Yesterday I was in a mood and flailing about all the work I have that is unifinished but that I’m not in the mood to finish.
I was reading the Rumpus and they have a little thing asking for 400 word things from readers with the prompt The Gift. Go read that.
I started typing and instead of writing about giving someone a gift. Then at some point I had this brilliant flash of memory, something I’ve not thought about in more than a decade and there was a just under 600 word essay. I don’t normally get flashes of inspiration quite that quickly so it was a wonderful little gift.
Now reading around the web.
It’s International Woman’s Day and HTMLGIANT has a really good women author post. Go read that here. Add to the list.
At times I feel some few burdens being a Woman Author. Especially being a a woman of color. There have been many times in my life where I’ve been expected to be traveling the path of Maya Angelou or Alice Walker. There are few things I hate more than the assumption that because I am a female author of color that I will be trying to do what those authors do.
I also frenquently feel my hackles rise when I’m confronted with “Woman’s Fiction”. I hate that people who use this term almost always mean fiction about babies, marriage, dating, the quintessential heterosexual this is what women do/think about fiction. There is nothing wrong with fiction about babies, marriage and dating. There is nothing wrong with being heterosexual or writing the heterosexual experience what upsets me, is the narrowness of the idea.
I hate that fiction dealing with women is so often dreadfully heteronormative.
I hate that there are so many expectations of fiction dealing with women that it be nice or gentle or sweet.
That bugs me.
I’ve only really recently begun to start feeling this way in a very visceral kind of way. I submitted to some woman’s fiction magazines that said they wanted diverse voices/experiences and have had feedback that one story was just too bizarre and dark. Another story that they didn’t want people to think that women are murderers.
My issue wasn’t being rejected but rather that why ask for a different experience or point of view if you really don’t want one.
If what you want are 30 something single ladies who are all consumed by their need for husbands and babies just say so so I don’t waste my time or effort.
This is selfish of me maybe.
If you want woman’s fiction as defined by chic lit and romance just say so. Please.
I’m feeling like I’m not good at talking about these things because I’m not coming at it from the academic point of view. Or an educated one to be honest.
Or I’m being weird and obsessive. I’m not sure.
A few more links? Sure why not. It’ll stop me yammering.
I really like this post over at Thought Catalog about awful things women deal with.
I really dig this piece at Flash Fiction Offensive. No it’s not the one I wrote.
This poem by Remittance Girl killed me fucking dead. I want to do things to her brain.
xTx is having a giveaway. I really really like her (I think xTx is a her.) writing a lot. I think found from Pank or um…somewhere else I dunno.
I think that’s all for now I have some things to do. Essays to title you know grown up writer things.
Also I have a post brewing about feeling a little heartbroken about a few things. I’m not sure how to frame them so it doesn’t read as wahwahwaaaaaaaaah.
Okay now off to work.