Hey, weren't you writing a memoir?
Yes! A memoir about getting sober without AA, and finding my way as a kinky feminist, and becoming openly polyamorous without losing my monogamous partner. Not in that order... the narratives intertwine.
In 2016 at Dark Odyssey Fusion, PajaroLibre held a fantastic workshop, Kinky & Sober, “to discuss unique considerations those leading a sober lifestyle may face in the kink community.” I was taking notes, as I do. Because of the anonymity concerns, I asked if everyone was okay with it first, and explained that the notes were for my memoir in progress.
Multiple people in the workshop were interested. Yes, I could take notes in class, but also they would like to know when my book comes out.
Well… um… Nothing yet!
(Ugh, it’s been years. I was so sure that was more recent than 2016, until I looked it up.)
Online and at events, I keep meeting people who are eager for kinky/poly role models -- cultural examples of how to shape their lives and relationships in ways that fit their needs better than the standard paradigms do. Everywhere we look, we see the stock Hollywood version of monogamy. Creepy, stalkerish behavior (by men) is presented as romantic. Violence is sensualized, but consent is not. (And AA is presented as the only way to get and stay sober, while sexy ads for alcohol are on billboards and bus shelters.)
Our alternative narratives are important. I still want to get my story out there.
So... I pitched the memoir last spring at a writing conference, and a couple of agents said, sure, send me pages to look at – and then I never sent any.
I did a lot of work on it. I did hard, painful work rooting through my own archives – reading my unhappy unsober journal entries, piecing together the jagged timeline (months I quit, nights I binged, apartments I hated, jobs where I threw up in the bathroom or the ornamental bushes or the wastebasket under the desk)… During the writing of the first draft, I missed a friend’s 40th birthday party because I was feeling skittish and unsteady around alcohol again. Reliving my struggles made me feel raw and fresh again. I poked into all my dark corners, and it was agonizing.
And it wasn’t enough. It was really good for me that I did all that work, but it didn’t come together as any kind of entertaining, informative, or vivid read for anyone else. It wasn’t a book yet. And so I looked through my drafty pages with chagrin and embarrassment, and I did not send them to the agents.
Mr.d was relieved. He does not share my need to share. He is very interesting, but private. (His only social media account is a quiet Instagram feed.) Of course I was never going to publish a memoir without running it by him first. I asked people what pseudonyms they wanted, and I changed a few irrelevant identifying details -- but it would have my name on the cover, so his character would be obvious to everyone who knows us. We have been together for 28 years.
He has not discouraged me, but I did need to set it aside. I’ve been writing fiction, and I occasionally make a few scribbles toward the memoir. One of my sticking points in terms of shaping the thing was that I kept veering toward advice-column-ish content that could be useful for others (perhaps exploring the kink community, opening their relationships, kicking their own destructive habits). But I still want to write a narrative that sweeps readers along vividly, like a novel.
So, in this blog, I hope to tease out some of the more “How To” oriented bits that don’t belong in the memoir itself. I love to read advice columns (and the curated comment threads at CaptainAwkward). I have received much comfort and wisdom from “self-help” books and memoirs (Caroline Knapp, Augusten Burroughs, Melissa Febos, Carmen Maria Machado…)
I’m still sober, now celebrating six and a half years.
One change since I started working on the memoir: mr.d is now actively polyamorous, rather than “monogamish.” He has had a lovely new partner for six months now. He even told his mom about her.
I’m still wrestling with how much to bare, how much to share. I haven’t actively shared this blog with my non-kink friends or family, but they could find it with (not much) digging.
Side note to friends/family if any are reading: Next blog post is going to be all about the Weird Adult Party Thing I'm going to this weekend. You will definitely want to skip that if you are, as one person said about himself, "one of your more rectangular friends."
But they read at their own risks, right? I can't actually tell they're here unless they comment. And I’m not concerned about hypothetical stalkers because I’m already vigilant in the usual ways. Bars on the doors and windows. Self-defense training. I’ve been female-bodied in this culture for 50 years.
I am not embarrassed at the zigs and zags my life has taken. I grew up in a toxic patriarchal capitalist culture, deeply sexist and body-shaming, and extensively hyping the mythos of inebriation, the mystique of addictive poisons. I’m alive after half a fucking century in this fermented garbage ocean. If I can share any strength or solace or pointers with someone else, I want to.
Watch this space.
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