I wrote a book
and I'm finally ready for you to read it
On my 40th birthday (April 19th) I gifted copies of my self-published book, knots: a collection, to friends and family. That was my motivation to engage in the arduous process of making a book of my non-fiction essays, personal stories, and budding poems. I just wanted to share my (he)art with my people and thank them for getting me through 40 years in this timeline.
In turn, my loving people have been poking at me to share knots more widely. I’m sure some folks have even snuck a copy into bookstores to see if anyone notices. It has been an astounding experience to see my friends holding my words and to hear their human reactions to how I put these words together. Snapshots of unabashed love.
Now, to be read by strangers is an entirely different and terrifying beast. That’s a big reason why my Substack is so sparse. Promoting my book publicly and just so… public. However, the world is a vortex of trash and I have copies just sitting around so here we go…
If you’d like a copy of knots, please fill out this form and I will mail it out to you. There’s an option to send me some dollars, up to you. If I run out of copies, I will let you know and we’ll go from there.
Below are some of my favorite bits from knots: a collection —
Foreword (pg.5)
knots is a letter to the first forty years of my life. Shall I be so bold as to call it a love letter?
Naw, I shan’t.
This relationship – the one between me and my life – has not been of love, but of conflict. One for which my writing practice has served as a relationship counselor. This collection is a product of that heart-wrenching work to be in right relationship with myself. It is a letter of truth and truce. To move us – me and my life – into a future where we can hopefully be in love with each other.
Inspecting My White Vagina (pg.26)
The whiteness in the room becomes deafening. “Um. No. I am Asian. India is in Asia. I am Asian.” I stare at the ceiling, somehow reveling in the ludicrous. Wondering if she was looking at the right vagina for this conversation.
My Vocal History (pg.54)
The memory of actual words spoken by my voice into the space is fuzzy at best. Like the adults on Peanuts, all incoherent static. The body holds other sensations, though. The feeling of the cold plastic chair under me. The anxiety in my chest erupting as the muscles pull to activate my vocal chords.
(Dis)claiming Black (pg.99)
On school picture day in 1992, the photographer called me Janet Jackson and I was elated.
Now Casting: Asian Woman for “White Feminism” (pg.139)
Through the experiences of exploring my gender and sexuality as a hyper-visible invisible Asian woman in starkly white spaces and stage performances, I came to a realization many women of color had decades ago – the feminist movement is so white.
knots: a collection is available only by personal mail. Visit bit.ly/rajaniknots or scan the QR code below to order a copy of my book <3
