
Because I’ve come to know so many people through starting Skirt! magazine in the same small Southern city I’ve lived in since 1985, I often find myself pulling my punches when it comes to writing. I know it’s cowardly, but I’m reluctant to mention in an article that my secret dream is to write erotica anonymously when I know that every time I walk into Whole Foods and see someone I know, which is every time, they might be wondering or judging. I’m incredibly grateful to have an audience for my work, but I worry that censoring myself has become second nature no matter what I write. I have an unpublished essay about my mother that I’ve never tried to submit anywhere because it’s so painful and reflects badly on both of us. So even though I wrote it and it’s true, I can’t bring myself to put it out for public consumption. I don’t even always tell the whole truth in my journals because I’m worried that in case I die unexpectedly, my friend Nancy won’t make it to the house in time to get rid of them (along with the vibrator) before my kids start to pack everything up for Goodwill. I don’t know if it’s possible to have that kind of double life creatively and maintain an authentic voice in anything you write, no matter what the content or venue. Except maybe in a blog, because although it’s an illusion, I feel anonymous here. I’m not sure what the answer is — to try and write something totally honest that only my eyes will see? Somehow that’s not enough, and yet, I’m not sure why it isn’t. I only know there’s a voice in me that hasn’t been heard yet. Any thoughts on this from other writers and readers out there?













