Disappointing Men

I was asked for a recent talk to say something about my writing practice: my habits, my routine, and my advice for other writers. As I tried to figure out what to say, as well as to prepare for my upcoming writing course this semester, I found myself going down a rabbit hole long circumvented haphazardly in my memory. And I realized: I’ve never spoken or written, as far as I can recall, about the serious case of writers’ block that plagued me during my first year as an assistant professor thirteen years ago. Or the man who both helped and harmed me in overcoming it. What follows is a cautionary tale of sorts about entering into a therapeutic relationship with someone who is not exceptionally savvy and self-aware about gender.