter if the mass media acknowledged BTS for who they were or not, they were already in the zeitgeist because… well… Everyone knew about them. Then, throughout the pandemic and in more recent times, when the US started seeing value in the group and they received more air time, they were catapulted even further into the stratosphere. They are a group with ten year’s worth of high quality, culture-shaping work; thousands, if not tens of thousands of pieces of content that every day reach new eyes and ears around the world; a highly engaged and publicly visible audience that can move mountains for them with a moment’s notice, and; the interest of the general public, especially in the West, who are transfixed by seven South Korean men’s artistry and global impact. They are a prime example of what happens when all parts of iconicism are well maintained and grown for a decade. 

However, what interests me more is Matty. Because it is through his performance of his musician persona that he has been embroiled in many incidents that are deemed cancel-worthy. He’s provocative. He speaks his mind. It seems that every six months he’s in hot water for something new. And that, from my observations, seems to elevate him directly into the cultural zeitgeist over and over. This can be achieved without the same need for parasocial content or direct audience engagement. But of course, this couldn’t be possible without a very large follower base paying attention to what he’s saying and doing. This comes from the 20 years of hard work The 1975 have put into their craft and nurturing their fans and making content. And by all means, without the work, Matty Healy would not be an icon. And if he weren’t creating, arguably, the best rock music in the world right now, he would not be able to withstand the many attempts of mass cancellation. Drawing attention to how vital it is that the icon’s work is truly better than all the rest. That being said, it does seem that by being controversial, he is able to skip some steps. Though without The 1975’s strong grasp on all areas of iconicism, their work, and Matty’s status would not be sustainable long term. Another example that comes to mind in this respect is Kim Kardashian who initially drew public attention for a leaked sex tape. In the years since she, and her family, have done much to fill in the other areas of iconicism. She now has the work, her company Skims, the content Keeping up with the Kardashians and now The Kardashians, the audience, the mass media’s near-constant attention, and of course, she has well and truly made it into the zeitgeist. 

So, this is what I’ve been thinking about. And in order to continue down my path to being an icon, I must focus on what I can control. I see three options in front of me: Be like Enter Shikari and enjoy my craft, but not seek to push it any further; be like Matty Healy and be provocative and controversial, or; be like BTS and build a juggernaut over time. One thing all three have in common: They are the best at what they do by a long shot. So I must do the same. For the foreseeable future, I choose to follow the path of BTS. Tending to all elements of my iconicism and growing them over time until my impact is undeniable. 

One aspect that I turned my attention to in July was that of audience. Though there are thousands of people who know me and my work, I would say that at best I have 100 people actively engaged with what I do, maybe less. In order to start seeing some big progress, I believe I need to shift that number into the thousands, perhaps around the 5000 mark. 5000 engaged followers. Fans. Community members. People interested in my work. In order to achieve that, I need to make a lot more content. But also, and most importantly, I need to continue the work. I need to write another book. Because it is my work that will make me iconic. My words and my ideas and my creations. So I need to balance all three: Writing (and running the company), making content, and developing a parasocial relationship with my audience. Don’t get me started on how one approaches parasocial relationship creation, we haven’t the time in this chapter. But I’m working on it.

After my efforts with viral content in June, I was finally starting to see some book sales. Slowly but surely, they began to trickle in. I made another video about my books and posted it. It went viral. And the sales grew more and more. For the first time, my follower count stopped dropping. Things were changing. In my day-to-day life, things were feeling a bit sluggish, though. I was in near-constant pain from a five-year-old back injury that returned with a vengeance. I felt wildly uninspired and unmotivated to do anything at all but lay in bed and recover–from what, I’m still unclear. Nothing was particularly coming together in any way, shape, or form that felt tangible to me. 

I realised that it didn’t matter what day I filmed my podcast, or if I filmed it at all, nor did it matter what day I wrote a book chapter or made a vlog. Not in the nihilistic sense. Rather, it was the culmination of all my work that seemed to be garnering interest, as opposed to a singular piece or theme or anything I could readily replicate… except for everything all at once. This made it hard for me to progress my projects. Everything mattered, but nothing in particular did… except the pure fact that I needed to keep making things and moving forward. This did not help to emotionally empower me, but it didn’t disempower me in the way I had experienced at the start of the month. Rather, I felt in a state of limbo. 

Around this time, I attended a writers’ panel at the University of the Sunshine Coast. I was one of four panellists and the resident publishing expert. A terrifying prospect, really, as I’m still making things up as I go along (and I daresay I will continue on in this manner for the rest of my career). All in all, it was a wonderfully affirming experience. After the panel, I had a number of students approach me. Two with book pitches that they wanted to email me, a young woman who wanted advice on a memoir she was writing (I suggested she looked up autoethnographic writing, as she said she wanted to include analysis and a bigger message in her book), and another young woman who wanted to pursue a career in publishing (I told her to start networking now and maintain industry connections throughout her degree, get clear on exactly what role she wants, and create her own career pathway). I was reminded of how far I’ve come in my own writing and publishing journey. Being back on campus where I took an introduction to creative writing course 11 years ago. Having the panel facilitated by the man who was my lecturer, and sitting directly in front of the man who was the highly esteemed professor. It was a rather strange full-circle moment. Strange as in unexpected. Though it makes complete sense. When I dropped out of my creative writing degree in 2012, I never knew I’d be frequenting campus in 2023 as a publishing expert. 

July also showed me that I urgently needed to increase the output of books at Revolutionaries. I needed more authors. I needed more manuscripts. I had put a call out for proposals and manuscripts in the second week of the month, but no one was biting. 

