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Our elderly Great Pyrenees, Alex, has finally gotten us thoroughly trained as his personal valets to do his every bidding.
When he began to have trouble walking on tile because apparently the floor was lava, we went out and bought carpet remnants and lined every surface he walks on as his own personal runway.
When he got finicky about eating and started to lose too much weight, we began customizing his menu until we found something he would eat, and now he gets chicken casserole every day. On the days when that’s still not good enough he simply stares implacably at us until we jump up and he gets toppings too: freeze-dried liver treats or cheese or a delicious drizzle of peanut butter.
As I was hastening to cater to his whims this morning when he stared at me over his breakfast dish (which was apparently in the slightly wrong location for his best convenience), suddenly I got righteously angry over I Dream of Jeannie.
Kids, this was a popular show back in the late sixties (which I watched in reruns much later, thank you very much) in which an all-powerful female genie lived in captivity in a bottle serving the military man who had been lucky enough to find it. She literally called him Master, and the premise of the show was that this silly lady genie kept trying to have a mind of her own despite the fact that she was supposed to do everything Master said.
To no one’s surprise, eventually of course they fall in love. Because who doesn’t fall in love with the person who keeps them prisoner and expects them to revolve completely around their whims?
Readers, I loved this show. I am and have always considered myself a strong feminist who never believed I was less capable or worthy of anything different from a man or anyone else. And yet I watched this thing.
How do we keep believing that what we want matters and that we have the wherewithal and ability and the voice to pursue it, in a time where so much of the messaging we may be seeing tells us otherwise?
I read—and loved—fairy tales like Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid,” in which a woman literally gives up her tail for a man and has to bargain away her voice, her actual voice, for the privilege (the symbolism here is staggering).
And even so, it’s a bargain so painful that she leaves a trail of blood everywhere she walks with her brand-new feet. Despite a nod to gaining a soul in the trade (because apparently mermaids don’t have souls…?), all this is for the sake of winning the prince, her apparent highest goal—whose life she competently saved, BT-dubs.
How on earth did I manage to hold on to that innate feeling of self-worth and confidence I had had? How did I keep believing that what I wanted mattered and that I had the wherewithal and ability and the voice to pursue it, in a time where so much of the messaging I was seeing told me otherwise?
Empowering Readers through Story
The short answer is that I didn’t always hold on to it. I did indeed internalize some of these messages to a degree, believing that if only I were a good girl and did as I was told and did it perfectly and with no complaints, I would get the keys to the kingdom (the kingdom apparently being the man who would take care of me in fine style for the rest of my life—a goal that even as a child felt hollow to me).
But fortunately I had other influences as well. For starters, IRL I had a single mom who worked her hind end off to support me and my siblings, and showed me that women could do what needed to be done on their own.
And yet even at home I got the messaging reinforced that I was subordinate to men. When my dad died, my mother told my 12-year-old little brother that he was now the man of the house, despite the fact that she had been capably running it on her own since their divorce, and despite that my 16-year-old sister and 14-year-old self superseded him in the chain of seniority.
Stories gave me countermessaging that opened my world up a little bit wider than the forces that seemed to want to keep me in my place.
But I also had books. I had Ramona and Beezus, and Harriet the Spy. I had Sheila the Great and Sally J. Freedman and all of Judy Blume, actually, whose books repeatedly showed me female characters having agency and goals and minds of their own. Later I had Little Women and The Handmaid’s Tale…and more Judy Blume.
On TV I saw Maude, with an incredibly powerful female lead, and One Day at a Time, with a single mom like mine ably supporting her family, financially and otherwise. On the big screen I had Sarah Connor and Ellen Ripley and all three badass women in Nine to Five.
These stories gave me countermessaging that opened my world up a little bit wider than the forces that seemed to want to keep me in my place.
Seeing Yourself in Story
And this wasn’t just my experience. One of my best friends is a gay man who told me he grew up thinking there was something wrong with him all his life because he never saw himself reflected in any books or movies or any other cultural messaging, except as the butt of a joke.
But then there was Rita Mae Brown and Gore Vidal and E. M. Forster and Alice Walker and Audre Lorde. There were films like The Boys in the Band and The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Paris Is Burning and Philadelphia; Priscilla and To Wong Foo; shows like Ellen and Will & Grace—all bringing LGBTQ characters not just into the mainstream, but right at the center of the spotlight.
If you grew up Black and saw yourself only as the mammys and maids and other happy, grateful servants of white people, or dangerous, threatening, even criminal presences, where did you see your real life and your real self without Tony Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston and Maya Angelou? Without James Baldwin and Langston Hughes and Lorraine Hansberry and Walter Mosley?
