In the last few weeks I’ve been having a blast doing research for what might be my next book. In addition to generally spending time with the subject, I’ve been concentrating on a two-year period that will probably form the basis of the sample chapter.
In my admittedly limited experience, the sample chapter is the trickiest part of a book proposal, if only because you have to write several thousand impressively smart, impressively well-researched words before you know whether anyone’s interested and while you’re juggling all your other responsibilities. (It’s incredibly useful, though. I couldn’t have written A PLACE OF OUR OWN: SIX SPACES THAT SHAPED QUEER WOMEN’S CULTURE without having devoted more time than I really wanted to the sample chapter.)
Ah, but the research … that’s the fun bit, right? Certainly, in this case that’s true.
Flipping through old feminist publications decades after they first appeared really is one of my favorite pastimes. This is especially true of the magazines from the very early days of “women’s liberation,” when everything was so new and exciting (and schismatic). In the last few years, several women who were present at the creation of the movement have released memoirs, so I’ve also gotten to compare their contrasting descriptions of the events and people that will make up this chapter.
This is massive fun, but it did leave me dreaming of a really dishy diary from this period. I’m thinking of the kind of books that May Sarton used to publish with amazing regularity (Journal of a Solitude, At Seventy, The House by the Sea, etc.). I remember reading them the second they appeared, though nowadays all I can remember is a general impression of lots of problems with squirrels getting into her cupboards. (Not a euphemism.) Or Doris Grumbach’s even grouchier journals (Coming Into the End Zone, The Pleasure of Their Company, Extra Innings, etc.), which were a bit frustrating when I first read them because I didn’t recognize many of the literary types she was gossiping about, and back then you couldn't just Google them! Besides, she was kinda sorta closeted, at least to the extent that was “normal” at the time.
What I’m really craving are more unguarded diaries—even if they were kept with an eye to publication. Of course there is Patricia Highsmith’s Diaries and Notebooks, 1941-1995, which I experienced via audiobook for reasons I can’t quite remember. (It was probably a size thing—I’ve never got on with heavy books.) I’ve listened to the entire book at least five times, but that’s just a teensy bit too early for my interests. (Also, Highsmith was such a nightmare that I’m relieved she was off being awful and playing with her snails—also not a euphemism—in Europe when women in New York were doing CR.)
I love the candor of Youngman: Selected Diaries of Lou Sullivan, a trans guy who was an activist in San Francisco and died of complications from AIDS in 1991. It’s a wonderful book, but again, it doesn’t cover the period or the place I’m looking for.
As someone who is incredibly nosey but also a hermit, I love the diaries/journal format. Whenever R and I eat lunch at the Edinburgh John Lewis (bourgeoise? moi?), we sit next to the odd “library” that some employee has put together for diners’ reading pleasure. We always find things to read—and often end up buying something we started there. Last week it was Stephen Spender’s journals of trips and dinners and scandalous conversations with the great and the good that was purchased as soon as we downed forks.
So, let me throw this to the room. Am I forgetting about any published (and preferably dishy) journals that cover lesbian-feminist New York in the late ‘60s/early ‘70s? Reply to this email to let me know.
RECOMMENDATIONS: As part of my efforts to be a good citizen of Scotland, I am trying to read more Scottish books. (I’ve also signed up for an adult education class on “Scotland in Union and Disunion,” which seems interesting and is also a test of my ability to be a student again. It has been a while!) I read Break-Up, a depressing nonfiction book about the sexual harassment charges against Alex Salmond that precipitated the rupture of the relationship between former SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon and her mentor. I then discovered a Scottish novelist I’m sure I’ll be returning to. My ignorance of the work of Christopher Brookmyre is entirely on me—he’s sold millions of books, apparently—but Country of the Blind was a great page-turning read. It’s a very twisty tale that starts with the assassination of a tabloid tycoon and involves nasty Tory politicians, heroic journalists, and a lot of Scottish slang. (Thank you, Google.)
LISTEN TO ME: On Working, I talked with writer Carlos Fonseca and translator Megan McDowell about their collaborative process and with Brad Dowdy, the Pen Addict, about the life of a busy multi-platform independent content creator. (Also, pens.) Meanwhile, on Working Overtime, Isaac Butler and I discussed recharging creative batteries while on vacation, why artists should attend festivals, and what we can learn from bad art.
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this newsletter and want to share it, or were forwarded this edition and want to subscribe, the link is https://buttondown.email/WhereAre. The archives are here. When my book is ready to be preordered, this is where I will tell you about that. Reply to this email to share any thoughts or ideas.
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