Hi (: I have so much to tell you.
First off, Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you had amazing food spent with loved ones last week. Also, Lilly the rescue puppy, is now Ὀία (she’s Greek and boujie and better than you now, so watch out)! She was adopted by a newlywed couple who moved in just a few doors down from my current safe house. And while we’re here, I should probably update you, because it’s been quite some time since I’ve heard anything from any of the men who once had me worry about safety enough to pack up my things. Silence can be such a luxury. My safe house is in the country of Tennessee, giving me a perfect excuse to tap into both Nashville and Atlanta’s creative industries, and honestly, the quiet here is good and bad.
It was Thanksgiving last week, and as someone who grew up without technology— an honorary millennial, but definitely not by age, because I am still young and hot, sorry—I had to take my brother and his fiancée out for Blackout Wednesday. And yes, typically I write to you the night of because I want everything to feel true to the week I’ve had. I don’t like lying to you or holding anything back. So last Wednesday, instead of writing my newest episode of What Sheridan Said, I did what I had to do: I got blackout drunk.
I ruled the dance floor. I stole a couple of hats off some innocent men mid-dance move (am I sorry? No. But if you see this and subscribe, I might consider giving them back). Then someone slapped my ass. He’s lucky security took my machete out of my boot before I walked in, because honey, I cut. I’m kidding (maybe), it was a light tap, and he was with his girlfriends, and he apologized and blamed getting caught up in the moment and slapping their butts too while they were getting down. I let it slide. He was nice and glittery✨. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but even that night felt like another reminder that joy and chaos always show up for me in the same breath, like they’re conspiring to keep me awake to my own life. Yes, therapists, chaos is a big part of my personality; you can un-analyze me now. I do it enough myself.
I mentioned before how I felt as though the world was telling me to give up on my business side, even though it’s always been such a huge part of me. My earliest dream in that tiny farm town was to move away to the big city and be the best businesswoman they had ever seen. And in many ways, I did that, and I’m so proud of myself and every life I’ve helped, in a big or small way, like providing someone with a consistent paycheck. But throughout this year, writing to you has forced me to keep acknowledging that writing has always been a major part of me. I mean, hell, this girl, Sheridan the Great, earned a perfect score on her ACT essay. Before all you kiddos had robots writing hollow sentences for you.
Well, I also have some very cool news to share with you, and it’s part of the reason I’m writing this on Tuesday and letting the scheduler handle the rest. Your girl, Sheridan the Great, is officially a TV script writer!!! Yes, you can be jealous now. I can’t share any other details, but I’ve been developing relationships in the entertainment and creative industries because, as I keep repeating, I want my words to selfishly surround your entire world. So I’ll be in Atlanta all day when I normally write and share with you.
I suppose pretending this is a dramatic TV show all year actually paid off.
The confidence of this new gig pushed me to finally move forward on my other projects, too. I mentioned before how I took numerous storytelling and scriptwriting courses during quarantine and after. Well, I’ve been sitting on a very intense plotline for quite a while. I’ve tried writing it as a pilot, then a film, then a novel, but a little while ago I thought, selfishly, that becoming a playwright would feel as prestigious to me as having the letters ‘D’ and ‘R’ in front of my name. Not the same, obviously, but the level of prestige is similar in my mind. I’ve co-written a theater script before, a medieval British comedy with an ode to Monty Python, but since then, I haven’t tried my hand at another. So I began writing the horror story I’ve kept in my back pocket, but this time as a play.
And I finished it.
It’s two plays, both three acts each. The story is a realistic, dramatic horror. I wanted the story to showcase how if you partake in evil, you can’t just forget or shove it down; you have to grow and forgive, otherwise a new evil world will swallow you whole, leading to you being just as evil, if not more.
As the perfectionist I am, I need to revise it one more time before I let anyone peek at it.
Between this episode and the last, I wrote and published a new poem. It started as a simple ramble about my morning, but as all great poetry does, it dragged the truth out of my subconscious and became, unknowingly, a love poem. I mentioned last episode how men are my Plan B, and how I often get hate for that. It’s still very true. I, myself, will always be Plan A. And if a man comes along, fantastic. If not, I have enough random men on the streets and online offering to change my tire and calling me beautiful to keep life entertaining.
Can I tell you something rather unhinged? I’ve been proposed to four times, and I’ve said no every single time. One man proposed after I had only kissed him. One proposed for obvious citizenship reasons. And the other two… we don’t need to discuss. Can I tell you something even more unhinged? I don’t have any of those rings! Not a single one! What a shame! I feel like I should at least be at one out of four, right? Not because I’d ever say yes to any of them, they’ve barely seen the light of me, except for the occasional Google search in the past years, but because I think it should be courtesy. I’ve had to say no four times!!! I deserve one of those damn rings free and clear for dealing with men who think proposing without ever discussing the seriousness or longevity of “us” is appropriate. Like boy… catch your breath. I know I’m breathtaking, but let’s settle down and see if I actually like you back before you go and purchase an engagement ring. Alright, buddy boy?
I tend to be overly honest, which men sometimes take as a game. I also think and operate equally like a man and a woman, depending on the environment or situation. Basically, I’m a baddie who can play ball. I get it. Trust me, I’m turned on too by myself after taking a few selfies. BUT CALM DOWN.
