There was a time when writing my thoughts out for you to read was second nature.
That all came to an end in 2020 and I’m not sure how much of that was due to the pandemic or the shambles I found my own personal life strewn into.
What I thought at the time was, “Who am I to be doling out advice at a time like this?” People were in the throes of uncertainty and fear and I didn’t have anything to say to put a salve on any of it. Especially that specific year. Beyond the pandemic, my personal life had spiraled out of control like a ham at Easter, so the thought of trying to help guide anyone else through the muck seemed absurd when I didn’t have an iota of my own shit together.
By July, as you now know, I had begun working with Dolly Parton. We did her Holly Dolly Christmas album shoot in July of 2020 which led to numerous other shoots that year for her perfume campaign, the now infamous Playboy cover recreation and some promotional photos. I didn’t write through that because it seemed sorta shitty of me to be all like, “Whooo Hoooo!!! Look at me all working with Dolly Parton in a pandemic when half y’all so out of work you cant even buy bologna.”
That was flat dumb luck, it wasn’t as if I could be like, “Just work hard and follow your dreams and in no time, you too can feel like Annie Leibovitz.” That was horse shit and I knew it. It was partly true, but that shoot got booked well before the tornado or the lockdowns.
And then in 2021 I bought a house and I moved, and had more shoots with Dolly including the Run Rose Run record and novel with James Patterson. And then I got tapped to photograph her wardrobe archive over the winter. By 2022, I was hired as the Director of Photography for her new book, “Behind the Seams, My Life in Rhinestones”.
I didn’t write through any of that for two reasons: One, I was fucking busy. - I was without irony working 9 to 5, and when you factor in the editing when I got home it was more like 9 to 9. And two, It was all top secret at the time. I was under all kinds of contractual obligations that forbid me from really telling anyone what I was doing or who I was doing it with.
I joked during that time that I had signed more NDA’s than Stormy Daniels and it was kinda true. Those three years were weird man. Not just the super secret work that I wanted to be shouting from the rooftops, but a lot of relationships fell apart, my lifestyle drastically changed and everything public facing became quieter as a result.
My social media mostly became a slideshow of my pets. “I can’t tell you what I did today, but here’s a picture of Frank the cat to remind you that I actually exist.” More often than not, it wasn’t to remind you, so much as it was to remind me.
And by March of this year, all the secrets were out. My NDA’s were DOA and I was free!!! I could tell everybody everything (well not everything, but at least all the work I had done.) I could go back to saying whatever I wanted and sharing my life with the passion I always had. And I kept expecting the writing to come back, but when I sat down to try… bleh. Nothing but crickets.
I’ve been talking about this with my therapist for months. I truly expected that once all the Dolly secrets were out that the writing would just start pouring out of me at the prolific speed that it had for decades. That definitely did not happen.
I kept saying, “I don’t think I have anything to write about, I don’t know that I have anything to say.”
Last week though, I was doing a little interview about the book and the host said that I was the only person he knew who was louder than him. I played right along with him because I knew what he meant, but inside I was like, - “Really? When was the last time you heard me hollering about anything?”
I thought a lot about that when I got home and late that night it dawned on me; It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say, it was that I had way too much to say. - I had been silenced by a variety of reasons for so long, that not only was it completely foreign to me to publicly say anything about my life or opinions, but I now have three years worth of shit to say bottled up inside of me.
I have so much to say that trying to just sit down quietly and hammer out some 800 word essay about the last 1,090 days is absurd. This is gonna take some time and its gonna need some space.
And that is how I landed here.
I did not want to jump right into writing articles and opinion pieces like I had for The Huffington Post, The Guardian, The East Nashvillian or even Medium. I wanted a curated place where I could be honest and vulnerable and maybe work backwards a little to get through some of the things I’ve observed or witnessed or learned on this incredibly strange journey. You know, work my way up to the loudmouthed, opinionated, sarcastic yahoo you all remember.
Or maybe not. The one thing I have been incredibly transparent about is that I don’t even recognize the January 2020 person that was Stacie Huckeba. I see her in my Facebook memories, but half the time not only do I not recognize her, I don’t even agree with her anymore. I love her, but I wish she would calm down a bit.
And maybe that too is part of the journey. Who am I as a writer if I’m not an outraged, loudmouth? - I’m not sure, but I’m here now and we shall find out together.
Hold Me Accountable.
One of the reasons I chose Substack is for the subscription factor. I am going to make my content free, but subscribers will keep me motivated. My goal is to try and write one piece (whatever that looks like) at least once a week and I’d love to have you along for the ride.
I am your first comment, lookie here! Middle of the front row with my popcorn ready for whatever it is you want to write, Stacie. Bravo.
This is making me so happy to read your words!