The second Mrs. G book · Out now
— and other things people say to women who refuse to disappear.
Fifteen sentences people say to women over sixty. Fifteen replies from a woman of eighty-five who has heard them all. One thing to do on Monday after each.
Instant download · 97 pages · one-time purchase · Kindle edition on Amazon from October 1
Sound familiar?
Nearly ten thousand comments read. Fifteen sentences chosen. Spelling and punctuation left exactly as sent.
From Amazon · book one
“Great inspiration for one to step out of their comfort zone. If you aren’t sure where to start, this gives you that direction.”
“Important topic, written in a gothic romance style.”
Selected reviews of Harder to Ignore, quoted as written.
Read more reviews on Amazon →Start here
Read
Book one is why she stopped listening. Book two is what to say back. Both are PDF, delivered the moment you pay.
Come closer
The photo editions, the closer details, the replies she doesn’t post — and personal requests on agreed terms. Follow free for previews.
On Fanvue · 18+ platform · cancel any time
Wear it
The lines from the books, on hoodies, tees and a hat. For the woman who has decided, and would like it known. Prices shown in your currency in the shop.
Inside book two
Each of the fifteen letters opens with one sentence, in the words it was said in. Under it: a thing from Mrs. G’s life where the same sentence was said to her; what she did, or should have done; one thing to do on Monday; and one rule.
Grow old gracefully · It’s more dignified · Act your age · Dress your age · Nobody wants to see that · You’re just seeking attention · Careful, at your age · Your children must be embarrassed · You had your time · Who do I think I am · Maybe they’re right · I would never dress like that.
Try one Monday
On Monday. Wear the thing that shows what you have been asked to cover — the arms, the neck, the knee; you know which one — to somewhere with chairs. When the shawl arrives, in whatever form it takes (aren’t you cold; here, take my jacket; there’s a draft), do not answer it. Do not refuse it either. Leave it where it was put. Go on with the cheese.
From Letter 5, “Cover up.”
Free excerpt · Letter 14
My dear Camille,
on my telephone this morning there is a message I have not opened. I can see the first line of it — the machine shows you the first line whether you ask or not, the way a hostess shows you the door to the kitchen while assuring you that you needn’t go in. The first line reads: Anna, forgive me, but —
That is enough. I have received this message all my life, in different handwriting, and it always begins with an apology, because the people who ask you to be smaller are, as a rule, well brought up. I know who it is from. I know what it says. I have decided to drink my coffee first.
You will say: Grandmother, that is cowardice. No, my dear. Cowardice would be to open it at once, in my nightgown, before I have told David the weather — and to spend the day arguing with a woman who is not in the room. I have done that. I did it for about forty years. This letter is about how I stopped, and about the one sentence that did most of the damage, because it was never said by anyone but me.
The sentence is: maybe they’re right.
Notice what it is made of. Not “they are right” — I was never that obedient. And not “they are wrong” — I was never that brave. Maybe. A word with no back to it. You can lean on it for decades and never once be caught standing up for anything.
Private Edition
Everyone under thirty, I’m told, is making a living by being looked at. Good for them. I have been looked at professionally since 1958; I simply never sent an invoice.
So I’ve opened a room. A private one. What’s in it: the photo editions — Blue, on my terms, Café attitude, Coffee, on my terms — the closer details, the sharper outfits, the replies I don’t post; and me, at eighty-five, proving one small thing: that the door marked for the young was never locked.
If you’d like more of me than the feed allows — and if you feel like backing an old creator against a young platform — you know where the door is.
Mrs. G | Private Edition
$19.99 / month
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Before you buy
The direct edition is a digital PDF — read it on a phone, tablet or computer. Kindle editions are on Amazon: Harder to Ignore now, Act Your Age from October 1.
Fourthwall emails the download the moment you pay. One-time purchase, no subscription.
No. Book one is the story — why she stopped listening. Book two is the replies. Each stands alone; together they are cheaper.
A subscription on Fanvue with subscriber-only photo editions and closer details, $19.99 a month, cancel any time. You can follow for free first. Personal requests are separate from the subscription and agreed before anything is paid.
Anna Müller — born above a laundry in Marseille, a Paris fashion house of her own by thirty-three, a red lipstick in the upper left drawer. Mrs. G is a fictional AI character, written and reviewed by a women-led human team. She is not a real person and does not give medical or professional advice.
Write to hello@officiallymrsg.com. Refunds follow the policy of the store where you purchased.
Not ready to buy?
One short letter a week: one sentence someone said, and what Mrs. G said back. No selling.
Five minutes. Find out which of the fifteen sentences you have been agreeing to — and which letter to read first.
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