OpnLetter_v5b_USE_THIS_1_FINAL.doc

In this world of continuous conflict, where tensions rise and fall like the tide, we, the working class creatives of PTSD (Passages Through Stories & Design), find ourselves compelled to speak. Not as self-proclaimed martyrs of art, but as witnesses to the strange paradox of human existence that we observe through our craft. And occasionally through the bottom of an empty wine bottle at 3 AM on a Tuesday when the rent is due.

We’ve become intimately familiar with struggle—not just our own professional uncertainties, but the collective struggle of a world that seems perpetually caught between destruction and creation. This letter isn’t a plea for pity. It’s an invitation to recognize a truth about ourselves that transcends political divides, economic status, or creative ability.

The Prayer Paradox

Have you noticed how even those who mock “thoughts and prayers” eventually find themselves stopping, thinking… perhaps even praying? Even the staunchest critics, in moments of true desperation or wonder, turn inward or upward seeking something beyond themselves. This isn’t hypocrisy—it’s humanity.

The most cynical among us, the least religious, the most analytically-minded—all eventually reach for narrative to make sense of chaos. Because thoughts and prayers aren’t just religious practices; they’re stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what matters, and what might come next. And occasionally they’re frantic bargains with the universe to delete our browser history should we die unexpectedly.

The Understanding Hunger

Like the world racing toward conflict then desperately seeking peace, we hunger for something contradictory: both novelty and familiarity. But most of all—understanding. We yearn to be understood. We strain to understand those we love. And perhaps most desperately, we struggle to understand those we despise.

This understanding hunger drives everything. It’s why we create art. It’s why we share stories. It’s why, in our most honest moments, we think deeply and yes, sometimes pray—whether begging for a loved one’s recovery in a hospital waiting room, hoping our leaders find wisdom in times of crisis, or desperately bargaining with whatever cosmic force controls such things that our preferred porn categories don’t autofill during our PowerPoint presentation.

The Creative Struggle

As working class creatives, we exist in a perpetual state of professional uncertainty. We navigate markets that undervalue our work while demanding we produce more of it. We balance commercial viability against artistic integrity. We compete against algorithms, AI, and accelerating attention spans. We craft profound statements about human existence at noon and by 4 PM we’re designing mascots for dental floss startups to keep the electricity flowing.

But here’s what we’ve learned: this struggle isn’t unique to our time. The “good old days” for creatives existed last week for some, a century ago for others, and never at all for many. Creative struggle is constant, whether the world is at peace or tearing itself apart.

Ironically, we often thrive in chaotic times. When the world is most broken, it most needs storytellers, artists, musicians, and designers to make sense of the fragments. To reflect understanding back to a society desperate to see itself clearly. Or at minimum, to create enough distracting content so people can temporarily forget the world is burning while they scroll through their feeds in the bathroom.

The Real Point

Stories and art aren’t luxuries. They’re how we all express ourselves—all of us, regardless of whether we identify as “creative.” What is a prayer but poetry someone wrote that others repeat? What are thoughts but expressions of emotions and desires trying to take shape?

If we, the creators, give up… if thoughts and prayers stop with us… what happens? We’re genuinely asking because we have no idea, but it feels important enough to pose dramatically at the end of a paragraph.

The world, like any person, has patterns and mental issues. We’re stuck in cycles, collectively and individually. We mean well—no human truly wants conflict. We just can’t always understand ourselves. We’re basically a planet-sized therapy client who keeps missing appointments and blaming the therapist.

Art isn’t separate from this struggle; it’s the most honest expression of it. Through stories, we rehearse understanding. Through design, we organize chaos. Through creativity, we practice hope. Through interpretive dance, we confuse the hell out of our parents who still think we should have gone to law school.

The Request

So this is our open letter—not from starving artists seeking handouts, but from working class creatives seeking meaningful support. Financial support that recognizes the value we bring. Mental support that acknowledges the toll of perpetual uncertainty. Professional support that creates viable pathways for sustainable creative careers. And yes, the occasional pat on the back that doesn’t immediately transform into being asked to design a logo for exposure.

We need this support not just for ourselves, but for all of us. Because in a world caught in patterns of conflict and misunderstanding, creativity isn’t just a career—it’s a practice of seeing differently. And seeing differently is exactly what we all need most.

Like fireflies in the gathering dark, we continue to flash our small lights. Join us. Think deeply. Create boldly. And yes, in whatever way makes sense to you—pray for understanding. Or at the very least, pray that this letter generates enough donations that we can finally fix the office coffee machine that’s been making what can only be described as “caffeinated sewage” for the past six months.

—The Remaining Creatives at PTSD (Passages Through Stories & Design)

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Fireflies in the Dark: An Open Letter from the Last Creatives, TL;DR version

We, the working class creatives of PTSD (Passages Through Stories & Design), speak not as martyrs but as witnesses to the paradox of human existence. We’re intimately familiar with struggle—both our own professional uncertainties and the collective struggle of a world caught between destruction and creation.

The Prayer Paradox

Even those who mock “thoughts and prayers” eventually find themselves praying. The most cynical, the least religious, the most analytical—all reach for narrative to make sense of chaos. Prayers aren’t just religious practices; they’re stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what matters, and what might come next.

