The Window For Raving About Stories You Love

I’m sufficiently old that I feel like the window for talking about We Are Lady Parts is over, what with the series coming out in May of 2021 and our engagement with it taking place in early September.

I’m old because I’m trapped in a cultural paradigm where immediacy is a primary virtue when recommending narratives—the same paradigm where books have a shelf-life of three to four weeks, television shows get consumed in scheduled blocks and paid for by advertising, and films exist to be shown on the big screen or pulled off the limited shelf-space of your local blockbuster.

Talk about a film, a book, or a television show four months down the line in that kind of environment, and the moment is already over. You wait for re-runs or the DVD release that might never happen, scour second-hand bookstores or badger your library to order in a copy.

But this is the streaming age; the binge watch age; the ebook age. Online stores don’t have the limitations of physical shelf space, and they’re free to stock vast back lists if you’re eager to engage. A penchant for addressing things while they’re new is an atavism of an earlier age, and while we still get the occasional blockbuster that goes strong right out of the blocks, we mostly come to new works in our own time.

We lose some things with that transition: the sense of cultural conversation is more difficult to find, and you can no longer wade into a discussion of Game of Thrones or Big Brother with any real confidence that people understand what you’re saying.

But the gains are incredible, and open up an array of film, TV, and fiction that wouldn’t be feasible in a sales environment characterised by limited shelf space and short sales windows.

And We Are Lady Parts—a six-episode TV comedy about an all-female Muslim punk band in London—is an absolute cracker of a TV show that quietly picking up viewers ever week (this week, it’s shown up in two newsletters from writers I follow, both of whom are basically begging for people to watch it so they can talk bout it).

The show is smart, well-acted, funny, and packed to the gills with catch punk/riot grrl songs that will have you searching for the soundtrack within minutes of watching it. The kind of show that’s built for an era where slow discovery and conversations have replaced the gospel of immediate hype.

It’s easily the best thing I’ve watched all year, and will probably remain so for other people regardless of whether they watch it in 2021, 2025, or 2031.

The window for talking about works you love is open, and it will not close just because a few weeks have gone by.

Two Components of a Big Return

The biggest story in professional wrestling right now is the return of CM Punk. A man who walks down to the ring to talk, and gets a standing ovation from ten thousand fans that lasts through a commercial break. It’s the kind of buzz that wrestling hasn’t got since it’s dwindling heyday in the late nineties, when two major companies fought for supremacy, and household names like Steve Austin and The Rock were consolidating their status as superstars.

Part of the reason fans are coming unglued: this return wasn’t meant to happen. Seven years ago Punk left the biggest game in town—the WWE—after mismanagement and ignored health warnings left him burnt out on the business. He was at the top of his game, but he wasn’t happy as a wrestler anymore, and especially unhappy with the way WWE treated him, frequently suggesting he was too weird, too alternative, too small, too difficult.

Punk did a lot of things in his time off: trained to fight for the UFC; wrote comic books; acted in small films. He sued the WWE’s doctors for repeatedly mismanaging his health, including a failure to diagnose and treat a potentially deadly staff infection. He got into a legal battle with his former best friend, whose Podcast was hit by a counter-suit by the WWE doctor for Punk’s comments about his time with the company.

And while people leave wrestling and come back all the time, from retirements that don’t stick to short-term movie gigs that take wrestlers away from the ring, Punk gave every impression of sticking to his guns. He didn’t do many fan events, rarely entertained questions about a return, and leaned into his reputation for being honest with the fans when he said, “I’m done.”

Then, suddenly, he wasn’t.

The rumours started a month ago: he was signing a contract with the two-year-old federation, AEW. They hinted at it on AEW’s major shows, and on Punk’s social media, and fans were cautiously excited. 90% percent sure there was a comeback afoot, but still never 100% sure. I’d stopped watching wrestling at the start of the year, because following a moderately large company like WWE or AEW means a) a subscription fee to access their content, and b) committing to watching several hours of television a week to follow the product.

I fired up my subscription to AEW again on the strength of the CM Punk rumour, and I still braced myself for disappointment if it was all hype.

Then he debuted. All he does for the first five minutes of his return is walk to the ring while the crowd goes berserk, and if you’re a wrestling fan, it’s goddamned riveting. People cried. I cried. The impossible had taken place. AEW pulled their biggest TV rating ever, which led to their biggest pay-per-view buy ever.

Punk’s return is a phenomenal success, and I’m a nineteen-year-old wrestling fan all over again, nerdily invested in the action.

But the thing worth noting about it: this isn’t a return you could manufacture out of nothing. Punk and AEW are capitalising on the circumstances available to them, picking their time and place to maximise the effects. They’re definitely working to make this as big as possible, but the organic heart of it—a mistreated wrestler with enormous fan investment who walked away on principle, then stayed away for seven years with nary a hint of making a comeback—that heart… that context… isn’t something you can manufacture.

None of this should take away from the talent of the people involved: CM Punk is fantastic at what he does, and the folks behind AEW are doing a damn good job of building a credible challenger for the WWE.

But it’s also a reminder—talent is only part of a massive success, the rest is capitalising on the circumstances and making the best use of the context in which a project debuts. I know from experience that launching a book in the early days of social media of 2007, when old friends were rapidly connecting and catching up on one-another’s’ lives, was a very different experience to launching books in 2021 when Twitter and Facebook are a drag on our attention.

Two Questions For The Start Of A Writing Project

Two questions worth asking at the start of every writing project, from tweet to blog post to short story to novel.

  • Question One: What is the most useful or interesting idea I can put into the world today?
  • Question Two: Am I picking the right fight with this piece?

“But Peter,” I hear you argue, “I’m not trying to pick a fight with my writing. I’m trying to write escapist, genre-friendly fiction that’s not trying to challenge anyone and producing blog posts and social media with the goal of selling my books.”

That’s fine. You’ve still picked a fight. The history of escapist and genre-friendly fiction has a long history of works filled with misogyny, classism, and racism, and the decision to follow those tropes without interrogation or question is a choice that reinforces those cultural assumptions. Some readers will follow you on that journey, or enjoy your work despite elements they find uncomfortable. Increasingly, folks will call you out on it, whether it happens at the editorial level or the reader level. 

But the truth is this: The fight is going to happen. The fight is always happening. We’ve moved away from the single-narrative culture where such positions are normalised and left unexamined, and into a space where we’ve embraced a culture of complexity and multiplicity. 

The goal of the second question isn’t avoiding the fight—it’s making sure you’ve picked the side you really want to be on.