It is not my intention to question the value of artists’ residencies – there is absolutely no point in arguing against the clear advantage of offering ‘time out’ from the demands of daily life to otherwise time-strapped writers – only to raise the question lingering in Machado’s story: who is ‘cut out’ for the artist’s residency, and what does it say about your artistry if you cannot hack the enforced solitude of such now-commonplace retreats?

When teaching creative writing, I invariably ask my students why it is they want to write. The answers range from the predictable – ‘to straighten out my thoughts’, ‘to create my own world and escape reality’, ‘to remember and capture memories’ – to the faintly quirky – ‘to reproduce the contours of my mind’, ‘to take ideas out and decide if they are a diamond or a piece of glass’. While these reasons are perfectly valid, I am yet to encounter a student who gives the answer I did when I first began my writing journey: ‘to change the world.’

The feminists ‘consumed with rage and fear’ that Garner condemns in The First Stone are still having to be vigilant, and still cop the same criticisms she threw at them twenty years ago: that they are throwing stones when they too have sinned. Such logic implies women are equally capable of inappropriate behaviour, that we use our sexual prowess when it is convenient and should be merciful when those of the opposite gender ‘get it wrong’.

I go to a store to try on coats. Slipping on one after another, I look at my reflection. What does this coat transform me into? Am I flashy, realistic, prosaic, magic or speculative? Is it a perfect fit or slightly too big? Are the sleeves a little too long? Are the seams showing just a bit too much? I am confused, and leave the store.

Earlier this year when I had an article published by Daily Life entitled ‘The Day My Daughter Told Me She Didn’t Like Brown Skin’, I was called out by a Facebook commentator for being racist. Against white people. The article explored my four-year-old’s comment about her own dark-coloured skin and the internalising of dislike at being Other.

But is Twitter really a feminist tool? For Weiner, who has 106,000 followers, and although she seems to spend most of her time tweeting about The Bachelor, I am sure her 140 characters feel influential. For those of us who don’t have a bestseller behind us, it feels like just another shout into the internet abyss.

While egg freezing sponsored by her employer may seem to free women from biological restraints, it continues to highlight women’s involvement in the workforce as inextricably linked to the decision to have children. That is, it plays into the Silicon Valley’s creation of a workplace that, while touting itself as family friendly – Facebook provides very generous parental leave – actually relies on employees who commit wholeheartedly to the company.

At a mother’s group Christmas party, three young girls were jumping up and down on a musty old couch. All three were in their party dresses, yelling, ‘I’m Barbie One!’, ‘I’m Barbie Two!’ and ‘I’m Barbie Three!’ The dark-haired girl assigned to be ‘Barbie Three’ suddenly stopped jumping. She thought for a moment about the implications of being third and declared, ‘I’m Barbie Five!’ to which her companions countered, ‘I’m Barbie 56!’ and ‘I’m Barbie 65, 72, 15!’ The hall where this party was taking place seemed filled with the infamous plastic doll, although the Mattel product was, actually, nowhere to be seen.