Vulnerability In Writing

I love when we bump into another person’s thoughts, and their words reach out gentle hands and shape our own thoughts. Is there anything more beautiful?

Yesterday I read a beautiful piece about how to really hurt a guy. It was an honest and heartfelt story. One man talking about something cruel his ex-wife said to him. Long after the divorce. Long after those words could have been left unsaid. No reason to say them any more. Cut him to the bone. Criticism of his body that hurt, made him question their physical relationship, even in the years before they fell apart.

Some people would read that, call it vulnerability. Maybe it is.

I read a post the day before, asking if we really want more male vulnerability in fiction. The writer read a piece in Esquire about “sad boy” literature. Said he doesn’t know what sad boy literature is (me, neither) but said there are many women novelists writing about the interiority of being a modern woman, but that kind of writing from men is either nonexistent or wildly overlooked in the publishing world.

To be honest, I have no idea what “the interiority of being a modern woman” means.

But still. They derailed me a little. Those two pieces.

I love when people do that.

I love when we bump into another person’s thoughts, and their words reach out gentle hands and shape our own thoughts. Is there anything more beautiful than that? Makes me feel a little less like an island, you know?

Never fails, though. I was going to write about writers striving to improve their writing today. Seems every time I pre-plan what to write, someone comes along, throws a wrench in my plans. I love it, when we humans affect each other that way. For all I know, maybe I still am writing about how to be a better writer, just coming at the topic from a different angle.

You want to know how to be vulnerable as a writer?

Be a woman.

Before you raise your eyebrows, wag a finger, hear me out.

Words mean things for a reason.

We are writers. Writers are supposed to know what words mean. If a writer doesn’t know what a word means, who the hell is supposed to? How do we communicate with each other if we can’t even agree on what words mean in the first place?

Edmund Wilson said no two persons read the same book.

Words. Are why. Because we can’t seem to agree on what they mean.

Go back to the era of slavery in America, tell me if the plantation owner and his slaves define “fair working conditions” the same way. Walk into an Amazon facility where a robot expects two seconds per scan, writes up a reprimand if a worker stops to scratch an itch or pauses for a period cramp. Can we agree on what fair is?

So let’s talk about being vulnerable in writing.

But in order to talk about vulnerability in writing, we first need to know, understand and agree on what vulnerable means. Here’s what the Oxford dictionary says;

Vulnerable means being susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.

Make it shorter—vulnerable means you are in the way of harm.

During Covid, old people and people with compromised immune systems were more vulnerable than the average bear.

So, is it vulnerable to write about deep inner feelings? Depends on whether writing about your feelings makes you susceptible to (physical or emotional) attack or harm.

Well, if you’re a woman, doesn’t matter what you write about. You’re vulnerable.

64% of woman writers get harassed for their writing according to The Writer’s Guild of America. About 11% of men, according to the same study. Think about that for a minute. 64% of women. 11% of men.

Without digging into that survey and getting lost on a tangent, safe to say that a large number of the men who get attacked for their writing are in the LGBTQ community. You can ask any of them. Pretty sure they can tell you hair raising stories.

Doesn’t matter what a woman writes about, the shame squad is watching. Write about body positivity, she’ll get shamed. It’s unhealthy, why are you promoting that? If she’s skinny she’s probably bragging, using her body for profit. Like the “ho” she is. And it’s “prolly Photoshop” anyway. Write about feminism, she’s wrong, clued out. Write about her kids, someone’s going to call her a bad mother.

I have been talked down to, insulted, and criticized. I’ve been stalked, called stupid, and I’ve had men I don’t even know tell me I should be hunted down and raped until I’m f—ng dead. Usually in response to feminist posts. Sometimes, just in response to being a woman posting opinions on the internet.

Any woman writing on the internet is vulnerable. Susceptible to attack or harm. Because 64%.

But are men who write about their inner feelings vulnerable?

I don’t know. I’m not a man.

Does writing about deep inner feelings put men in harm’s way? I don’t know. I’m not a man. I’ve no frame of reference.

Fact is, we live in a world with deeply patriarchal roots. And “patriarchy” isn’t an attack on men. It’s a statement of deeply rooted historical beliefs about pecking order and behavior. Men are supposed to be strong and stoic and not talk about feelings lest they sound like a woman. Don’t cry like a little girl. Big boys don’t cry. Women are supposed to be nurturing and supportive and keep their opinions to themselves.

Hell, women used to get put in asylums for disagreeing with their husbands. Crazy woman, lock her up and throw away the key. Doesn’t know how to woman.

There have always been people who didn’t agree with the tenets of patriarchy. And they weren’t all women. Men marched with the suffragettes while women shrieked at feminists to shut up and get back in the kitchen. And why did you go there and why were you wearing that dress. It’s all very tiring. Mentally and emotionally.

Personally, I love people who are real.

Velveteen rabbit real.

A little worn out, maybe, but with shining eyes and a beating heart.

I am sick to death of cultural tropes. All men are this, all women are that. Sick to death of posts talking like all men are narcissists, all women are wonderful we should let them rule the world because yay she has a vagina. Give me a break.

Sick to death of rah, rah, hustle culture, pull yourselves up by the bootstraps, how to fix your life you lazy arsehole, how it’s your own fault everything that ever happened to you, how to make money writing, grow your following, ad nauseum.

Give me real people.

Hell, give me real men.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

If we’re talking about men writing vulnerably, anyway.

Read Roman’s piece about a relationship that made him feel like a stupid man and a stupid boy and stupid fool for loving a woman he was not supposed to love. I will read every piece he writes. Go, follow. Learn what human sounds like.

Read Sean’s story about his goddaughter Becca losing her ear to cancer, and when he’s crying at the end, I am too. See his name in my inbox, I hit open instantly. Same thing, go follow.

But does that kind of writing make a man vulnerable?

I don’t know.

I know it’s real. Honest. Human. Brave, even. And I say brave because we live in a world where patriarchy still beats at the heart of most institutions, most government, most laws, and far, far too many people.

But I don’t know if it’s vulnerable. Because I don’t know if it puts men in harm’s way. The echoes of patriarchy that still ring in our ears makes me think men are less likely to be “in harm’s way” because of their words. Plus, 11%.

But maybe it does. I don’t know.

What I do know is that clarity is the hardest part of writing.

You want to be a better writer, that’s how. Read every sentence. Every paragraph. Ask yourself if the meaning is clear. Can’t change the fact that some people will still misunderstand. Sometimes willfully, though not always.

But as writers? Our job is to be as clear as humanly possible.

Because words mean things for a reason.

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