I’m having more feelings about representation in fiction, how to explain it to people who don’t give a shit about sad Black girls and trying to navigate my own misshapen personhood.
I think that writing this essay uncorked something in my brain. I’ve been writing non fiction that stings as I write it. I’m overwhelmed by my own feelings and rage.
I’m overwhelmed and it’s good in that I’m not stressing more about my stupid teeth. I will deal with them as I can.
Exciting things? Here are some. I got invited to do a thing with Anna March and I am so fucking excited. I’m also nervous. The thing I’m working on is raw and bleeding.
I’m reading some really good stuff too. I’ll talk about that later this week when I’ve finished one more book.
I don’t know. I’m out of newer material to submit save for one fantasy (ugh another thing I need to process about but not today) story that I love but I think is maybe not fantasy enough or..something I dunno. It needs more work I think.
So this week I will write like a mother fucker. I might break that 100 rejection mark soon. I’m so close. So so close.