Your new novel, Any Man, follows the story of a female serial rapist who preys on men. Why did you choose to explore sexual assault and its effects from that angle?
I encourage people to think of this story as means of broadening the conversation about gender and rape culture. To me, men are a part of this conversation, and if you look at the bravery of someone like [actor] Terry Crews, for instance, you’ll see that that is really true. Part of the larger conversation that we need to be having is looking at who exactly is affected by sexual assault.

What message do you want to convey through this story? What do you want readers to learn from it?
I want people to have a better sense of empathy. It’s not just the experience of understanding what people go through; it’s also the experience of wanting to help us change the culture. I think there’s been so much numbness around conversations about sexual assault. We’re in the 37th week of the #MeToo movement; it just happened, and people are acting like we’ve been here for years holding men back. And that’s really disappointing. I would love to really find a way to have larger, more difficult conversations which include looking at our own actions. And by us, I mean women. Looking at how we treat other women, how we treat other genders, all of those types of things.

What does this novel add to the national conversation?
I started working on the book three-and-a-half years ago, and I never could have imagined that it would come out right now in the middle of all of this. I think there was a real sense of fear, a sense that people might not be ready to have these more difficult conversations, and I understand that [the story] can be very jarring and upsetting for some people.

But at the same time, I think if we’re going to talk about huge, fundamental, endemic cultural change, we have to first talk about what inclusivity means. And we have to ask, who are we leaving out of the conversation? Are we leaving trans women out of the conversation? Are we leaving women or men of color out of the conversation? We have to look at who is still being affected and harmed that we are not representing. This [book] is an effort to do that while also saying that this is an indictment of our media culture and the 24/7 news cycle. It’s a way for us to look at that and ask, even when we think we’re being our best allies, are we helping or are we further hurting?

How did you help co-found the Time’s Up movement?
It started with several women, across industries, who were fed up. It was right after the #MeToo movement had broken open and all of us were not only sharing our own stories, but the stories of our mothers and grandmothers and daughters. It was extremely illuminating to see how far-reaching such atrocities go. From a restaurant worker all the way up to some of the biggest movie stars in the world. To know that we were collectively connected through that pain was pretty profound. We all got in a room together and asked each other: What can we do? How can we change things and create direct action so that no woman or man ever has to say #MeToo again?

How has speaking out publicly against sexual assault affected your life?
It comes with its pros and cons. I’m very happy to be able to speak for the pain of a lot of women who don’t feel comfortable or safe enough to talk about some of these things. At the same time, it’s put me in a strange spotlight that I don’t think I ever expected.

You were recently added to The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences, the body that votes on nominees for The Academy Awards. What does that inclusion mean to you?
What I love most about it is that it says that while our business is slow-changing, at least they’re doing it. At least it’s beginning now. Whereas before, it wasn’t even part of a conversation. I think that’s really wonderful. It’s going to be a long, slow road, and it’s going to take a long time for the larger effects of change to really make their marks on society, and certainly in the entertainment business, but I think more inclusion and more equality is always the answer.

Join Amber Tamblyn on August 1 at Creative Alliance for a reading, book signing, and Q&A session.

In 2017, everyone wanted a piece of Lindsey Jordan. The Ellicott City high school student had just recorded a raw, reverberating EP with her two childhood friends in their small-town garage, and in a few short months, it seemed like every publication, festival, and fan now knew her band’s name. As the new whiz kids of indie-rock, Snail Mail performed SXSW, graced The New York Times, set up shop behind an NPR Tiny Desk, and arguably became Pitchfork’s favorite act of the year, all before recording a full-length record.

That day is finally here, with June’s debut Lush—a robust coming-of-age album full of refreshingly genuine emotion and ’90s-era guitar—and Jordan’s life shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon. In between photo shoots, music videos, and cross-country tours, we caught up with the 18-year-old singer-songwriter-guitar-slayer during a visit home to Maryland. Catch her band at the Parkway Theater on July 12.

Your life is crazy these days. This year alone, you’ve been to SXSW, toured the U.S., and released two music videos. You still live in Maryland, though, when you’re off the road?
Yeah, in Ellicott City! I’m kind of in-between deciding if I want to live on the West Coast, North Carolina, or in Baltimore City. I’m really torn but at this hopeful crossroads.

Do you find coming home to be rejuvenating?
It’s incredible. It’s the best thing ever. I have a really nice routine. I sleep in and make food. I go to the gym in the morning, then this coffee shop right next to my house called Bean Hollow, where I just read. I go roller-skating when I have time on Thursday nights at our roller rink. I write songs. I love traveling but it’s so good to have time at home.

