This is the week where some of my projects begin their journeys out into the world.
Now, to change tack entirely for a moment:
Threaded through most of my posts, I think, is an undercurrent of dissatisfaction with the depiction of minority identities in the media. In particular, I’m talking about the aspects of identity, and their intersectionality, that most affect me—disability, mental illness, queerness, gender and misogyny. (These are by no means the only aspects of identity in need of validation through positive, accurate and honest media portrayals, but these are the aspects I have the right to speak about in an authoritative way.) Throw in a touch of spirituality, personal development and what it means to be an adult, and that’s pretty much where I write from in terms of my current and future blog posts, but also my fiction. Yes, I’m a fiction writer, and while I tackle many other publication production/editorial/non fiction projects because I enjoy most things about the writing business, I’m primarily a fiction or creative non fiction writer: I believe that story is the medium that most moves audiences.
For one of my classes this year, we were asked why we write. I get asked this a lot; I ask it of myself on a regular basis. I started this course thinking that I write to change people’s minds, to make them think, to educate, and this is, in fact, why most other people think I write—to tell cishet people that I exist and am deserving of acknowledgement. That’s a pretty good reason, and if cishet people happen to pick up my work and think about the world in which they live and how they create an oppressive environment for someone like me, I’m glad my words have had that much impact. That’s not why I write, though. I don’t write for cishets (or the able-bodied, or cis men, or people without mental illness). I don’t write for the majority. I don’t even want to market my work at the mainstream; I have no interest in it.
I write for us.