1. Creepy writer men send me messages to say that they like my poem, and then send my poem back to me with unsolicited edits.
2. Creepy writer men message me to say that I should get an agent, and why don’t I call them on the phone? They know a lot of people, and we should discuss this.
3. Creepy writer men are men whose writing I’ve admired for years, messaging me to say that they like something I’ve written, and hey, they are going to be “in the city,*” here’s the room number at their hotel. At one time, I probably would have had sex with these creepy writer men; I used to find sex with men who I admired to be thrilling. But at this point in my life, I’d much rather be rocked by a genuine accolade. I’ve had enough dumb sex with creepy writer men.
4. Creepy writer men seem to think, because I write about my drug experiences, that I should be wowed and bowled over by theirs. Creepy writer men seem to think that there is a lot more for me to learn from their drug experiences than my own. Conversations with creepy writer men about drug experiences often turn into lingo-laden competitions, with many mentions of units of weight (gram, bundle, pound). I’ve learned that creepy writer men are strangely threatened by women with drug histories more substantial than their own.
5. Creepy writer men send me messages with pictures of their supposed sex partner/girlfriend/wife, under the subject line, “Isn’t she pretty?” And in the picture, she’s in her underwear.
6. Creepy writer men will ask me if my child has read my writing, “Because, well, you know how cruel other kids can be.” I learned that one such condescendingly concerned creepy writer man was years behind in his child support. I fantasized about responding to his message with, “Well, you know how cruel other kids can be, when they’re hungry, because their moms can’t afford to buy them enough to eat.”
7. Creepy writer men will stress to me that while they would never, ever, pay for sex, because I’ve written about my past as a sex worker, I should tell them all about my experiences. And for free.
8. Creepy writer men will tell me, “You don’t look like a girl who has given up on love,” when, really, I’m just telling them this so they will go away. Creepy writer men don’t realize that pretty girls often make graves in order to hide and get away from the creepy writer man who is making them uncomfortable.
9. Creepy writer men often call their penises pee-pees or ding-dongs because they think it negates the power of cock in their unsolicited sexts.
10. Creepy writer men will send me their graphic sex stories, thinking, I suppose, that because I write about sex, I must want to read their writing about sex. As if my writing about sex asks for their writing about sex. (I need to read it, I need to read it, oh!)
11. Creepy writer men are the publishers of small presses, who, online, make “jokes” about “owning” the work of the popular female writers on their press. I highly doubt that they would make these kinds of “jokes” about owning a male writer’s work. As I’m writing this right now (5/27/14) I have not seen them do it yet.
12. Creepy writer men are the men who default to real or cosmetic (yes it exists) misogyny in their story lines, thereby retarding the evolution of outsider literature for fifty more years. Instead of getting inspiration from the stories of Burroughs, Kerouac, and Bukowski, creepy writer men ape their writing and personas to give themselves permission to act like assholes, and then call it art.
13. Creepy writer men are the men who tell me “Every great writing movement was misogynistic,” therefore, I suppose, exculpating the sexism of the great writer’s movement he considers himself a part of. As if sexism was just more proof. As if sexism was a necessary concession to be made for great art.
*I haven’t lived “in the city” for close to ten years.