When you’re not home, how do you stay grounded? 
I find the process to be humbling. It’s been fun and terrifying and busy, but aAll the publications and travel and attention are pretty secondary to how everything actually happens. At the end of the day, it’s just me in my room, writing songs. Everything’s down to my discretion. The most important part is the songwriting and the performance. So much goes into just knowing yourself and being a genuine writer. But if you really believe in what you’re doing and actually care about the music, everything goes pretty smoothly.

Your interest in music started at a young age. How did you come to find the guitar?
I asked my parents for a guitar and lessons for Christmas when I was 5. I have very vague ideas as to how that came to be because it was such a long time ago. It may have had something to do with the movie School of Rock, and I really liked Avril Lavigne. But once I had a guitar in my hand, I discovered Paramore, at the age of 8, which is still my favorite band today. Paramore was the first band I knew that was led by a woman. I was so into all those Warped Tour bands and didn’t even know that girls were allowed to be in them. But my sister took me to their concert and I remember so clearly having this big moment.

Growing up in Maryland, did you go to a lot of shows?
I went to a lot of shows in Baltimore and D.C. as a tween with my mom. She’d go and stand in the back so as to not embarrass me, which is really sweet. But I was always an avid music fan. I remember being really young, watching MTV and VH1, and copying whatever my older sister was listening to. I went to rock camp and played in the jazz band and the church band and school plays. As I became a guitar player, I reallydove into music so that I could have even more to play. A lot of shreddy stuff, because that’s the kind of player I wanted to be.

You mentioned that you still write when you’re home today. What is your process?
I write really sparsely. I don’t write on the road; I only write when I’m fully alone in my house and feeling absolutely inspired or in the mood, or else it feels like I have to do it. With the last record, I had to actually sit down and write because I was running out of time and didn’t have enough songs. Nobody’s put a deadline on me for the next record. I’m fully planning on taking as much time as possible to make the best thing I possibly can. I don’t want to spoil the process for myself. It still feels like a really magical thing.

There’s been a lot of magic in the air, including a recent interview with one of your favorite artists, Liz Phair. It must be pretty cool to just have casual phone calls with some of your idols.
It’s just cool to have that around you. I don’t find myself drooling over anybody or being anything more than just humbled to be around musicians who I’ve always respected and admired. It’s been especially amazing to experience the album-making process. I’ve learned so much. There are so many things coming up that I don’t think I ever would have had if it weren’t for this opportunity.

You’ve been friends with two of your bandmates—Ray Brown, on drums, and Alex Bass, on bass—since high school. Is it nice having them be a part of this with you?
I really love and care about them and I’m so glad that they’ve been able to take time off school to do this. We brought this thing from the ground up, all together, and it just feels right. We all really support each other. We love going out to breakfast together when we’re on tour. We’re as close as can be. It’s so natural and nothing is forced about it—or anything with Snail Mail for that matter. Everything still feels really homegrown.

Now that Lush is about to come out, how do you feel?
I’ve actually never felt crazier in my entire life. Well, when we were making the album, I probably felt a little crazier. But it feels like you’re about to go down a drop on a roller coaster. I love roller coasters, but I’m still kind of scared. At the same time, I feel ready to share it with the world. I can’t wait to play it live and have people know the words. I still really believe in all of these songs and I wouldn’t change a single thing if I could.

You’ve talked about the frustration that comes with being considered a “female guitar player,” rather than just a “guitar player.” Does that still bother you, and how do you balance that with the pressure to own your femininity in the midst of the #MeToo movement?
I do think we’re going through a really cool time in music, but I don’t necessarily feel like I’m proud of being a woman. It’s just who I am. There’s a lot of “you go, girl!” energy out there right now, and in a way, it’s kind of infantilizing. It puts forth this idea that girls are born with an actual disadvantage. In music, young girls are not encouraged to play the guitar, and I definitely grew up in gaggles of boys, struggling to figure out what it meant to me to be a musician and a guitar player and where I stood in the equation.

I don’t necessarily involve my private life in my public life, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because it doesn’t feel like it has anything to do with my music. At the same time, I am openly gay, and if that allows me to be a beacon of representation for people, then that’s good to do. I’m comfortable talking about being gay and being a woman if that means something to someone else. If that can mean we’re making strides and that my daughter one day will be able to be in a band and not just be the “female guitarist,” then that’s great.

