I wrote this once already, and then realized I had just written a cover letter. So here is take two (alternately titled Don’t Take Yourself So Seriously). I’m a junior at the art & design school, where I’m focusing on illustration and printmaking (I’m really into Duane Michal’s Things Are Queer at the moment, you should check it out). I’m from Minnesota, but my parents are British, which has brought with it lots of tea drinking and a confusing habit of code switching accents between my American friends and my British family. I’ve got four brothers, one older, three younger, and we all grew up in a pretty homogenous suburb twenty-five minutes from the Twin Cities and from the Mall of America.
Malls intrigue me. The are simultaneously the Bowels of America and Heaven on Earth—where else can you eat pretzels and handfuls of Mike n Ikes while also having the actual life sucked out of you by the fluorescent tube lighting above you? And then also eat California Pizza Kitchen after being resurrected in the Bath and Body Works, without even going outside? I like writing and making art about the funny juxtapositions of life—a lot of my work talks about gender, family, and sexuality, which can all get very heavy and dismal very quickly. It’s important to remember that everything is funny. Often, the most difficult situations are the most hilarious situations, too (I mean, I grew up in a super conservative, Christian, suburban, Midwestern home as the only daughter among four sons, and then also turned out to be gay. How is that not funny?)
I’m also a binge writer—I’ll come up with a cluster of essay ideas over time, and then all of a sudden feel the need to actually write them. I’ll go a few months without writing anything, and then suddenly churn out a few essays over a month—of course, never sharing them with anyone. I think part of this unwillingness to share is the fact that absolutely anyone can write anything today and share it with thousands of people online—I avoid the probable rejection and feelings of insignificance by just avoiding publishing all together. But, then, should publishing even be the point of writing? Isn’t that like having sex with orgasm as the ultimate goal? A little unhealthy…? (Yet, I never did say my writing habits were healthy). Perhaps, that’s another reason why I’m here. To rejuvenate my writing habits, make them a little healthier. Like putting them on a juice diet, or signing them up for a kettlebell class.