The comfort-cages of our own choosing
Why work, word count and womanhood are on my mind today
I am taking a leave of absence from work to write my next book(s). When I tell people this, their response is usually some version of “I wish I could do that.”
I always say, “You could.”
It doesn’t seem to register. The words seem to glance off the corners of their ears and skid on by. Women will usually state some version of “But my family—”
I’ll tell them about my cousin, who leaves her kids with her husband, trusts him to do his share, trusts them not to be stupid, and comes with me to Bhutan and Bali. They give me a strange look then, as if the idea of one woman doing something like this was fathomable, but TWO?
Madness.
I get paid a lot. But I also took an unpaid leave to write my first book, back when I wasn’t making as much. It was that important to me. I refused to let “I’m busy” get in the way. It was my life; I could choose how I spent it. I’d be working roughly forty-five years (20-65). I’d already decided I didn’t want children, because they’d interfere with the lifestyle I wanted. What excuse could I give for not writing?
Every time I’ve ever felt stuck, it’s because I’ve closed some sort of cage on myself, assumed something to be unchangeable. In 2016, life in Silicon Valley was getting untenable, for many reasons. I’d lived there for so long that I didn’t realize it was yet another cage I’d stuck myself in until a friend in London asked, “Why not move here?”
Why not, indeed?
I’ve been writing a fantasy series, one that will come out next year. Note the change in attitude there. In the past, I’d have said, “I want to get my fantasy series published next year.” It’s certainly true. But that locks me into the cage of traditional publishing, with all its labyrinths, timelines and gatekeepers. I’m trying to get it picked up by a traditional publisher, but if it doesn’t, it won’t stop me.
As I queried agents with the first book in the series, one of them rejected me within 14 minutes, stating simply, “This word length is too long.” It’s true. A first book in a fantasy series by an unknown author is usually < 100K, and mine’s a whopping 150,000 words. I sent it to a developmental editor asking what I could cut. Their surprising and encouraging response: Why cut? Why not make it two books, and flesh it out more?
Again, I’d locked myself into a cage, without questioning why fitting into that word count was necessary. Given that in writing the book I was inspired by MXTX, who first serialized her fantasy series online, taking the time to flesh out subplots and minor characters before it was published (as 8 novels!), why would I strip all that out to squeeze into the ‘trilogy’ cage of Western publishing?
The writer Jacob Ross, from whom I am learning a great deal, told me about reader orientation. Making the story accessible and engaging to the reader by any means necessary is the only job. Not fitting into notions of genre or word count. Writing is an act of empathy, of reaching out across the void with openness and honesty. It’s easy to get caught up in the craze of publication and compromise on the promise to the reader if you’re not careful.
Especially as a woman and a marginalized voice in publishing, it’s hard to know when to hold your ground and when to compromise. Women used to compromising can get surprisingly stubborn about the littlest things. A lot of them were surprised I didn’t really get to choose the title or cover of Driving by Starlight.
Which takes me to the appeal of fantasy—a genre primarily written by and for women. I’ve been reading a fair bit of it, as a student and for my own enjoyment. Now, the appeal of writing fantasy is the unfettered imagination. I get to create a world where the constraints of this one need not apply. I can apply a fix to the problems of today’s society and explore the new problems that creates.
In particular, I don’t have to perpetuate the patriarchy.
But can a caged bird that has never seen the sky truly imagine what it means to be free? Or will it stick its wings out of the bars and attempt to lift the cage with it, like a crustacean carrying with it the comforts of home?
Which brings me to Sarah J. Maas, one of the biggest names in fantasy. I know many people who are fans of her work, so I decided to read House of Earth and Blood. After all, it’s marketed to fans of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Within the first few chapters, I realized not only that I wasn’t hooked, but that I was actively repelled. As a writer who believes in free expression, I grew curious about that reaction and kept reading. What is it about Maas’ writing that grabs at something primal in me and makes me want to scream?
It’s the bars of the cage. They’re subtle, but they’re there. I’ll share examples of the word-choices to explain.
Word choice set #1: Strength in performed femininity
Just from pages 1-3!
“a fist that Bryce knew ended in metallic-purple painted nails in dire need of a manicure.”
“Tucking a strand of wine-red hair behind a pointed ear”
“beneath Bryce’s high heels”
“her braid had become tangled”
“slim fingers were unbuckling the straps”
“fingers brushing against the stretchy black fabric of her skintight dress”
“leotard and tights”
Word choice set #2: Strength in traditionally masculine defenses
Normalization of violence as conflict-resolution
“Danika snarled, teeth gleaming. ‘I can handle Briggs myself.’”
“I haven’t had the balls to ask.”
“Briggs so much as blinks wrong and he’ll see what kind of pain angels can rain down on us all.”
“"She’d hit up the gun range just a few days ago, going through the motions Randall—her true father, as far as she was concerned—had taught her since childhood: assembling a gun, taking aim at a target, controlling her breathing.”
“kick his balls across the room”
“making sure her body was primed for when its strength might be needed to escape any would-be predator hunting the streets.”
Word choice set #3: Biological essentialism
People’s biology overwhelming other characteristics or even their actions.
“he towered over her. Dominated the entire space just by breathing. Like any alphahole would.”
“Ruhn was still a Fae male. Still fifty ears older than her. Still a domineering dick.”
“The male’s innards spilled onto the carpet with a wet slap. Still the male kept screaming.”
“a female voice was saying”
I probably won’t continue reading much further, but it reminded me why there’s so much furor in the UK about gender-neutral restrooms. When a bird has gotten so used to flying with its cage, even the attempt to cut off the bars is seen as a threat. I wrote about this for an online magazine, in particular about why women, themselves prisoners of the cage, are always the first ones preserving its bars.
Women can dismantle the cage, and as I mentioned in the article many have tried. It’s another reason I love MXTX so much as a writer—she doesn’t let the fact that she’s writing about ancient China get in the way of normalizing queer relationships and even genderqueer characters. Who doesn’t love Shi Qingxuan?
Hopefully, the more we start to see the weight we need not carry, we can begin to let it go.
I liked this: "Every time I’ve ever felt stuck, it’s because I’ve closed some sort of cage on myself, assumed something to be unchangeable."