Speaking of dating and the great lengths men have gone to earn my love, I shared a very romantic date I had in the past. No, it wasn’t a top ten date; men going all out on first dates for me is fairly standard, but this one has always held a special place because he showed so much effort with only about $20. And the story has now gone minor-viral on Threads. It’s sweet to see, truly, but I hate getting messages congratulating me on experiencing a date ‘like that,’ because that kind of effort has always been pretty normal in my world. It’s probably why I’m cautious about whom I say yes to. lol.
I suppose I’ve gone on a tangent, but all of this is to say: I am Sheridan the Great. I have so many iconic moments. I’m not forgotten. For instance, I was going on a first date a couple of years ago. I was sitting outside the café waiting, while he was walking from a few blocks away. I could see him. And I kid you not: two different men walked up and tried asking me out. Each time, I pointed to the man walking toward me. The second guy even waited to shake his hand and congratulate him on his date with “this beautiful woman.” Still to this day, every six months or so, he texts me: “You planned that shit, right?” And every time, I remind him: I am Sheridan the Great.
Things just happen for me when I’m confident, which is why some people (yes, I know who they are) prefer me when I’m down. And that’s okay, to an extent. I know there are people in my life who only feel comfortable talking to me when I’m either thriving or struggling, depending on what makes them feel less alone. The important thing is being aware of their energy. I truly believe that telling your plans to someone who doesn’t wish success for you will harm your outcome. Their thoughts interfere of maybe just their own insecurities. So I keep certain boundaries in place. Some people are only meant for certain conversations, certain activities, certain versions of me. And to keep things positive, those lines have to stay where they are. It’s hard at first, but with intuition and practice, it gets easier.
I know it sounds cliché, but life really is a balance of energies, finding the things that keep you from going insane with boredom, and finding the people who fit the different sides of you, knowing not every person is meant to see every side.
Okay, maybe that’s a little hypocritical considering I’m literally sitting here telling all of you about every side of me. But don’t compare yourself to me. I am not normal. I have not had a normal life or career. My life probably confuses you. Don’t worry, it confuses me too. I just know I was put on this earth to fuck shit up and make shit happen. As were all of you, in your own ways. You are not me, I am not you, and none of us are our neighbors. Don’t compare yourself to me, don’t compare yourself to anyone. I’m sharing my lessons and my “fucking shit up” so that it doesn’t stay silent, because silence would make all of it completely pointless.
I left college at 18 to run marketing for a startup. I bursted out of anger about how terrible their app design was, then took over the entire project. I’ve been working consistently ever since. I’ve run theaters, nightclubs, bars, and restaurants. I’ve built companies to millions a year. I’ve started my own. And I am still in my twenties.
When I was little, I lived in films and photography. Meanwhile, the most “fuckable” guys in my high school called themselves the Camo Crew because, you guessed it, they wore camo every day. While the coolest girls chewed tobacco and used the ‘back door’ for religious purposes. There, in this farm town, I was in pearls, fur coats, and stilettos, trying to survive long enough to escape. I was lucky in a way; the difference between me and everyone around me was so drastic that it was almost laughably clear that comparison was pointless. Not in a negative way; just in a “we’re meant for different universes” way. I can still smell the metal of the lockers, the cow manure from the farm next door, the diesel fumes from the camo-wrapped trucks in the parking lot, an entire world I was never meant to belong to. And that’s the thing: we’re all meant for different worlds, different stages, different impacts. That is the sameness we actually share. The yin and yang, the holy trinity, the compass pointing north.
So take inspiration from the fucked-up shit I’ve had to endure, learn from my lessons, and know that even though this year has been chaotic, I’m going to keep telling you what’s happening. Because someone out there needs to hear it. I know younger me desperately needed a voice like mine. I remember opening Google for the first time and feeling like the universe finally cracked open. I stared at the search bar for ten minutes, thinking of every single business idea I ever had, before panicking and typing: “What is the average American family income?”
My mother told me years later she found my first search history and laughed. I was the only kid who didn’t believe in Santa anymore, so the whole “we’re poor, but Santa brings bouncy houses and Xboxes” storyline was rather dead to me.
If you’re reading this right as it comes out, hi, I’m in Atlanta, being a hotshot in the entertainment industry, kidding, I’m starting at the bottom and absorbing everything possible. But I’m excited, so be excited for me? And if you’re wishing bad juju… I’ll know. And I’ll return the energy, booboo.
I think you know by now I’m not a scared person. I’m not scared of starting over or starting small or starting late, because every time I’ve jumped into a new world, somehow the ground formed under my feet. I don’t know if that’s faith or delusion or destiny, but either way, I know it’s mine as long as I have the confidence to claim it.
It’s annoying, honestly, how divinely inconvenient my destiny is and has been. But here we are. A new city, a new industry, a new world that has no idea the amount of impact I may have, and I suppose neither do I. But if this year has taught me anything, it’s that my story only gets louder when I lean into my chaos.
So let’s see what Atlanta makes of me. Or better yet, what I make out of Atlanta.
xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
WhatSheridanSaid.com
Life Behind the Artist: Wed at 9/8C
