Some people assume that if I have no hesitation in broadcasting intimate details of my so-called private life, my behaviour will support that assumed intimacy through further action. So if I talk openly about sex, some men assume I am 'up for it.'
Posts published in “On Writing”
My amazing publicity agent organised a spot for me tomorrow to promote The Husband Swap on a British telly programme – ITV’s This Morning –…
Keeping their writing under Louisa Leontiades, felt somehow like I wasn't recognising their valuable contribution. In more intersectional terms, I felt I was erasing their voices.
After fifteen years, six major rewrites, three restructures, and now two substantive edits the Queen of the Limbo is almost ready to go out on stage and come into her own. And I am torn. I've loved having her here, tweaking her to idly pass the time, embellishing her with colour and power. It's a book that has grown with me.
When you stick your head above the parapet during a revolution, you do so knowing that shots are coming your way. Writing about personal experience of non-monogamy is one way to put yourself in the firing line. Being interviewed about your non-monogamous relationship by England's biggest tabloid, The Sun, is a better way.
But people see what they expect to see. And that included the photographer. So they positioned my boyfriend with his back to us. Then they made him change into nondescript unflattering shirt, standing apart from us. The couple, and the boyfriend. An appendage.
And then I read through the chapter again and cry. My untold story is from my soul. And I've lost part of it. The part that was self-indulgent, preachy and rambled.
There are a select few photos on my boyfriend's hard drive that are, shall we say, unashamedly for his eyes only. But apart from heavily vetted and otherwise 'instagrammed' photos on facebook, I've always been wary about being photographed.
'The Husband Swap' stayed on my hard drive for around 7 years before I considered publishing it. In that time I reflected on what happened in the spaces in between, what was really going on in my head. What I didn't write. What we didn't say.
It's hard to describe the elation of this moment. I'm not sure I fully believe it even now. It's as if Simon Cowell came down and gave me a record contract with all the clout that he has to promote it.
Is there a serious writer in the world who wants to be tarred with a cheap tabloid brush? Is there an individual anywhere who wants to be rejected by the people they love most in the world as I have been?
I like to write about challenging paradigms. Constructs. Neuroscience. Sex? Not so much. It reminds me of my body and boy is it difficult to concentrate on good writing when you're writing about the flowing of your own vaginal juices. Because writing about it means you have to live it in the moment. In order to write it well, I have to feel it...