You’ve now sold out the Ottobar and WTMD and, soon enough, the Parkway Theater on July 12! Do you consider yourself part of the Baltimore music scene like we do?
I definitely used to be. If there was a show, I was at it, like every single day as soon as I got my license. I followed all the DIY and punk bands and was really into local record shopping. Now I don’t get that much time at home, but I watch it from afar and have lots of local favorites—Romantic States, Outer Spaces, Post Pink, Celebration, pretty much anything Jana Hunter has ever done; I have all of her Lower Dens records. It’s still really important to me. I’m really excited to play the Parkway.

Last Saturday, Notre Dame of Maryland University hosted the second iteration of the Women of the World (WOW) Festival, a one-day event that featured a full schedule of panels, performances, workshops, and activities addressing the challenges and accomplishments of women and girls today. As a panelist, I had the opportunity to attend the event, hear from incredible activists, and reflect on the conversations and sessions throughout the day.

Since its launch in 2010 by Southbank Centre artist director Jude Kelly, the WOW Festival has become a visionary movement fighting for gender equality across the globe. It has reached nearly two million people in countries such as the United Kingdom, Australia, India, and Pakistan, to name a few. And while it’s only been two years since the festival was first held in Baltimore, it’s been a huge success, bringing in famed speakers and attracting large crowds.

Maricka Oglesby, WOW Baltimore curator and producer, explains that Kelly thought the university was the perfect place to host the event, especially as the last standing all-women’s college in Maryland. “We have similar missions of transforming the world, and this is how it comes about—through sharing ideas, concepts, and experiences,” Oglesby says.

The festival kicked things off on Saturday morning with just that. In the opening keynote speech, Tarana Burke, the founder of the #MeToo movement, touched on topics like the misconceptions surrounding the campaign and the importance of listening to sexual assault survivors’ stories. But what was most inspiring—and necessary—is how the movement has created a space for women of color to come forward and share their own stories of abuse. “People from different identities have to take ownership of this movement and stand up,” Burke explains. “That’s how we grow.”

In fact, this theme of inclusivity and intersectionality was evident throughout the entire festival. The program was refreshingly diverse, offering sessions led by or involving minority women.

One such was called “Self-Care for Women of Color,” a workshop that focused on the barriers preventing women of color from utilizing self-care practices. In a small mock café space, a large group of minority women of all ages shared their thoughts on what self-care looks like—from getting mani-pedis to taking mental breaks—and what prohibits them from successfully integrating these practices in their daily lives—from generational stress to the exhaustion of navigating through a predominantly white workplace. Across the room, a young woman raised her hand and boldly chimed in the conversation, summing up the experience that many women of color go through. “We assume we’re good, but that doesn’t always mean we are,” she says. “There’s a lot of expectation for us to work 10 times harder to prove ourselves to the rest of society.”

In another session, the conversation about intersectionality materialized into a board game. Natalie Gillard, assistant vice president of Multicultural Experience at Stevenson University, facilitated a 90-minute crash course about structural inequality through Factuality, a board game she created. Participants played a Monopoly-style game where each person selected a character with intersecting identities such as race, gender, sexual orientation, and class. The players moved across the board with a series of fact-based advantages and limitations based on these intersections.

“The groups were clearly affected by the statistics and directives,” Gillard reflects. “I saw people who were playing on the more privileged side—like those who played rich, white, male, heterosexual characters—act more jovial, while those on the opposite side felt increasingly frustrated.”

Structural inequalities were not only discussed on a domestic level, but also an international one. In the panel “Activism Beyond Borders,” I joined three women activists who used their privilege and knowledge to assist women oppressed in their societies through the lack of education and proper healthcare.

Several sessions also offered safe spaces to talk about topics like sex and transgender identities. In the Sex Café, attendees debunked myths about sex, love, and relationships with Vanessa Geffrard, founder of VagEsteem. Meanwhile, in “Transgender Activism: On Our Own Terms,” Monica Stevens, founding member of the Baltimore Transgender Alliance, explored how transgender and non-binary people interact with societal definitions of womanhood.

“The festival was engaging,” describes Chinwendu Nwokeabia, a junior Notre Dame student. “I had the chance to talk about aspects of womanhood that I don’t get talk about often. I appreciate the inclusivity and diversity, and some of these individuals have left a lasting impression on me.”