Without movies like Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X, Eve’s Bayou and Soul Food, TV shows like The Cosby Show and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Black-ish that finally put Black people in positive starring roles?
Your Stories Matter Most When Others Are Trying to Silence Them
Right now, judging by the rampant book banning and other censorship of a fringe extreme that wants to take us back to a time when everyone knew their proper place (meaning under a homogenous creamy-white topping of male power), it might feel easy to despair as an artist that there’s still a market for your message, the kinds of stories you want to tell about the kinds of people and lives that speak to you. You might wonder if it’s possible to still build your career on stories like that, if there’s a point, or if it’s even safe.
Not only can you, but you must. Times like the ones we’re living in now are when it matters most to put your full-throated voice into the world. To help others see that despite the messaging they may be given, there’s nothing wrong with them, that they do matter, that they have power—even when certain sectors may want them to believe they do not and to silence them.
Times like the ones we’re living in now are when it matters most to put your full-throated voice into the world. To help others see that despite the messaging they may be given, there’s nothing wrong with them, that they do matter, that they have power—even when certain sectors may want them to believe they do not and to silence them.
That frothy top layer of whipped cream doesn’t make the pie, authors—it’s everything holding it up that gives a pie substance and meaning.
I shared all these thoughts with Alex over breakfast, but I’m not sure he was really paying attention as he ate while I held his dish at just the right angle for his pleasure.
But I realized my thoughts weren’t about him. We cater to Alex because he’s earned some privileges in his advanced age and we want to make his life easier, and because he has no thumbs to do it himself. Alex isn’t in charge of us or trying to keep us down. We’re choosing to care for him out of love.
All of us get to choose. No matter what we’re told about whether we matter or fit some arbitrary societal mold or expectation of us, whether anyone else approves of who we are or how we live or anything about us, we get to choose whether to be silenced. We get to choose whether we use our voices and roar our truth.
You worry your stories don’t matter? Yeah, they do. Somewhere there is someone who desperately needs to see themselves in your work. To believe in something better than what they may have been told they can have.
When you’re sitting by yourself at your computer struggling to create your stories, wondering what’s the point, remember this: Art is often the most powerful tool there is as we try to bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice.
Authors, I’d love to hear the stories that changed your worldview, empowered you, illuminated something important for you. What kinds of stories do you want to write—what matters to you in your creative work?
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34 Comments. Leave new
I can readily identify with this post. Twenty-five years ago, an agent (a woman) rejected my novel, telling me my lead protagonist “had to be a bloke.” I wasn’t prepared to make this change and didn’t get her as an agent or anyone else—although I think this was because my novel read more like an outline than a novel. I didn’t have the skill sets to be a novelist.
My current novel has a strong female lead character, and when it goes out to agents, it will be interesting to see if times have changed. Hopefully, they have because I won’t be changing.
I love that you see both sides of this event, Mark–that yes, your story wasn’t ready for prime time then, but also that you have to tell the stories that matter to you through the eyes of the protags who speak to you. Fingers crossed for your new submissions!
I find takeaways in all of your blogs, and this one tops the list. In a nutshell, you explain exactly why it’s vital for authors who are BIPOC or LBGTQ+ to have more avenues to publish their stories – for the readers in those groups who have never seen their life experiences on the page and are searching for community. (PS so sorry about Alex, it’s tough to watch a beloved pet decline.)
Things seem to have gotten better on that front–but I think that may be part of the reason for the angry backlash we’re seeing, too. When the historically voiceless begin to claim their voices, those who have benefited from their silence start to panic and try to return to their comfortable world order. Change can be threatening.
Thanks for your thoughts for Alex! He’s a wonderful boy and we’re grateful for every second we get with him. But yes, this is always the hardest part. <3
Wow. Very impactful. I also ingested many sexist shows, but thankfully discovered She-Ra Princess of Power, then the feminist SFF of the 80s, especially Jessica Amanda Salmonson’s Amazon anthologies. Thanks for sharing this piece.
Oh, I love that! I think She-Ra was a little after my cartoon-watching years, so I never saw it, but I know she was an ass kicker. 🙂
Your experience mirrors mine in that we needed to see different–greater–possibilities than what we might have been being told or offered societally. That has so much power, especially when you’re young, but really I think anytime. Especially when others are trying to tell you you’re “bad” or “wrong,” to silence or control or hide you. Thanks for sharing this, Lyri.
Tiffany, I was moved to tears by this. Even though I’m steadily writing, a persistent voice has been nattering away saying, “who wants to read about growing up with a sister with an intellectual disability? Life is different now, doctors don’t tell parents to institutionalize their children with neurodiversities. Who cares?” She was one of the most influential, meaningly, maddening relationships in my life. Franny. Franny Franny.
