I am sitting in the University of Freiburg library, which is basically my second home at this point. I’m status post one very harrowing creative non-fiction workshop with Roxane Gay and all of my amazingly talented fellow writers. I’d really meant to blog more consistently throughout the past two weeks — reporting on our syllabus, the analysis & close reading of all the amazing texts we’ve been assigned, and all the terribly insistent SnapChatting I’ve been doing both about the retreat and the daytrip to Basel yesterday (my poor friends and lovers received dozens of snaps from me yesterday, lo siento).
But instead I’m slightly drunk and writing post cards to myself. My essay topic was about “sex that is not technically non-consensual” or the ways in which sex can be both consensual and traumatic, so I wasn’t kidding when I said it was harrowing. Gray areas. People talking critically (but so compassionately) about some of the more painful parts of my life. It’s something that I’ve been mulling over for a while, something that I hinted at, maybe, months ago in my first-ever paid and published piece for The Toast, A Personal History of Misogyny. This new piece was not an easy one to write, but it was, I think, a necessary one. [And I swear this isn’t me gloating here, but I am over the moon about it: RGay corroborated that, the necessary-ness of articulating gray areas, particularly when it comes to subjects like sexual assault and trauma.]
But I don’t want to write about that essay. With any luck, and with a bunch more work, that essay will be published. I’m an ambitious sort of lady, and I’ve already pitched it somewhere. On Monday I’m headed to Amsterdam, where I’ll hopefully get a tattoo but will definitely edit my essay. In the meantime I want to share a little bit about the reading Roxane gave for us today, and some of the advice that followed.
Greetings from Offenbach, where I will be spending the next couple of hours before heading to Frankfurt to head to Freiburg to take two classes with Roxane Gay (cue excited squealing). Today has felt like the absolute longest day, which is mostly just me not being used to traveling. My girlfriend is flight attendant and routinely suffers through longer days, while also working, which, ugh, fuck work.
Anyway. My original plan was to get to Offenbach having slept a restful and long sleep on my overnight flight, drop my bags off, and then flit around Frankfurt for a day in order to make the very most of my time spent in Europe. Last time I was ~abroad~ was in 2013, after all, when I went took myself to London for my first ever grown up vacation. But ha-ha-ha at the idea of sleeping on the plane. I HATE planes. I don’t mind flying but sitting still for more than an hour is the devil. I think I slept maybe twenty minutes.
Also there were a lot of children on my plane and in my vicinity. All but one of them was surprisingly well-behaved but I thumb my nose at the little punk who wouldn’t stop wailing unless his mom let him stagger like a little drunk old man up and down the aisle the whole time.
Here’s what you’d be Internetly slapping your hard earned money down for:
I write about my experiences. I write about feminism, and misogyny, and surviving sexual violence. I write about how freaking awesome and brilliant and strong girls are, for the awesome/brilliant/strong kid I was, for the awesome/brilliant/strong kids I haven’t even met yet. I write about the tough-as-nails women who raised me. I write about sex in all it’s silliness and sultryness and joy.
I also write about fairy tales, and zombies, and mermaids, and superhero chicks who save the world a lot. So if you like any of those things, or if you just like me, please consider throwing some dinero my way.
If that sounds worth it to you (and I hope it does), please (if you’re able to!) help a lady out.
Also, as a thank you for your kindness and generosity, I’ll send you post cards and letters and trinkets and sketches of topless mermaids and personalized stories and poems written just for you, if you so desire.