Dear lovely readers,
I have some fabulous news to share with you. But first, I’m gonna whine about my white lady problems.
So, the reality of the PhD is kicking in, and I am coming to understand exactly how much work this stupid degree will entail. I spent the entire fucking day today filling in the most rage-inducing bureaucratic clusterfuck of paperwork otherwise known as a “grant-application”, a process which apparently employs every pinhead fucktard on the planet. Seriously, who designs these applications?
I have also begun the process of tracking all the literature that describes an actual, quantifiable benefit arising from big data analytics across five sectors of the global economy, a document that will constitute the bulk of my literature review and that I will, with any luck, publish as a separate paper.
It’s a shit ton of work.
Hitting my research goal today, and filling in the grant application made it impossible for me to post earlier than this.
Now, in addition to the PhD and the blog, I decided to try my hand at writing a novel.
And true to form, I didn’t just write a novel – I was a complete asshole about it. I have combined present perfect and simple past tenses in a way that makes grammar Nazis go full bore Third Reich, but that perfectly imitates the way the tenses are used in spoken English. It’s in the first person, with multiple narrators and a fractured narrative. Sometimes the narrators change from one sentence to the next, and the narrative fractures from one paragraph to the next. My main protagonists are both men, and the story is set during wartime. Oh yeah, I have an omniscient narrator, too.
What do I know about men in combat? Men facing down an enemy? Men being the enemy? Men who face the choice between killing and being killed? Men who experience all the horror and joy and exhilaration and boredom and fear and courage and despair and invincibility and utter vulnerability of being at war?
What do I know about that?
Fuck all. But I know men. I begin with the assumption that every emotion, every feeling, every response, every reaction is a part of who they are as human beings.
So I did what few women do: I wrote a story with a male protagonist, set during war.
Think about that. When men write, they very commonly write female protagonists. From Anna Karenina to Madame Bovary to Lispeth Salander to Hester Prynne, men have always written deeply nuanced, fully realized, fully human women.
Women tend to write other women. Outside of genre fiction, they rarely write male protagonists.
So it’s unusual to have a woman write not just one, but two male protagonists.
Here’s my wonderful news: I have been accepted for representation by a literary agent in New York with a client list of some very big, prize-winning authors.
I simply can’t do it all. Something has to give. The work we are doing here is far too important for me to give up entirely, so here is what’s going to happen.
All future work (I’m aiming for every Friday) will appear exclusively at A Voice for Men. I’m working under the direction of the editorial team there, who will assign me topics and issues, and I will continue to lend my voice to the most important civil rights movement in the culture. This blog will remain up, and I will post links to articles as they appear at AVfM.
But my daily rants are over for the time being, as I chase after my dreams.
It’s scary, dear readers, but as the saying goes:
Wish me luck, and I’ll see you at AVfM!
Lots of love,