From the outside looking in, I’ve led a marginally scandalous life. I’ve done drugs. I’ve partied with rock stars and gone skinny dipping on a private beach in Miami, also with rock stars. I’ve had sex with strangers and gotten into a bar fight (although I’m still not entirely convinced the latter was my fault… I mean, he was really asking for it).
But I’ve never considered myself a scandalous person. On the contrary, I think I’ve led a pretty normal life. I went to University and got a degree. I’ve worked a full-time job since I was eighteen, sometimes two at the same time. I have a good relationship with my parents. I don’t have any tattoos or addictions. I’ve never been arrested. I got married. I had a kid. I have a mortgage that gets paid every month.
Unfortunately, the closer I get to societal norms of good behavior, the part of me that loved my wild nature best feels trapped in a cage of my own creation. I know what you’re thinking: Mid-Life Crisis Alert.
And maybe you’re not far off, but if I’m being honest, this shit started over a dozen years ago. The war between my socially acceptable self and my wannabe scandalous nature. The former won the fucking knock-out drag-out fight in my mid-thirties. Won it so handily that it took almost ten years for my inner wild child to regain consciousness.
To combat this crazed maniac that lives beneath my skin, I write books. Books full of people leading scandalous lives and doing scandalous things. But at the center of this hurricane of debauchery is Q. Q, who is a nice Jewish girl at heart. Q, who gets tamed and settles down with a good feminist husband.
I often wonder why I’ve chosen this path for her. I’m not going to lie. Shit’s about to get very real for my heroine, but that urge to push her into a “normal” life is still so alluring. And honestly, it’s making me examine my own gender bias. It makes me wonder if Derek Sharp or Charlie Bourdel were the centers of my stories, would I be pushing them towards marriage and a quiet life of quiet desperation?
Society isn’t a fan of women who behave badly. There are volumes full of names for women like me. Or rather, the woman I used to be.
Being sexually autonomous is equated with promiscuity which gets you labeled whore or slut.
Being ambitious and career-focused is equated with being conniving which gets you labeled bitch or cunt.
Standing strong for your rights is equated with not knowing your place or, worse, bucking societal morays which gets you labeled dyke or femi-nazi.
And I could go on, but you get the idea. What I’ve come to realize, though, is that all these insults and labels get boiled down to one thing: A woman’s instinctive scandalous nature.
There is a popular saying that well-behaved women rarely make history. And that is true. Well-behaved women rarely make interesting heroines, too.
So, fear not, dear readers, Q has all kinds of scandalous adventures in store for her. But when she’s ready and tired of all this death and mayhem, I think I may just go ahead and give her the happy ending everyone deserves.