Lindsay Rae Brown — My Favourite Writer — November Competition
The meltiest writer in the box wears a unicorn onesie.
Well, if that doesn’t whet your appetite, nothing will, and I might as well give up and go home. As originally planned.
I’ll explain.
A few weeks ago, when I first joined Medium, I didn’t get it and didn’t feel at all comfortable. It was an awkwardness reserved for the first day of kindergarten or a high-powered executive job. And to stick with the food theme, it felt like I was at a fancy dinner dribbling soup, using the wrong silverware, and spitting crumbs on other people’s food. As comedians say, I couldn’t read the room.
Then I found a big box of goodies called Lindsay Rae Brown. I noticed her profile pic first; a youngish woman (everyone else is young when you are over 60) in a unicorn onesie. She has the expression of an earnest but deranged, very cute imp. Someone that would be fun to hang out with. Anyone with such a special sense of whimsy would definitely be kind to a bumbling new writer at the table. And she was.
The first scrumptious confection I picked from the box was an article titled Waking Up With Dead Hands Was the Best Writing Opportunity of My Life, an introduction to her new series The Walking Diaries.
Of course, my pre-senility brain converted her subtitle to The Walking Dead, implanting a ridiculous notion I might, at last, have a place to fangirl the sweatily delicious Norman Reedus. By the time I reached the end of her article, I knew it was going to be Lindsay Rae Brown that I was fangirling. (Of course, not in a creepy stalkery way. Although I do admire the energy and commitment it takes to do that, it’s just not my cup o’ crazy.)
Her brief for The Walking Diaries would include several morsels of praliney goodness, for example, stories about random things and vaguely offensive commentary. Fortunately, healthy recipes, life tips, a positive attitude to life in general, and hacks of any kind would not be included. So that was an excellent start.
Lindsay Rae has an endearing lack of serious writer arrogance and pomposity. Among other areas, she lampoons her weight, parenting, eccentric impulses, her whole life. This all adds up to an entertaining and totally relatable soft-centred assortment, with no space wasted in the box by hard toffees or licorice. Every story is a small delight, with the refreshing authenticity of a crisp, crunchy green apple, in a rambutan world. Or I should say, of a ganache filled pastry in a vegan, plant-based, gluten-free cookie world.
But the main appeal of Lindsay Rae’s writing is her inner mooshiness. Her gooey centre. An earlier story, I Might Have Named Her Lucy, about her beloved ailing dog and more, is a salted-caramel treat. It is finely styled with delicate pink sprinkles of meaningful commentary, a soft melty heart of pathos, and a few crunchy pistachios of wit. All covered in a perfectly tempered coating of expert writing craft.
And then there is this:
If Small Children Had Styrofoam Heads, I’d Probably Like More Small Children
Here is the acerbic, crazy but vastly relatable unicorn, explaining her relationship to random small children:
And yes, many children intimidate me. I just don’t know what to say around them. I’m always dropping f-bombs and asking them if they’ve filed their taxes yet this year.
I could continue analyzing the quality and appeal of Brown’s work, but I would rather end by saying she writes real because she is real. Likeable, feisty, vulnerable, strong and honest. A yummy selection of assorted flavours tied with a big, opinionated, eccentric bow. And who would not want to sample that?
