On Being Female and Writing on the Internet

A funny thing happens when you go from no one giving a flying fuck who you are or what you write about to actually having an audience somewhere that's growing, no matter how slowly. Suddenly, you're no longer just writing for yourself or for a handful of friends who would be interested in almost anything you put out there because they're interested in you. You're writing for people who know nothing about you beyond what they can glean from your content. 

Most are also less interested in you as a person and more interested in what you can teach them or how reading you can make their lives better. Some of those people will be total strangers, and it turns out the experience of writing for such people is a mixed bag. You often get to find out what others honestly think of you because they'll tell you in no uncertain terms sometimes. Hopefully, you've got a thick skin and a relatively down-to-earth mental image of who you are and what you're really about because you will need them.

The vast majority of the folks who interact with my content or decide to get in touch with me outside of Medium because of something I wrote are lovely. They enjoy my writing, get something useful out of it, and want to thank me for writing it in the first place or ask me a question about something I said. I've also had people point out specifics that they enjoy in my work that make me look at myself in a different, more positive light. One of the things I hear the most often is that people dig my authenticity and my strong sense of self. I've even had certain individuals, especially other women, tell me the way I present myself inspires them, and that makes me feel pretty darned good about being me.

But there are always a few sour apples in every barrel. As a heterosexual woman on the internet who frequently writes very frankly on topics like relationships and dating, I've attracted my share of incels and "nice guys" who feel personally attacked by some of the things I have to say. They especially don't want to hear those things from a woman who's attractive, happily married, and old enough to have been around the block a couple of times. It makes it harder to default to insulting my looks or pointing out that I'm single or divorced as proof that I don't know what I'm talking about. They're forced to actually consider my words instead, and that's not something overgrown man-babies like to do. At all. 

On the Origins of My Life as a Writer

Julianne Moore as Evelyn Ryan -- The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio (2005)

I've had people ask me in the past whether I always knew I wanted to be a writer because of how much I talk about loving what I do, but truth be told? Not really. I was considered gifted as a child, and I was good at a lot of different things. But for some reason, no one seemed to think writing was my most impressive skill. I did write a lot and enjoy it, but I got a lot more attention for being good at drawing and painting, so most of the authority figures in my life figured I'd grow up to be an artist.

I actually turned out to be one of those gifted kids who never really belong anywhere or gel well with anyone. I'm not what you'd call a team player, and I've always had a reputation for being downright weird. I'm nice enough, but I also don't necessarily like being around people. I'm introverted, highly solitary, and will typically choose to be by myself unless I get along unusually well with someone. I've also never really been what you'd call ambitious. I've always preferred to just stay home and hated anything that required me to be anywhere else for very long, including school and pretty much any traditional working environment.

I tried a few different jobs on for size in my 20s, including vet teching -- the job my mother wanted me to have. I also found most of the things I tried intolerable because of the weird hours and excessive overtime I was expected to put in. I spent most of my 20s working retail for that reason. I detested all the people contact and forced cheerfulness, of course, but the hours were at least flexible, and if I worked on commission, I could afford to pay my bills working only four days a week.

On Channeling My Inner Carrie Bradshaw

Seth and I finished rewatching The Tudors and are now heavy into a rewatch of Sex and the City. We were really into this show when we first got together years and years ago at this point, so this is bringing back a lot of fond memories. However, so much about it hits completely different these days. For one thing, some of the episodes have aged a lot more gracefully than others. I'm also processing the vast majority of the characters and plotlines a lot differently now that I'm only a couple of weeks away from my 45th birthday. 

Sometimes remembering my 20s -- the way I thought, the things I enjoyed, and everything I thought I wanted out of life -- is like remembering someone else's life. I never would have thought back then that I'd grow into someone with such simple needs and wants. For instance, I wouldn't necessarily spit on the opportunity to travel or explore the world if it came my way at this point, but it's not something I can't imagine my life without anymore. The same cannot be said for things like home-cooked dinners at home with my partner or large, quiet chunks of time to write and create things.

When I first discovered Sex and the City as an idealistic, energetic 20-something, I related a lot to Carrie. But it was mostly because she was quirky, restless, and plagued by relationship troubles. Like Carrie, I thought I was commitment-oriented, but I never seemed to be happy anytime I was actually in a relationship. I also had more trouble being faithful to people than I like to admit. Any little thing that went wrong in my relationships was more than enough to inspire me to dump a partner or -- at the very least -- start looking over their shoulder for someone else. This time around, I no longer relate to this side of Carrie. I do remember what it was like to feel that way, but that's about it.