Meredith Foster

It’s 11:21 PM, Tuesday November 8th, 2016. I haven’t checked the results in about an hour, since I do need to sleep tonight, but before I sleep I want to say a few words to the universe in the hope that someone might hear them.

I am afraid. I am a bisexual woman. I am quiet. I am human. I make great beef stew, I take wonderful care of my FIV+ cat, I honor my father’s memory, I laugh at stupid jokes. I am these things, and more.

In the days, weeks, and years to come, regardless of what happens tonight, I can fight with love. Trust me, I know that’s a sad, tired cliche, but what’s the alternative? Love doesn’t mean laying down to be trampled on, or bowing my head in the face of oppression. Love means looking my privilege in the eye, acknowledging that privilege and how it’s shaped my existence, and striving for constant awareness of it. Love means offering my voice and my words to people and groups that don’t share those privileges, and bowing out gracefully if they’re declined. Love means reaching out to my family, my friends, the fine folk who share their digital spaces with me, and striving to keep those spaces safe.

Love means wading through the debris of what might come next.

Love means doing the work.

Dear Mr. Nix,

First off, I apologize if this gets long and unwieldy. Feelings, I have them.

I’m going to start with an obvious, irritating, and all-too-prevalent point: THERE ARE TOO FEW WELL-WRITTEN FEMALE CHARACTERS.

The lack of representation is inexcusable. Far too often we see ourselves portrayed in media as nothing more than window dressing. We’re sexualized, we’re reduced to vehicles for male pain, we’re discriminated against, we’re ignored. It’s frustrating at best, and utterly discouraging at worst. Women? Should be portrayed as multidimensional HUMANS?! WHAT?! Next you’ll tell me the Earth is round and heroin pastilles aren’t good for a head cold.

I found Sabriel by chance, when I was a teenager working in the school library. Cool cover art and a cryptic description on the back? Count me in. The book never once pandered to me, instead it sets an important standard. You allowed Sabrirl to portray the full range of emotions and never once shamed her or made her feelings invalid; instead you lifted her up. That’s a hell of a thing for a girl to see. That matters.

As women, we get used to having to take what we get in terms of positive representation. We’re told to be grateful when we get scraps of humanity, we’re looked at with disdain when we ask the world and the media to do better. Teenage girls, especially, are derided from every angle for daring to even exist. You did better without having to be asked, you treated Sabriel and your teenage readers with respect not because you were told to, but because it’s the decent human thing to do.

I’ve read Sabriel many times over the past 15 years. I’ve grown a lot since I first read the book, both in terms of how I view female characters and how I view the world as a feminist. Your writing, the way you portray Sabriel and the other amazing women throughout your work, never disappoints.  Sabriel is strong. She’s vulnerable. She rises to the challenges presented to her. She’s afraid. She knows life and death are not fair, kind, or discerning. She’s real, and I can’t thank you enough for that.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for sharing Sabriel with the world, Sir. Thank you.

-Meredith

A lot of writers, myself included, don’t make our living writing. We can be found in law offices, on construction sites, behind the counter at McDonald’s. Our occupations are as varied as the stories we write, but we all have one thing in common: these bills aren’t going to pay themselves.

Continue reading →