I wrote a thing a few days ago called tits. So now I get notifications - so-and-so likes tits. my tits. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tickled, though more by the pun than the actual appreciation. Not that I doubt it, not fully. It is, after all, a literary community it was published in, and I have some confidence in the caliber of people overall. It's not just tits they're after, though to be fair, we're none of us oblivious to a fetching objet d'art. Are we? Are you?
But it did make me think. I've always taken writing very seriously, which means inevitably any male with two ounces of wit on his part understood damn quickly that a good way to flatter me would be to take an interest in my tits writing.
I reckon by now I've heard any and every come-hither via clever literary detours imaginable. I won't lie, it was rather flattering at first. I was young, I was trying to prove myself. Besides, I felt I needed the boost, and since I've always had a propensity for falling in love with older men, it did somehow feel like they could be somewhat of an authority on IQ. Maybe if enough men told me I was clever and talented, I could eventually start believing it.
I did. Though if anything, in spite of these pseudo-romantic entanglements, rather than in gratitude of them.
I began predicting them - the interest, followed by a sudden and intense interest in every fascinating thing I had to write. I must say, it came as quite a disappointment the first few times, seeing how swoosh quickly that interest vanished the moment I made it clear the interest wasn't reciprocal. I know I shouldn't have been so sensitive, but I thought really, can't you be interested in what I have to say, even though I'm not gonna blow you? Interesting. See, I'm not in the habit of bartering my art as another pawn in the ever-winding sexual conundrum we call life.
Feel free to compliment my eyes and my legs. At least those are honest. But unless you enjoy my writing genuinely, please refrain. It feels incredibly patronizing to be a sizzling bright talent...only as long as you think you have a chance of getting laid.
Like, I wouldn't tell you you're a great lawyer just to get lucky. And I certainly wouldn't lie about something that actually matters. I never have. Whenever I've had a liaison with a fellow writer, my interest and my appreciation have been genuine. Same goes for musicians, or other arts I'm not directly involved in myself (which does create a conflict somewhat - of course I'm interested in talking wordsmithing).
It reminded me of a song.
A friend first showed it to me after a random car circled my sidewalk, pulled over, and asked me to get inside to "go somewhere". Like it was a perfectly natural thing. Like that's what I was there for. I must've been in my late teens. Thank God. I admit, I was much younger then, so I turned my nose up a bit at the song, I thought she was exaggerating, particularly on the artistic front. But some years later, gotta say, yeah, no.
"Thank God, I'm pretty
Every skill I ever have will be in question
Every ill that I must suffer, clearly brought on by myself
Though the cops would come for someone else
I'm blessed
I'm truly privileged to look this good without clothes on
Which only means that when I sing, you're jerking off
And when I'm gone
You won't remember"
Frankly, I'd rather men didn't say anything about my writing at all. I don't mean all men. I know men here who are genuine. I also don't expect to ever fully remove the sexual component. I was talking about this recently with a writer friend - it's absurd to obviate the fact that we are also human. It's natural that if you find a woman who writes well (which appeals to your literary inclinations), you'll also notice her attractiveness and the two will somehow compound each other. Or a man, of course.
Bookish people tend to be heavily attracted by words, so chances are if you find someone of a suitable gender for you and they write well, you'll be at least somewhat, in some way attracted to them.
But that's a different thing. To feign interest only to flatter the writer and get laid - that just reveals an immense callousness (and frankly, intellectual shallowness) on your part.
This fantastic album just dropped. I've always loved Lzzy, and the older I get, the more I do so because the more I understand how hard it is (still) to be a woman doing her own thing. This song is for sure a brave choice, especially when your partner's playing along next to you on stage while you're singing it, but I'm guessing it's not aimed at him.
"All of my roses are pink
And your violets are blue
Thinking maybe we made a mistake mixing the two
Now I'm driving away
And you got nothing to say
I want someone who cries, who feels every goodbye like I do, can you?"
I've met men, often, who seemed to think my writing was "cute". I don't mean the words so much, but rather the act of it. And of course, some men are willing to keep that. After all, it's a form of knitting, is it not? It's good to keep busy, anyway, but what's a woman got to say?
It's astounding to me, still, how many talented women there are out there. I used to think this was an old, passe subject. I felt, haven't we already established this, that women can too? Why do we keep screaming about it? I used to be quite unaware.I'm growing up, I guess. "Cute" has gotten old.
I wanted to show you this killer motherf-ing new album, but couldn't decide on the third song I wanted to include. The last one of the album, "How Will You Remember Me" is bloody brilliant. So is "Everest". But in the end, I settled for this one above. I just resonate more with the energy now.
"But damn, I built a castle from what little I had left
I'vе made a world without you from the sick inside my head"
Seems to me there's need of women reminding other women they hold the ability to build castles, because if you're not careful, some men revert to reminding us we're "cute", and I don't think that's something anyone needs to hear.
P.S. - This wasn't brought on by any one thing or person. Thankfully. It's just something that's been bugging me in relation to my writing for some time now, and it felt good addressing. Cheers for reading, and cheers 
