Dear Reader,
My debut memoir, Cultural Capital Doesn’t Pay the Rent arrives as I enter menopause, an arrival in the middle of an ending that feels like the perfect place to be when the unknown continues to reign. As a femme crone, I’ve watched individualism and collectivity pull on each other through the decades, a cultural tug-of-war for liberation. I capture this polarity in my book by creating an intestinally shaped narrative arc that roots change in the tension between the personal and the political.
Here’s an example: I’ve been with my partner, Von, for more than twenty years. We chose a date to celebrate our relationship in the time before we could be legally bound in taxes, healthcare, and student debt. That anniversary we celebrated was based on an annual holiday party hosted by two of my closest friends. I invited Von to the party when we were trying to figure out if we were interested in more than, “hanging out.” As the party was winding down, some other friends announced they were headed over to a favorite sex shop for the holiday sale. I looked at Von who shrugged at me, butchly. We grabbed our coats and tagged along. In our world, a new serious relationship was often formalized with a new dildo. So we celebrated that date, when we kissed in the back of a friend’s jeep over a pink and gold shopping bag, as the beginning of our commitment. A few years later, on our way to the ocean for an anniversary trip, we had to turn around. Von’s father, who was struggling with diseases inherited from years of cigarette smoking, died. Then, a few years after that, Jennifer, who had hosted the annual holiday party, died. Heroin.
When federal law changed, and because Von and I never got it together to write up and notarize all the legal documents needed to do what the marriage license does, we got married. In a second incredibly het act, we changed our anniversary date to the date we got married. These legal dates don’t really matter. The laws governing our relationship, and the laws defining Von’s gender, may soon be rescinded. What matters is the story. The act of writing our lives is an anti-authoritarian rebellion. So is the act of surviving. The full circle is you, dear reader. When you read my book, you become a part of the collective rebellion. Together, we move towards liberation.
I look forward to meeting you in the pages,
In solidarity and warmth,