This didn’t help the fact that I was still struggling to feel motivated to do anything at all. I wondered if this was a remnant of my emotional purging and learnings earlier in the month. Or if I was so subconsciously hellbent on not writing Neo Limerence that it was manifesting as malaise. A week ago today, though, things started to shift. I had been ignoring my content schedule for the entire month of July, despite redoing it many times over. This day was no different. Instead, I chose to follow my instincts and post a giveaway on my BTS Instagram account. I cut a video, did a silly little voiceover, and made some things up. By that I mean, I didn’t know I was giving away 70 copies of my books until I found myself saying “I’m giving away five lots in paperback and eBook form” of the seven titles I’ve published about or inspired by BTS and ARMY. That felt a little excessive, but I went with it. All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with messages of gratitude and support. On my 238th day of writing in a row, I wrote: 

The absolute gift of this has been to show me who is actually paying attention to me. I’ve received many comments and messages from people saying they watch my videos every day and love my work. I’m seeing how they write about me and what I do in their stories, framing me as an important writer who will one day work with BTS. I’m floored. Of course, these are all the messages I’ve been putting out there with my content. But I’ve never seen the messages reflected back to me in the words of other people.

The next day I had a new team member join Revolutionaries. A student whose work I published as part of an anthology last year at the University of the Sunshine Coast applied to do her placement with me as a publishing assistant. Her aptitude and dedication completely blew me away, so I gave her a freshly-completed manuscript from one of my authors and let her swim in the deep end of copyediting. She was thrilled and so was I.

After our meeting, I was letting the dogs outside, but they didn’t want to go. As I turned to look at them, I heard a flap of wings from the yard. They were different from the bush turkeys’ and pigeons’ and crows’. I rushed outside and there it was. A hawk, sitting on a branch close to the back door, looking directly into my soul. It sat there for the longest time while we looked at one another. Then it flew off to a nearby tree. I felt like there was something else watching me, and the next thing I knew, another hawk flew overhead to join its friend. The further I’ve gone on this journey over the past few years, the more animal omens I’ve received. But this is the first time I’ve received a hawk omen. Two hawk omens, no less. With the name of Eaglehawk, it doesn’t get more affirming than that. As I walked laps around my house, the hawk appeared on the phone line outside the front veranda. Watching me once more. I returned to my room and asked myself what I wanted. For some reason all I wanted to do was yoga. And this, admittedly, was a first. This was how the wisdom of the hawk came to me. The message was clear, though there was more than one. What I will share is that I realised my daily routine no longer served me. This was big because I had put in a concerted effort for many months to establish and maintain a routine. But now, it was time for a change.

Throughout the month of July, I had grown more and more distant from myself. I had lost my balance. I needed to ground myself and adjust to this new chapter that was starting to unfold. I wondered what would happen if I spent all week not prioritising productivity, but rest, restoration, and rejuvenation. I wanted to read books and do yoga in the sun and drink cacao and do tarot spreads. I wanted to stop being so involved with other people and refocus my efforts and my energy on myself. And that’s exactly what I did. I made more time and space for myself, and to receive all the big things I was asking for. A few hours later my inbox had three emails from authors: A novel pitch; a proposal from one of the students I had met at the writers’ panel, and; an author I thought I had lost touch with forever had a new proposal revision for me. At last, I was making progress with acquiring new books to publish. Moments later I had two messages on Instagram from very talented writers, one with a manuscript and one with a proposal for me. Everything happened so quickly that it almost didn’t feel real. But it was. It was very real. The next day I met with my newly-promoted editor and my publishing assistant so we could continue working on the manuscript together. Overnight, I received three more book proposals. 

The work I had been putting into The BTS Theorist’s Instagram was starting to pay off. I was leveraging the attention I received from my viral book reels to call for book submissions and people were responding. Every reel I posted was going viral. The audience I suspected to be at around 100 engaged people quickly grew and the results were instantaneous. I capitalised on the heightened energy on my page to call for submissions to a new anthology project about BTS’ Map of the Soul era. Instead of spacing things out, playing it safe, or feeling too hesitant to take up space as a writer-slash-publisher, I went for it. And I met myself in a new way, in a new time and place. Myself as the publisher who, after two years off, was ready to take on the world again.

Now, as I sit in reflection of my month, I am pleased to say that I have six confirmed new book projects for 2024, with another six not long behind them. My audience is growing. And I reached my goal of increasing book sales by 50%. To be more accurate, I have increased them by 4578%. I have done yoga every day for a week. For the first time in my life, it has felt restorative. My back pain is nearly completely gone and I am feeling infinitely more grounded. Though I haven’t started writing Neo Limerence yet, I’ve set myself a publication date of December. I know I can do it. And I’ve got plenty of time. 

I think that this month was about reigniting my love for publishing books in a way I never knew possible. It was about me taking up more space as The BTS Theorist. It was about me understanding hugely detrimental patterns of behaviour and working to change them. And, it was about me continuing to put my health and healing as my first priority. If you were to have told me eight months ago that this is what I could expect, I dare say my response would have been “about time”. I would have loved for this to happen at the start of the year. For it to not have taken this long. But healing isn’t linear. I’ve started and stopped many times this year. I’ve craved stability. A strong foundation to build from. Momentum. It took me eight months, but that which I craved is now mine. And now I truly believe that time will no longer drag. And each step I take towards my dream will be faster paced and longer in distance. Just as well, for there are roughly 10013123 steps between my bedroom and Seoul. Not that I’ve been counting. The most exciting thing about two degrees of separation is that I’ve gone from seven to six to five to four to three to two… which means there’s just one more to go. And the day that it happens is truly closer than ever before.