At the end of the day, attendees shuffled back to the main auditorium to hear Roxane Gay, acclaimed writer and cultural critic, discuss timely topics with Dr. Tressie McMillan Cottom. The relaxed conversation covered matters including the pressures on black and brown creators, Bill Cosby’s conviction, and even Kanye West’s tweets. The two brought everything full circle, reiterating the power of women’s voices, the existence of oppression, and the importance of supporting and mentoring other marginalized people.

As a young woman of color, I left the event empowered and inspired to continue the conversation about gender equality. I realized that representation does matter. Seeing and hearing from courageous minority activists made me believe that I, too, can make a difference in this fight for solidarity.

What exactly does it mean to be woke? The urban dictionary defines it “as being aware of the social, and political environments regarding all demographics and socio-economic standings.” For the second year in a row, Essence magazine is using the term as inspiration for their “Woke 100 Women” and Baltimore’s own mayor Catherine Pugh has made the list.   

“Being woke is to be focused, to be attentive, to recognize your purpose,” Pugh says in the article. “What matters is that we create a society that is more equal and more just.”

The May issue—with Kerry Washington on the cover—will be available on April 27 and it includes a list of women who are “proven change agents, shape-shifters, and power players” across the world. Pugh is among a list of women who represents a wide spectrum of distinction from #MeToo movement founder Tarana Burke to Emmy-award winner Lena Waithe. 

In addition to Mayor Pugh, Washington D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser, Bladensburg, MD Mayor Takisha D. James, Edmonston, MD Mayor Tracy Farrish Gant, Colmar Manor, MD Mayor Sadara Barrow, and North Brentwood, MD Mayor Petrella Robinson made the list as well.

“From corporate women shattering glass ceilings to the countless women dismantling white supremacy,” the article reads. “These women consistently leave their mark on the on their respective communities and industries.”

You’ve been writing
feminist music since 2011. How has our recent national conversation influenced
your songwriting?
It’s really interesting to be in a band that has a focus
like feminism. Issues constantly come up that make me feel like I have
something to say. But it’s also exhausting. Talking about gender-based violence
and sexual assault and the unequal treatment of women can really get
you down. For this record, it was the first time I let myself take a break. . .
. Instead of writing songs about every single thing that [President] Trump
says, or every single attack on women’s reproductive rights, I meditated on
specific topics. It was a real creative challenge.  

Did that allow you to dig deeper?
It allowed us to not write a record solely about Trump. There is plenty to write about when it comes to our current administration, but I think this is a good time for people who have been less political to start getting involved—to step up and start talking about these issues. I still ended up writing about him in “Predator in Chief,” but that song actually represents a lot of men in powerful positions who abuse their power and hurt women.   

What was it like watching the #MeToo movement unfold? 
My gut reaction was kind of like,
“Welcome.” I’ve been running the Baltimore Hollaback! chapter since 2011,
talking to people about street harassment every day since I founded it. For me, seeing other people really come to terms with how prevalent sexual harassment
actually is, and really realize that we need to do something about it, it’s a beautiful
thing. I’ve tried cultivate
allies instead of making them feel guilty. It’s like,
you’re here now, let’s get to work.  

What’s it like being
a woman at the head of a hardcore punk band, which has traditionally been a male-dominated genre?
It’s really
cool to be able to present these kinds of messages through a type of music that
is obviously not for everyone. It’s aggressive, angry music, and I think, at the same time, for
some people, if we were just playing folksy, Lilith Fair kind of stuff, they
would never hear it. . . . We’re presenting female anger in a way that people
are not used to. People traditionally like women to be angry in cute,
acceptable, non-challenging ways. We push that limit, and yet our music is very
femme. I am not one of the boys. I am not doing an impression of a male singer.
I really do sound like a woman, like myself. And I’m pissed.

Would you say that War on Women‘s new album, Capture the Flag, is for the oppressors or the oppressed?
I like to think it’s for
everyone. We can all do better. We can all be allies for someone else. Yes, I’m
a woman, I deal with discrimination—everyday sexism, “light” sexual harassment,
you might say. But I have no idea what it’s like to be a black woman. I have no
idea what it’s like to be a trans woman. I need to make sure that I am a
good ally for them, too.  

What do these songs embody for you?
The title makes it pretty clear. There are politicians currently in power who are playing games with peoples’ lives. They are
literally putting lives at risk with policies that they are or are not putting
through. Restricting health care. Deporting people. Encouraging bullying and
anti-trans hate. This album is a critique of what they’re doing to us, who they claim to
represent, and, hopefully, it’s a call to action to remind ourselves that there
are more of us than them. Let’s start representing what America actually looks
like.