by Shelt Garner
Let me begin by saying I’m an idiot and don’t listen to me. I don’t know anything about anything. Go read something else. Having said that, I will note that it’s interesting there is something of a #MeToo subgenre that exists. Now, the issue is, the female rage that produced that subgenre is all very valid and I validate it.
In fact, only because I’m an asshole that I’ve decided, as a man, to embrace the #MeToo movement in as empathetic a manner as possible as a plot point in the thriller I’m writing. Of course, given what this novel is meant to be — a very diffused expression of my rage against the surreal excesses of the Trump Era –my hand is pretty much forced. I feel I have to address things like #MeToo and BLM for no other reason than, well, they’re crucial to understanding the historic clusterfuck we’re living through.
The only issue is, well, ME. I’m a middle aged white male member of the patriarchy and hence need to be slayed. But, like I said, I just don’t see how I can do what I want to do without wallowing in things like #MeToo and BLM. In that respect, I feel like I’m looking to Phoebe Waller-Bridge for inspiration. She doesn’t back down. She has her truth and she’s going to tell it, damn the consquences.
Anyway, that’s where I am right now. I’ve come up with a unique way to talk about #MeToo as an existential part of the novel I’m developing. But, like I said, I’m an asshole. Or, as the late Annie Shapiro would say, “a delusional jerk with a good heart.”