When I was a little girl, I wanted to be told I was pretty. I think it came from a place of not being quite sure; it came from a place of wanting to be told that I was more than I was, somehow. I’ve spoken in the past about growing up with a beautiful mother, and about the pressure I felt…
17th March 2012
Sometime ago someone I barely knew asked me what I did for a living, and I replied that I was a writer. She looked sceptical and informed me that I couldn’t call myself a writer unless I’d been published. She then pointedly asked me if I was, indeed, published. Instead of chastising her for her rudeness, I told her that…