Arn't I A Woman?

So it's probably good I didn't finish the update to my article on Mariah Carey's shunning in 2018 by the Songwriter's Hall of Fa me. Why? Well, because the glittery industry giant that is Carey is fresh off (we say this every decade) one of the most lucrative and successful years in her career; so naturally, Carey was  finally  inducted . I say finally because it took 3 consecutive nominations to get the win. Along with Annie Lenox's/ Eurythmics' induction, 33 women are now nestled together in the 'hall. Now, was it because of my hard-hitting investigative journalism that this happened? Yes, absolutely. Ok maybe not, but for my initial article I did genuinely try to rea ch out to the PR firm and had the following brief exchange to clarify how their process works and if they wanted to give a statement on the numbers of women inductees:  (Spoiler alert: I never heard back.) Since then it's becoming a lot more commonly discussed by the p

It's been a while since I wrote something personal here. I've navigated away from confessional-style writing because you can get a lot of shit for being so open and vulnerable and exposing the really dark sides of yourself. And you wonder, does it even matter? Shouldn't I write about an issue of some sort? Shouldn't I start to protect myself a bit more, because exposing myself hasn't exactly quelled the deep loneliness inside? But I'm really not the secret journaling type because I draw strength from others who share their own poignant yet dark truths for the sheer fact that if they don't, the revelations will seep out anyways until the seems burst; a blueberry Violet at Willy Wonka's factory. Somehow, sharing your ugly is more relieving than just writing it down and tucking it away like a shameful secret. And my attempts at writing impersonal pieces recently have proved fruitless. I've been grappling with how to keep up with the 24-hour mass