Today I overheard two male writers discussing their various residencies at writer’s retreats (Yaddo, The Macdowell Colony, etc). These two men were middle aged, with young children, and wives who, as they both described, stayed behind with the children while the men went away to write. As a mother who has never once been able to go to a writer’s colony, it was fascinating to hear the following exchange: ”I hate to admit it,” Writer #1 says. “It is just so nice to have every meal ready and not have to have excessive interaction with other people if I don’t want to. To be honest, it’s nice not have to think about what’s happening at Joe’s school, or what Betty is doing in ballet. It’s terrible, but once upon a time, I never would have thought I’d be happy just calling home, telling everyone I love them, and hanging up again. But now…” Writer #2 says, “I was gone so long this past year that people actually believed that Jane and I split up. I had to tell our regular server at our regular pizza place that we were, you know, still married.” ”It’s inevitable,” Writer #1 says. “My wife said she felt abandoned, that she felt that I wanted to be away. And what’s really terrible, what I just can’t say to her, is that she’s right. I want to work. I don’t want to think about all those other things that occupy a life.” ”Every writer I know,” #2 says, “Is waiting so that they can reapply to Mac Dowell.”
“I know,” #1 says. “Me too. I went last year. I’m going to go again next year. The real question I’m having right now, is whether I can do two residencies this year. That might just push things to the limit.”
“I know one writer who couldn’t keep his freelance jobs because he was outside of the city for too long.” ”I hear that some writers–those who don’t have the complications that you and I have–sublet their apartments when they go on residency so they’re, you know, actually making decent money.” ”Not possible with me,” Writer #2 says.
“Nor I,” Writer #1 says. “But when the kids are gone? A possibility.”
The question I was left with was whether I have never been to a writer’s retreat because I’m too attached to my kids to leave? Or is it that I haven’t had the support from my partner to allow me to accept an invitation? Or is it that I’ve never been selfish enough to just take off and go?
5 responses
This almost could be called a new “genre” in posting: a woman comments that she heard or saw a man or men (always white and usually middle-aged, of course) behave in some “creepy” fashion.
The only creepiness I experience in reading the above is that the author of this comment was sneakily listening to a private conversation between friends. Good friends can speak freely and confess feelings that are not always exemplary or perfect.
Yes, even women do that. The difference is that women can, and that men cannot.
Why did you describe this exchange as “creepy”? And how did you get the idea she was being sneaky? And when did it become a story about what only women can do?
A fair question. Creepy is the common word used for all manner of male utterances. But any negative adjective will do, since the object of many women is to expose all that is revolting and terrible in men–as if women were all sixth-grade innocents whose breath never, ever stinks. As if women never fuck married men with kids. As if women never abandon their own kids with excessive drinking. As if women never cheat on their husbands who have tried and tried. As if! As if!
Fact is, women are adults too, and we do a of bad stuff, along with the good.
@Jane Roper I was being too literal in my reading I think. I look at my comment and wonder myself what went off in my head. I hope I am able to link to you for further discussion.
This essay is so disgustingly judgmental. If the story happened exactly the same but the genders reversed, no one would’ve batted an eyelash.
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