For me, time spent on Instagram isn’t doom-scrolling. It’s education, inspiration, even validation for plot points of my debut novel I plan to publish this year.
Posts can also feed my indignation and rage.
“Did you know,” I growl, looking up from the tiny screen clutched in my hand, “that there’s still a law on the books supporting the forced sterilization of ‘feeble-minded’ women (Buck v. Bell, 274 U.S. 200 in 1927)?” The darling man I’ve been with more than 30 years hears such outbursts from me frequently.
They say, “Past is prologue.” When history, politics, and feminism intersect, I stop scanning and pay attention, which causes Instagram’s algorithm to serve up more posts dedicated to explaining “herstory” and the norms and laws that put parameters around the lives of American women.
That’s how I found out about the yet-to-be-overturned Chamberlain-Kahn Act, best known as the American Plan, well explained by Scott W. Stern in his meticulously researched page-turner, The Trials of Nina McCall: Sex, Surveillance, and the Decades-Long Government Plan to Imprison “Promiscuous” Women. Why would this country round people up? Cruelty and systematic spreading of fear come to mind. Moreover, there’s money to be made.
Content creators can be a distraction, but more often than not, they serve as my muses, posting intriguing notions to ruminate on, research (trust but verify!), and perhaps even incorporate into a sub-plot.
In my upcoming novel, Willow, the female protagonist, experiences trauma when a powerful man coerces her into bed. The manuscript was well underway when #MeToo went mainstream in 2017. This inspired me to move Willow’s timeline from contemporary fiction back to the 1980s, well before the gender justice movement empowered women to step forward, name names, and demand accountability. I believed America was finally going to support victims and prosecute abusers.
How hopelessly hopeful and embarrassingly naive I was! According to RAINN, nearly every minute, someone in the United States is sexually assaulted (to circumvent content filters, posts often use such euphemisms as S.A., sxual assult, and essay). Yes, me too.
Remember the viral “man or bear” thought experiment that began in 2024? There’s a reason most women—and some men—would rather risk being mauled by a large ferocious animal than encounter a male human in the woods. Yes, I too choose bear.
The threats we face aren’t mythical, and the rage is real. How can we feel anything other than fury when Ghislaine Maxwell is currently the only one in (minimum-security) prison for trafficking children with Jeffrey Epstein? Or when a New York Times opinion piece asks: “Did Women Ruin the Workplace?” Online backlash prompted them to exchange this dumb question for the inane headline: “Did Liberal Feminism Ruin the Workplace?” This “protect-the-patriarchy” mindset upholds practices that deny our bodily, financial, intellectual, and spiritual autonomy. Shame on you, NYT, and any mainstream media outlet that echoed these sentiments without bringing challenge.
As a straight, white, cisgender, GenX woman, I benefit from Instagram posts that help me learn about diverse perspectives of BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color), LGBTQIA+, and other communities, all of which deserve safety, equity, justice, opportunity, well-being, respect, and happiness in general. I’m expanding my follows to strengthen my understanding of intersectionality.
Stories help us relate to the people around us, and those we’ll never meet. I read across many genres of books as schooling on the human condition. Lately, disillusioned by the current state of—gestures grandly—everything, historical fiction centered on strong women who endured the misogyny of their time is keeping me inspired and hopeful. Tales rooted in past struggles provide lessons on courage and strategy as protagonists stand up to the bad guys.
In my novel, characters experience the ugliness of male violence, and the beauty of female friendships; the oppressive power of the patriarchy in everyday life, and the moxie of ladies who run their business like a household. Crafting this last plot point for a scene set in 1986 required the creation of a backstory with a father and brother because American women lacked the right to take out a business loan without a male co-signer until the Women’s Business Ownership Act of 1988 (I was a recent college graduate).
The juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability, survivorship and victimhood throughout Willow’s story is akin to current events. We see women rising in all walks of life, only for the words of one narcissist with a platform to take us back and undo decades of progress. To that, I’d say to him, “Quiet, Piggy.”
Like books, social media content is carefully crafted. Curated posts provide an opportunity to see and hear diverse opinions from around the world, and credible providers enable us to collectively monitor and even fight societal wrongs. Clicking isn’t the same thing as doing, however, and I’m channeling my anger by looking beyond slacktivism. I’m figuring out how to focus my female rage for good storytelling—and for good.