The first thing I ever wanted to do was to tell stories.
I was reading by age three; by age nine I was voracious. I read everything I could get my hands on, and I was fortunate enough to grow up in a home where books were abundant. But narrative held me harder than anything. Stories allowed escape from the bullying at school, the tantrums of my little sister, my nightmares about nuclear war and alien invasions. But they also opened doors to new ways of thinking, new worlds, and new ways of being in the world.
I tried being a writer, but by the time I left for college, I knew that the stories I would tell wouldn't be mine. I would shape them and share them with the world, as a director of films. It took me two years in the film department to get discouraged; as one of three women in the program, I was one of the few who had never operated a camera before and had no illusions toward auteurism. I loved editing but hated having to write screenplays and compete with other students for equipment. After months of expensive frustration reviewing overexposed and blurry stock and having my little lesbian romances dismissed by a teacher, in front of the whole class, as "clichés" (this, in 1987!), I transferred to the theater department.
By the time I was a senior, I was having passionate arguments with my academic advisor about the irrelevance of the Dead White Male Canon. My feminism was not yet intersectional, but even then I realized that if I were unmoved by the ambivalence of a Danish prince, that was probably true for a lot of women -- and maybe even more true for women who didn't grow up rich, white, American. The plays I wanted to direct were by women, and about women. After graduation, I formed a feminist theater company and worked at several others. Audiences were small. Rewards were few. Nobody wanted to hear the stories I was telling, and I didn't know how to learn to tell them better -- or sell them better. Eventually, out of hope and out of money, I found Something To Fall Back On.
In the late 1990s, if you knew HTML people would basically throw a suitcase full of money at you. Some friends of mine were using this thing called the World Wide Web to tell an epic science fiction story (which I realized only much later was basically multimedia Babylon 5 fanfiction), and I wanted to learn. The new medium opened up all sorts of possibilities, but at that time, as now, the thing I cared about most was that I could use it to tell stories.
I found Internet fandom. I wrote fanfiction, telling stories through text for the first time in more than a decade. I learned to vid -- using my film school skills at last! I learned about social justice, that my voice wasn't every woman's, that there were stories I needed to listen to, that listening matters as much as telling.
And just three years ago, my life came full circle and I landed at
Global Fund for Women, where an organization of women dedicated to supporting the struggle for women's human rights around the world welcomed me as their website manager, and now as Director of Online Communications.
Recently, we shared
a story of a teenage girl who was able to escape the pressure of early marriage and go to university thanks to the efforts of one of our grantee partners. Every day, I am helping to shape and share stories of women working against patriarchy, working toward a better world for themselves, their daughters, and their communities. It is a great gift.
Meanwhile, in fandom, I continue to argue -- in vids and sometimes in words -- for better stories about women, stories where women are heroes, where women are fully human. I am very grateful not to be alone in this argument. If you're reading this, take a moment to celebrate the community of women we are continually building and shaping here. Happy International Women's Day.
P.S. If you haven't yet seen Anita Sarkeesian's new video,
she argues eloquently for better representation of women in video games. I think she missed an opportunity for a racial analysis, but it's still a very strong -- and funny -- piece.