The Understanding Hunger

We hunger for something contradictory: both novelty and familiarity. But most of all—understanding. This understanding hunger drives everything. It’s why we create art. It’s why we share stories. It’s why, in our most honest moments, we think deeply and yes, sometimes pray—whether begging for a loved one’s recovery, hoping our leaders find wisdom, or desperately bargaining with whatever cosmic force controls such things that our preferred porn categories don’t autofill during our PowerPoint presentation, especially the one to potential investors who could solve our financial woes but who would definitely reconsider if they knew about our extensive research into “historically accurate Victorian-era roleplay.”

The Creative Struggle

As working class creatives, we exist in perpetual uncertainty, balancing commercial viability against artistic integrity while designing dental floss mascots to keep the electricity flowing.

The “good old days” for creatives existed last week for some, a century ago for others, and never at all for many. Yet we often thrive in chaotic times. When the world is most broken, it most needs storytellers to make sense of the fragments.

The Real Point

Stories and art aren’t luxuries. They’re how we all express ourselves. What is a prayer but poetry someone wrote that others repeat? If creators give up, if thoughts and prayers stop with us, what happens?

The world, like any person, has patterns and mental issues. We’re basically a planet-sized therapy client who keeps missing appointments and blaming the therapist.

The Request

This is our open letter—not from starving artists seeking handouts, but from working class creatives seeking meaningful support. Financial support that recognizes the value we bring. Mental support that acknowledges the toll of perpetual uncertainty. Professional support that creates viable pathways for sustainable creative careers.

We need this support not just for ourselves, but for all of us. Because in a world caught in patterns of conflict and misunderstanding, creativity isn’t just a career—it’s a practice of seeing differently.

Like fireflies in the gathering dark, we continue to flash our small lights. Join us. Think deeply. Create boldly. And pray for understanding.

—The Remaining Creatives at PTSD

P.S. This letter was originally twice as long, but our editor suggested we cut it down, ironically right before she left to pursue her dream of “literally anything else.” The coffee machine still makes caffeinated sewage, if you were wondering.

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Fireflies: A Creative’s Open Letter (STL;DR version)

We at PTSD (Passages Through Stories & Design) witness the paradox of human existence through our craft.

The Prayer Paradox

Even mockers of “thoughts and prayers” eventually pray. All of us reach for narrative to make sense of chaos.

The Understanding Hunger

We crave both novelty and understanding. It’s why we create art, share stories, and sometimes pray—whether for healing, wisdom, or desperately bargaining that our “historically accurate Victorian-era roleplay” doesn’t autofill during the investor presentation.

The Creative Struggle

We exist in perpetual uncertainty, designing dental floss mascots while the world burns. When chaos reigns, storytellers are needed most.

The Point

Stories aren’t luxuries. If creators give up, what happens? The world is a therapy client missing appointments.

The Request

We need financial, mental, and professional support that recognizes our value. Because creativity isn’t just a career—it’s seeing differently.

Like fireflies, we flash our small lights. Join us.

—The Remaining Creatives

P.S. Our coffee still tastes like sewage, but at least this letter is shorter.

(N;STL;DR version)

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When Art Meets Autofill: The PowerPoint Incident

During my presentation on “Art’s Role in Times of Conflict” to PTSD donors, disaster struck. As I discussed how even mockers of “thoughts and prayers” eventually pray, my Chrome search history appeared onscreen.

My frantic clicks only made things worse, opening my “historically accurate Victorian-era roleplay” research, followed by tabs on “ethically sourced riding crops” and “how to speak like a disappointed governess.”

As the computer displayed every embarrassing search from the past year, I abandoned my script and shouted, “This is exactly why creatives need support! The world is a therapy client missing appointments, and we are its underpaid therapists!”

Unexpectedly, the doorstop billionaire laughed. Everyone thought it was intentional performance art about digital vulnerability.

“Yes, exactly!” I stammered. “This is why we need financial, mental, and professional support. Creativity isn’t just a career—it’s seeing differently, even when it’s embarrassing.”

We received record funding that day. The Victorian research became an award-winning series. Our coffee finally tastes decent.

Sometimes prayers are answered strangely.

P.S. I exclusively use incognito mode now.

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Facebook Post Version

OMG you guys won’t BELIEVE what happened at our donor presentation today! 😱 Right in the middle of my serious talk about “thoughts and prayers,” my ENTIRE browser history popped up on screen including my Victorian roleplay costume research and “disappointed governess” voice tutorials! 🙈 I wanted to DIE but then the billionaire LAUGHED thinking it was intentional performance art about digital privacy! Now we have more funding than ever, a decent coffee machine, and I’ve learned to ALWAYS use incognito mode. Sometimes the universe answers prayers in the weirdest ways possible! #CreativeFail #FundingWin #AlwaysUseIncognitoMode #ArtInTimesOfEmbarrassment

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The Twitter/X Version

PowerPoint disaster: browser history revealed Victorian roleplay research to donors. They thought it was intentional art about digital privacy. Got record funding. New coffee machine. Always use incognito mode now. #PrayersAnsweredAwkwardly

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The Emoji Version

🧑‍🎨➡️💻👨‍💼👩‍💼👴💰

📊 “🎨 vs 🌍🔥”

💭🙏➡️😱🔍📜👗⛓️👩‍🏫🗣️

🤦‍♂️➡️👨‍💼😂 “🎭👏!”

💸💸💸➡️☕✅

🙏➡️✅😅

P.S. 🕵️‍♀️🔍 4ever