I don’t know if you’ve seen anything about it, but it reminds me of the story of JT LeRoy. Supposedly, he was a transgendered street hooker teen who wrote the novel “Sarah” and another book. Courted by celebrities like Gus Van Sant and heralded as a great writer. He even had correspondence with Sharon Olds! Then, it turned out that he was actually a middle aged woman. She claims that he was real as he was a product of her mpd. At the same time, she was prescient enough to have another woman play the part of him in public while she played his publicist. I find the story amazing and fascinating.
the most interesting thing to me is that in a recent Rolling Stone article, the woman who produced him said, (basically, as I won’t quote, just a paraphrase.) People would listen to JT, but not to her because she was a chubby middle aged woman.
I feel like that as a poet a lot. I’m a chubby, female poet. Who wants to listen to me. There are about ten million other me’s out there in this world. What makes me think my voice is special, what makes mine necessary? Am I wasting all my time with these little lines, these missives to no one?
Here’s the thing: My voice isn’t special, or out of the ordinary, or even necessary. That’s why I write a blog instead of a book. That’s also something I accept.