Oh, Jacqueline, your comment moved me to tears. Your love for Franny–and her spirit–come through even in your brief comment. I hope you keep writing her story. Someone needs it. Probably we all do. <3
I’m 65 and still waiting for the book about someone like me. Rather than find it, I always had to read books that existed at the periphery, then merge all of them in my mind. Of course, eventually, resignation gave way to determination. I wrote for me while learning how to write a story for others.
In 2010, I came within a whisper of dying because of doctors who objected to me existing. I relocated. Though not whole, I recovered, my resolve all the greater. Drafted novels, novellas, and short stories piled up. I learned more about self-editing (thank you). My otherworld historical fantasy expanded to include adventure, mystery, and romance.
I’m so thankful you are here and using your voice!
Girrrlll, WRITE IT! Hells, yes, if YOU aren’t seeing you in stories, chances are pretty solid that a whole bunch of people like you feel the same way, and you can be their voice.
I’m so sorry about your medical hurdles, and glad you advocated for yourself and overcame them. I love that you used it to fuel your creativity. Thank you for sharing this, Christina.
Keep writing Christina!
Thank you so much for writing this. It’s a reminder of how much impact our work has. Art can save lives!
I believe that, truly. Art can save people from despair or hopelessness that can indeed save their lives, metaphorically and sometimes literally. Thanks for this, Angela.
Excellent post. I’m frustrated with the lack of support of women, queer people, and people of color, not only in publishing—which, no matter what they say to the public is still lacking diversity—but everywhere.
I agree. We are the ones who can help change that! Thanks for the comment, Kristin.
Such a lovely post, Tiffany.
I watched those same shows, when they were new. Yes, it’s a wonder, how did we find a way to be more than what society told us we could be? I think we look hard for what we need to find. The smallest sign is still a sign. Carol King’s curly hair on Tapestry, Dylan’s hard, piercing voice confronting hypocrisy, a button that said Question Authority, a great aunt that dressed in caftans, got up near noon and refused to cook, these were my signals rebellion was a possibility. Books then helped me to define what the rebellion was against, as well as glimpse other ways to live.
Please give Alex a hug from me. I once had a huge, white labradoodle that, in the beginning of his end, decided light wood floors, including foot bridges on trails, were lava. I wish I could hug him again.
I love that, Ada–how you found signals in the art you were taking in that fortified you. I always look for that too–and I hope that vision of reality comes more and more into the forefront of art. I always loved the way Schitt’s Creek handled its gay characters–with no special notice or storylines around the issue, just presenting them living life like everyone around them, same struggles and joys and fears and triumphs. I hope we get more and more presentations of life like that. It “normalizes” diversity, instead of holding it apart as a deliberate message…and that seeps into society. Thanks for this comment–and your sweet thoughts about our boy Alex! I feel how much you miss yours. When they are gone they leave such a massive hole, don’t they?
I was bullied in high school and books were my refuge. All those stories with main characters that overcame their bad circumstances made me believe that I could, too.
God, I love that, Sylvie. I had that same kind of experience–school was where I was considered “weird,” for various reasons. Books were where I felt normal. Thanks for sharing this.
Love this! I was raised on a farm, and – as long as I was living under my parents’ roof – taught that I was equally capable to anyone else on the farm. I could fix transmissions, drive the tractor, build things, you name it. But I was also taught to defer to males when I got older.
Literally, when I got my driver’s license my dad told me to wait for a man to change my tire if I got a flat on the side of the road. Nevermind I was well-versed in how to change tires on every piece of machinery we owned.
Gah–THIS is the kind of thing that kills me. You are seen and treated as competent in every way…and then some weird societal idea of stratification still makes the very people who may have taught you your own ability and agency undermine that message…like my mom. For me (not necessarily/just from her) it was that I shouldn’t be “too smart” because it made the boys feel stupid…and also then they wouldn’t like me. So basically if I dumbed myself down, became less than I was, I was more appealing.
I hope you changed your own damn tire. 🙂 I am not of the mind-set that men (or anyone) should step off and let someone struggle. I hope we all help each other–I hold a door for anyone, and hope they will hold a door for me if they get there first. But the idea that I shouldn’t do something I can do because it doesn’t fit my role, whatever someone perceives that to be, does not sit well with me.
Thanks for this. I’m kind of delighted to see I’m not the only one who gets my back up over stuff like this. I worried this post might be too ranty. 🙂
Yup, mixed messages. I grew up with those, too.
Yah… 🙁
I watched those shows when I was a kid—and my takeaway then was that Jeanie outsmarted the “master” and other human males. Whether that was accurate, I don’t know.
I seem to be taking an extended hiatus from editing my memoir, but your post here has given me renewed energy to get my story out in the world. Thank you so much for that.
