Rae Story (that be me) is a blogger, writer and would-like-to-be provocateur, but is stifled in this regard by her deep and overwhelming need to be liked. She wants to dance to her own tune, but for the same reasons as listed above, limits her maverick-isms to wearing slightly cheery coloured scarves and using words like ‘cool’ and ‘groovy’ to people in sub-par positions of authority. Such as bank clerks and job centre coaches. And bus drivers.
As is the current case of every person under the age of 40, she is an unemployed blogger, who would far sooner trade away her civic and human rights for a rather pathetic amount of vindication and attention. And would, in a minute, shop her nearests and dearests (purportedly for their dissent, but in reality for their rank dilettantism) to the authorities should The Paul Nuttall State ever take the reins. She, indeed, has a weird fascination for Paul Nuttall… mostly because he looks a mixture between a boiled egg and a thumb, and uses phrases like ‘cultural Marxism’.
She has written for presses such as The Morning Star and Feminist Current. Other feminist presses, she has previously contributed to, now ignore her pitches. She imagines it is because she doesn’t always have nice things to say about The Pimp Movement, which is feminism’s current cause du jour. It could also be because she is really shit.
She is currently writing a novel called what they call silence. Its pretentious, constantly breaks the literary fourth wall and every other creative writing class rule known to man, woman and macaque (increasingly the most voracious readers of paper back and pulp, her target audience).
She is also writing her memoir (get her!) – which she is vaguely considering calling gods of the undergrowth – in installments using the platform Patreon. You can subscribe for from $1 per month from here.
Added, her and her sisterama Jess Doodles are putting together an illustrated guide to escape joblessness. Slowly.
She’d like to do a PhD one day if she can triumph over her fear of talking out loud and can finally quit the urge to yodel/screech/mash potato whenever she is spoken to by a serious person. Alternately she’d like to be a permacultural cucumber gardener, crystal healer, literary busker, Jeremy from Peep Show, a disgraced Tory MP or in any case, full time fucking Scandalous.