The title is catchy. I may keep it.
Just a quick note to share two writerly womanly things that I’m super pumped about:
1) The Queen herself, my love in life, Ms. Zadie Smith, has a new book coming out this November. REJOICE! And now, here’s a photo of her looking gorgeous in Vogue:
2) This essay by Claire Vaye Watkins spoke to me so much I wanted to scream and have it read by every female writer I know. I have been writing fiction seriously since 2012 (prior to that I wanted to be Joan Didion). Since I began writing fiction, I wanted to be Jonathan Franzen. And if I couldn’t be him, I wanted him to at least love every word I wrote. I’ve held similar feelings for David Foster Wallace, Junot Diaz, and Jeffrey Eugenides. I’m not lying when I say that It took up until this year in my literary career, for me to decide that I can write well without emulating their every word. But I have been so inundated with their maleness, their alleged “rightness” that I thought for an embarrassingly long time that that is what I should aspire to as a writer. I now know better. I am me. And Ms. Watkins has helped reaffirm that.