Do Whatcha Like

Odds-and-Ends, a New Paid Tier, Comics & Knowing It All

Ho there, fair reader—

Today’s entry is a little different. Thanks in advance for your patience as I take a moment to kvetch, overexplain, and thrash.

A year ago this day, my uncle Michael departed this earthly plane. It wasn’t easy to say goodbye, but there was certainly peace to be found at the end of his struggles. For me, I was drawn closer to family and his friends, and was inspired to break my cold streak and publish something about him in this newsletter. For a number of months, I’d been at work on a series about racial experiences, and was in truth drowning in it, and remembering and memorializing my uncle offered me a life vest that provided just the leverage I needed to get back in the saddle.

It's a solar rotation later and I haven’t made as much progress around here as I’d have hoped. The challenge, as ever for me, is routine. When it comes to practice, I tend to not. But we’re all works in progression so best to just look forward and tell you that this project is one that I’m always at work on, even when it might be difficult to detect.

When I launched Can’t Be Helped last winter, in the wake of a particularly difficult 2023, I was personally struggling. I’d been through a damaging mental health episode, one that challenged my sense of security, autonomy, viability, and perhaps most pronouncedly called into question my remaining creativity. I didn’t quite know where my ambitions fit into my life anymore—I just knew that I needed to make things. New things. Things I hadn’t tried before, been too afraid to. I had to reconnect with the part of myself that cared more about what I thought of my output than what publication deemed it worthy. I couldn’t let my self-worth continue to dangle on the thread of what work I booked. So, I thought I’d set out on my own, and write about myself. The thing I know best.

I know from crazy, and as mission statements go, trying to curry interest in insular writing about your life is up there. But it’s been overwhelmingly rewarding—and it is for that reason I just want to offer you my most heartfelt thanks for your attention to my writing and this space.

I had no idea when this started how much I myself would end up needing an outlet to escape the deluge of daily horrors we’re living under. And, I should also say, thanks for your patience as I took my sweet time on the “Only in Contrast” series. That project in particular was a real belabor of belove, a lifetime’s worth of confusion and misplaced confidence and confounding to sort through, and while I know it had its messiness to it, I appreciate the spirit in which the piece was received. Then I saw Sinners and was like “Oh this dude Coogler has figured out a way clearer way to explore a lot of these themes.” But, alas, we can’t all be born visionaries.

So, today, not a grand reckoning with race or the particulars of memory and attachment, but a bit of business. The first of the order is about access and finance. Don’t worry—there’s no booby trap springing, but I’ve been searching for ways to honor the generous confidence in me that those of you who pledged have expressed. If you did make a pledge, you likely noticed that no charge ever came—I wasn’t ready to launch a paid version of this newsletter, so I held off. But with some benchmarks behind me, I think I feel ready to take your money.

Having gotten some feedback after last month’s entry, I would totally understand if you were wondering, “Brendan, why’d you risk it all to admit your inappropriate fanaticism for plastic likenesses of superheroes and the like? And, if you’re going to do that, why opine at such length about the subject?” To which I’d say, you’re a bully and this press conference is over.

No, but if we’re friendly on the socials, you might have seen a video last month of me doing some toy unboxing (what a great term—it’s like “unaliving,” but for the commercial value of vintage retail goods) while I shared some thoughts and stories about the properties. It was probably corny and inadvisable, being a loser on Main, but it was in my defense an earnest promotion of my latest story.

And, it’s funny, while I’ve always done story promotion, posting to FB and the like from as early as my professional writing career got its start, it’s even more essential now that I’m the sole proprietor of this here written word business. This whole thing is a sharing exercise, after all, and for as much as I myself am mining personal history for content, I am finding (and hearing) that there’s more that’s universal to our experiences than I anticipated.

That’s the unexpected benefit of sharing—it’s hard to totally anticipate the feedback you might get. And, of course, I’m always hugely grateful whenever anyone deigns to share my work with their own network—it’s never unnoticed and always appreciated.

The honest truth is part of me knew I was being an unabashed weirdo, carefree, and another part maybe wanted to make an outcast of myself. I don’t have a ton of terribly self-destructive habits, I don’t think, but I do have a penchant for daring people to get away from me, pushing, while also hoping they fight to stay near. I’m sure there’s some psychology afoot there but I checked with Lucy Van Pelt and the doctor is OUT.

My last two subjects have given me a lot of cause to think about precisely why it is I seek to share and express. Am I a voyeur, desperate for the windy chill of bare exposure? Would I simply say anything for attention, no matter how costly? I worry, of course. But, the counterargument is a simple one, based in a universal truism: write what you know. More than anything, that’s what I seek to do here.

One of the cruel jokes of modern life is how much the internet disabuses you of the notion your own expertise. Its vastness tells you how many people know more, are more rarified in their knowledge or practice than you—but what then? Do you become a spectator, passively following the insights and exploits of the attention-ruling class? Do you wade into the game, risk looking the fool in your efforts to measure up?

Obviously, I choose the latter. Toys, toy photography—it’ turns out it’s somehow niche and hugely popular with a ton of fans. Honestly, I wrote about toys because it was easy, because the words came readily. After spending a year on a single piece, it was a relief. But I worry I ruined the magic of something—that there might be no surprises left when I break out a fun little guy.

Speaking of those fun little guys that illustrate our stories here, I think they’re ready for their close-up. And so that’s why I’m announcing Can’t Be Helped Comics—bonus content for those who want to see how my adolescent mind really works.

It’s part of the newsletter’s move to add a paid tier to your options. As far as paid subscriber content, what you’ll get is this: in addition to the main features that drop every-as-often-as-I’m-able, you’ll also get some bonus content like additional, complete versions of original comics; linear note-style entries like this one today, where I casually reflect on the bigger swings; and shorter, more frequent entries that will go into what I’m working on at the moment. I’m still trying to avoid falling into the trap of writing about the daily news, because I don’t think you need to hear about how much I hate Trump and his ilk, unjust death, and the degradation of our social fabric.

But I do want to experiment some. Namely, with comics.

So, the last thing I can tell you is, if you do end up wanting to become a paid subscriber, you’ll get complete access to exclusive comics I’ve produced through the use of my vast and silly action figure collection. I’ve been toying with this format for quite a while but mustering up the courage to share it has proven difficult, so I thought I’d take advantage of the opt-in nature of Substack and make them fully available to those interested. Gonna flip the switch creating the paid tier on Monday, July 21.

So, today, for everyone, and in honor of Mike McGuirk, I present the below Can’t Be Helped Comics Strip, a little tone poem dedicated to his memory. Thanks for checking it and hearing me out, for being a friend, and only making fun of me as much is appropriate.