The Writer Is In
“Storytellers came to me looking for connection—which was, of course, the very thing I’d been craving myself.”
Last fall, I was adrift. My debut novel had come out a few months before, and I was enduring a period of novelistic postpartum depression I had been warned about, yet somehow never believed in or prepared for. My day-to-day life had reverted, more or less, to its pre-book state, and I sometimes woke up wondering if that beautiful moment of feeling work and intention crystallize into accomplishment had ever really happened.
Can I get an Instagram of this?How many people would like it?
Someone likes me!Where would I work?
What if I don’t have time to finish revising my own projects? What if I can’t get my schedule to work?What if I’m bad at it? What if no one likes me? What if no one comes?
More by this author
“I was worried that no one would see me; that they would only see a Wife”: On a John Singer Sargent Painting and Marrying Young
I see two people who are entwined, but never completely, and not at the expense of their separate selves.
More in this series
“Some of these horses have also been rescued from floodwaters. They too are in a strange place, and deeply alone.”
When we conflate men’s sexuality with harassment and violence, we don’t ask much of them. Masculinity doesn’t have to be toxic.