The first e-mail I ever got from my husband included an attachment: an essay he’d written on The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. We’d just met over dinner in the dining hall, and somehow the conversation had turned to this thing he’d written for a literature class class (of which he was clearly very proud, mainly because he’d managed to make a big joke out of the assignment while still demonstrating that he could write with intention and precision). I’d smiled and nodded (dude was bragging about his English paper) and quite possibly said something along the lines of “mmhm, I’d like to read that,” not thinking that he’d take me at my word. The e-mail arrived minutes after I’d returned to my room, subject: “I hope you’re impressed.” Body text read “With the essay.” File attached.Read More
Even when I’m not thinking directly about motherhood and its claim over my identity, whatever course of thought I am pursuing often brings me back to it somehow. It seems to seep into my reading and viewing choices, fiction and non: the book I just finished, Angelika Schrobsdorff’s You Are Not Like Other Mothers. The Canadian TV show Workin’ Moms on Netflix. The news coverage of highly consequential court cases regarding abortion access. Unless you live in total isolation from society, you, a mother, are going to be getting some feedback from the world about how you’re doing in the mothering department. Maybe you’re not leaning in enough at work or maybe you’re not sacrificing enough of yourself to your children; from the moment your embryo is detectable, people are going to have thoughts for you. Your motherhood cannot fail to make its mark on every other part of your identity, even if it is one of the few characteristics you share with over 2 billion other humans living on Earth, or as Katherine Goldstein put it during a guest appearance on Mom and Dad Are Fighting, “literally the least interesting thing about [you.]”Read More
Today is August 31st, and I have spent the last month thinking about this site, my writing, and how I want the two to interact with each other. I am writing every day, but I find myself extremely reluctant to actually post anything, let alone share the link to the site with anyone! That ends now. September 2018 will be the month of posting every weekday! These posts will generally be short and sweet (well, okay, let's stick with short for now). Every weekend will feature a longer post that I've been working on for a while in the background.
If you are reading this and you want to read daily, occasionally, or never, that's great! I will leave comments open and will be happy to respond if you want to leave a comment or a question. Posting regularly on a blog of any kind is a new thing for me; I was never courageous enough for a LiveJournal in high school, and I never did the MySpace thing. Nor have I used the Facebook Status for its intended purpose. I have been reluctant to assume that anyone cares what I think, and even more reluctant to give the impression that I think anyone cares what I think. It's 2018, everyone has a platform, and I am in my 30s, so fuck that. Reader, enjoy what I have to say or don't, and if you are here at all, thank you.
To say farewell to August, here is a photo that I took on my run this morning, standing on the newly-reconstructed Andersen Bridge in Cambridge, MA. It took 9 years of totally-screwed-up traffic to get us a finished bridge (hey, still not as long as the Big Dig), but at least now we can enjoy the view. See you in September!
The last time I called myself a writer was in the 90s. I was in grade school, still years away from my first self-deprecating joke. I had no self-consciousness in writing, and if I suffered from delusions of grandeur, it was because grandeur was my default state of mind.Read More