We had a Lab named Donna, and in her elderly years, her health failed rapidly. Never the shrinking violet, she demanded two special foods: roasted chicken and peanut butter. So we cooked for her every night.
That was definitely the thread of it, I thought too, Leslie–but I still prickle at the notion that an all-powerful, immortal genie had to play that stupid game to have autonomy, because Master wanted his captive to “behave.”
That said, I can’t stress enough the perplexing fact that I LOVED THAT SHOW. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I love your catering for Donna. That’s the covenant, isn’t it? They give us absolutely unconditional everything all their lives…and we return the favor. One of our last dogs spent his final months being a very balky eater, and there was no menu we wouldn’t try to create to tempt his palate. 🙂
I’m glad this sparks you to want to get back to your memoir! Your story matters. All our stories matter.
I do agree about the premise of I Dream of Jeannie. For whatever reason, I came away empowered by the show. 🤷♀️ I’m sure I would cringe if I saw it today.
And yes, pets are family. I love that you take such great care of your pups. Donna gave us her unconditional opinions—mostly that we were there to serve her and we weren’t up to her standards. She did also give us love in her own way.
I always look forward to your posts—thank you!
I should reexamine it through that lens. Actually until my thoughts over breakfast with Alex as I served his whims, I don’t think I took umbrage to the show–like you, I thought Jeannie was gonna Jeannie, no matter what Master wanted. Maybe the show had a secret subversive feminist agenda! 😀
Thanks for the kind comment about the blog, Leslie. It’s nice to hear they find receptive eyeballs!
Thank you for the encouragement! I never in a million years imagined I’d be writing contemporary romance for women in the second half of life. I’d never read a romance novel until I wrote one myself! But the notion that women in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and beyond don’t deserve to be seen–that we can simply be ignored and made invisible–horrifies me. We are here–we are vibrant and smart and beautiful and sexy and worthy of love. And so I am writing for the invisible woman, the woman who may have the wrinkles and the scars of life but who is incredibly valuable and has so much life left to live…and so much joy to experience.
I LOVE that, Cindy! Damn skippy–there’s that tacit invisibility/undesirability factor for older women that doesn’t seem to apply to aging men–in fact the opposite. I agree with you–I feel more potent and able and relevant–and frankly sexier–than any other time in my life. The more we show and celebrate that in our art, the more we counter societal messaging that tries to put us in our nice little box. Keep writing!
My mother died in 1955 when I was nine. When I realized at about age 30 she must have been a closeted lesbian, I spent more than a few years writing a book about how I wished her life could have been. It is a story that honors the strength and spirit of all who live in the shadow of social persecution. I self-published in 2016. I am always honored when I receive a heartfelt thank you for the story. Even though it’s not a best seller, it has touched many lives. Maya Angelou says, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” It works both ways when we write stories about truth and strength. I learned about forgiveness and how hard her life must have been. Thank you for a great post.
My heart goes out to you and Alex at this tender time.
Agh, Lori, my heart aches for your loss, and at such a young age. What a blow that must have been. And what an incredible realization to have about your mother–as a person, not just your mom. I wonder if most of us ever get the chance to fully see our parents that way, as more than just our parents. I’m sorry it didn’t happen during her lifetime–what a gift that might have been for her. I love that you’re giving it to her now in your writing, though–and anyone else who might experience the marginalization she did. And as you say, what an honor for you to hear from readers to whom it means something, who find validation and hope and affirmation in it. That kind of thing is always the greatest reward for my own creative work I ever hope for.
Thanks for your kind thoughts about Alex. I think he’s having a fine old age. 🙂 He doesn’t seem too stressed about anything–we’re the ones pained by it, we silly humans who get hung up on the losses instead of just enjoying the gifts we have.
In elementary school in the 1950s, the librarian gave each child a page with a pie chart in segments. Each segment was labelled with a book genre. We had to write the title of each read book in the correct segment. I was critiqued because the books for girls was an empty segment but sci-fi was full, adventure was full, etc. The helpful librarian selected a “girl-appropriate” book, and it was so painful to read it I still recall the title (The Red Sail no longer in print from the 1950s). I didn’t read another title for that segment until someone gave me the full series of Maida books. Maida rocked.
OCH, I don’t know any of those books, but damn, that smarts–to be a reader, a lover of stories, and still told what you “should” be reading! I find drawing a line in any art by gender to be arbitrary and artificial (or frankly drawing it in most areas of life). “Female interests,” “Black jobs,” a “gay agenda.” FFS, let’s just call it all human, like it is!
Feh. As you can see, this topic gets me all het up, as we Southerners say. 🙂 Thanks for the comment, Deborah.