I recently read two unrelated nonfiction essays by writers I know personally. Both essays are well-written. Both are difficult to read. And both are about the writer in question being raped.
I wasn't sure I should link to this work, honestly. I had to think about it. It felt weird, like I was revealing confidences. But if these two writers are brave enough to post their work publicly (to sites, I might add, that get many more hits each month than does Inkville), good for them.
"Not Like You," Katherine Gries' starkly assertive article, appears on Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction. "Why I'm Funny" is a searingly brutal long-form blog entry from Joel Johnson. Each is recommended, if not, perhaps, in the same sitting.
A good friend of mine I haven't seen in awhile was recently in town for a few days, and over lunch I was catching her up on various writing projects. Later that afternoon, she tagged me in a Facebook post, hailing my "gigs writing about cool and fun topics like ghost hunting and Tiki bars."
And you know, she's right. I'm lucky. In life, and in my writing. Just how lucky was driven home by the work of these two writers. So I can prattle on at length about myself and about whatever popular culture flotsam catches my eye. I have the luxury.
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