Writing What You Know (Part 1)

Write what you know. At least, that’s the conventional wisdom. But what does it really mean?

I’ve seen plenty of media creators who seem to believe this means you should stick to the formulas you know, despite how harmful those formulas may be. (For an example of this, I can suggest the Tropes vs Women Series )

Considering that many of us have been raised in a culture that claims to “know” that women are less intelligent than men, people of color are more violent than whites, or trans*gendered individuals are just going through a phase, it isn’t surprising that we see these wrong ideas spouted back to us from the media we consume.

Sad, but not surprising.

Part of the reason why marginalization is so widespread is because wrong ideas about individuals who don’t hold privilege have been normalized. In everyday discourse and in media. The insidious thing is that these two sources feed off each other in a circle that requires energy and commitment to overcome.

But that energy sacrifice isn’t impossible to overcome.

As I’ve stated before, the key to rewriting what we “know” is to listen to the groups most affected by these ideas. Listening, truly listening, inevitably instills a sense of understanding in the listener. But that requires us to take the words of our fellow human beings at face value without attempting to validate the information we’re receiving though the lens of our own experiences.

The things each of us has lived through is not the whole of human existence. Recognizing that is the first step to learning.

So writing what you know is only half of the equation. The other is being willing to learn what you don’t.

This is Not a Void

[Content note: this post contains examples of topics that may be triggering (fat bias, rape, rape culture, misogynistic slurs, gun violence)]

We do not live in a void. The things we do and say have consequences larger than the immediate ramifications that are apparent to us. This goes especially for marginalizing tropes and “jokes” that feature mendacious stereotypes as the punch line.

“But it’s just a joke,” you may say. Except that it isn’t just a joke.

“Jokes” that feature marginalizing tropes (like “dumb blonde” jokes or “put down the cheeseburger fattie” jokes) aren’t just an attempt at poking fun. They entrench and normalize ideas that make living difficult for individuals who aren’t thin enough, white enough, male enough, heterosexual enough (etc...) for society at large. They present a falsehood as fact and pretend an entire population of people can be described by a single adjective.

“What about free speech? I shouldn’t have to police my words to save someone’s feelings,” you may say. Except that it isn’t about feelings.

It’s about medical professionals whose fat bias is entrenched to the point they ignore a fat person’s symptoms, resulting in further injury or death. Talking about obesity as if it has only one cause and pretending it causes disease allows such individuals the comfort of their hatred. It’s about white men shooting young black boys for using a sidewalk. Narratives that paint all black men as violent gave this shooter his mental ammunition. It’s about teenage girls being raped by their boyfriends because those boyfriends are taught that women “don’t say what they mean” and have no right to refuse because they’re no better than dogs (i.e. calling women who don’t act like you want “bitches”).

“That’s not what I meant,” you may say. Then say what you mean. If someone who is a member of the group you’re marginalizing can see the bias in your words, then so, too, can someone who believes that group IS lesser.

“You’re being too sensitive,” you may say. How do you know? Have you lived in the shoes of the person you’re hurting? Have you been forced to listen to those same tropes day after day, sometimes from people who claim to love you? Have you ever been denied a job, healthcare, or marriage rights because someone believes those tropes?

I could go on.

These are all silencing tactics. Ways to prevent yourself from hearing that your attempt at humor was harmful to another person. Ways to prevent yourself from learning something new and being expected to change because of that learning. Ways to prevent yourself from having to examine those you’ve put down and realize they’re people.

And I believe you’re better than that. I believe you can grow past mendacious tropes and see the beauty in diversity.

I believe this, and I expect it.

My Art, My Activism

“My art is my activism. There is no separation.” ~ Dr. Kortney Ryan Ziegler

I first saw this quote at Flyover Feminism on April 5, and it’s been stewing in my brain ever since.

What does it mean to combine my activism and artistic endeavors?

The short answer is to write (or paint or draw or dance or sing, etc…) about the issues that make you hot, that get your blood sizzling. Those issues you see affecting good people every day. Those issues that just need to go away for good.

But, as with most things, it goes deeper.

It isn’t enough to artistically criticize the sexism and objectification that frustrates you only to utilize a racist trope in an attempt to make the point. Or spend an entire manuscript growling about discrimination only to use words that marginalize individuals with mental illness.

Doing these things unintentionally doesn’t automatically make you a horrible person, but that’s where ownership and responsibility come into play. Every artistic brain child has a growth phase, and it’s the responsibility of the artist to raise that fledgling into the best it can be.

This calls for vigilance.

It calls for setting the boundaries necessary to make your art represent the things in which you believe.

And it calls for enforcing them.

I vow to practice vigilance. I vow to set and keep the boundaries for my own work.

Will you join me?