This Is Personal
When doing book promotional stuff, book bloggers have been really sweet to me. Really generous. Really excited about my book. *cough, Heather from The Flyleaf Review, cough*
That is all fully lovely. Makes me feel good, that they are into my book and into reading and into blogging and talking about reading.
But then they’ll say stuff like, ‘oh, write a little guest post! whatever you want! whatever interests you!’
And I’m all, eh, erm, uh.
Because what interests me personally?
OH MY SWEET AND CREAMY LORD. THEY DO NOT WANT SUCH THINGS ON THEIR BLOG I DO NOT THINK OH DEAR OH HELP
Like, my personal interests change so quickly. I know I know I know! I used to be interested in the following:
– herbs, candle-making, root cellars, basset hounds, Wicca, reclaimed yarn, Benicio Del Toro, ghost lore, Oaxacan tin work, Mexican tourist pottery, wooden-heeled sandals, Friday Night Lights, food preservation, pressure cookers, Latin American revolutionary literature, the history of Venice, Charlaine Harris novels, drug addiction memoirs, vampire stories, Argentinian leather and beef, Jeepster Commandos, Jason Statham movies, ICE-T, Frida Kahlo, Donna Leon mysteries, zines, postcard art, ballet being all creepy and fucked up as an art form, Bikini Kill, Neil Young, text tattoos, language translation, feminism as a concept, Alice Neel, men’s hip bones, puzzling over Christopher Hitchens & Caitlyn Flanagan, Wislawa Symborska, ADHD in adults, Kings of Leon’s Aha Shake Heartbreak.
And all those things are still good. And I still like them. I’m just not sure I want to discuss them right now. Like, I could. If pressed.
(Notice there’s not much book/literary interest in there. OH GOD.)
Right now, I am personally interested in:
– exfoliation, sex in YA literature, sex in general, lip balms, Norman Reedus, fandom as a concept, masculine sweaters, Metallica, Tom Brady’s supposed Faustian bargain, dystopias, The Walking Dead, my 21 days of not smoking cigarettes, running in the winter time, my husband’s strange man-brain, mental illness, masturbation, all my issues with wearing jewelry, raspberry and blueberry bushes, men’s Adam’s Apples, masculinity as a concept, loving Ta-Nehisi Coates, social media, cowboy boots, my dog’s psychological problems, historical romance novels, my husband’s fantastical muscles, Paintbox Soapworks products, Hayden Panettierre’s excellent thighs, Barcelona, owls, Narcissism, why I hate all women’s belts lately, Jeanette Winterson, Eminem, souvenirs made of coconuts, Kings of Leon’s Mechanical Bull.
My friend Jennifer Imsande says that our personal interests are ‘portals’ and we need to just accept them and love them and let them help us write stuff that’s good and what not. Okay, she says this WAYYY more eloquently than that, but the lesson remains one I need to absorb.
I’ve always been a little embarrassed/ashamed of the things that obsess-rattle through my head. Like I ought to be doing something more productive/intellectual with my time and instead I’m reading fan fiction or scrolling through Tumblr or reading GQ or some other off-topic thing.