In Southern, New Jersey in the early 1960s, as a pre-teen who wrote stories, liked girls and wanted to be a writer when I grew up, I rarely saw people like me.
Even on TV. Most women in life or on screen were wives and mothers who didn’t have jobs. Those who did work were schoolteachers or secretaries.
The few single women seemed always to be widows or witches. Sure, I worshiped Jo March, the sisterly scribe of “Little Women.” But, she ended up married!
Holden Caulfield was a boy, and even at 10, I knew Shakespeare was out of my league. Fortunately, Sally Rogers, my first queer crush was there for me.