Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 110
November 9, 2012
There's no place like...
The other morning I woke up out of a dream, probably before or just around six. I was groggy, not sure if I was still in the dream. My eyes were half open and I could make out shapes and images and slowly I started to realize I was somewhere familiar but it took me a few more bleary seconds for it to sink in that I was at home, in my own room. The outlines of the door and the bookcase and the surroundings all were recognizable but it's like hearing your own language transformed by a heavy accent or when someone you know changes their look and you think it's them but aren't quite sure. When I finally opened my eyes and slipped completely out of dreamland I then felt a little ashamed to not have recognized the room I've lived in for twelve and a half years.
At the same time, I was away for two weeks, then was in New Jersey and DC, and am now heading off to Arizona. The new normal means that home is just another place to visit, a pit stop on my way to somewhere else. Except it's not. I may sleep better in better beds, less physically and mentally cluttered spaces, but I love it here. Little things have changed in the twelve years, both inside and outside my door. I moved here very sheltered and naïve, having barely worked, having managed three years of law school without a degree but also without pretty much retaining any legal knowledge. I was young and clueless and never could've imagined that all those years later I'd even have an accountant, let alone be meeting with one to incorporate a business. It still feels amazing, to have gone from that girl to this one, though really we are so similar. We are both flighty and impatient and don't know how to finish what we start. We are both selfish and bratty and want things to go our way. I hope that in those years I have grown up at least a little. I don't ever sit at a desk or anywhere else hungover. I am rarely up past two, although one night in Austin we we crashed on a friend's couches and I felt many years drop off.
I try not to be too attached to this home, because I am planning to leave. I don't know if it's the best decision, or rather, I will have to give up many comforts of home, of New York, to gain others, like togetherness and quiet and home-cooked meals and daily Jeopardy! watching, like making a future and, if I'm lucky, a family. Like investing in my writing in ways I am simply incapable of in New York.
For all its vastness, New York is sometimes too small. There are aspects of that I appreciate, like the woman at my dry cleaner who always chats with me, tells me I have a doppelganger, compliments my dresses, who seems so quintessentially like someone's mom, which she is. Her shop isn't fancy or hipster in any sense of the word, it's old school, family run. At the same time, my coffee shop is a hipster coffee shop, but no less family, just not an Italian one. I get to hear so many wonderful stories while sitting there for hours, from my fellow customers and the baristas. I brought them cupcakes the day after the election; I apologized for the one with the topper I would bet money they hadn't voted for, but I didn't ask. I will miss that coffee culture and community, and that is high on my list of what I want in my new town. I've never shopped for a town before, or a home. Since I was two, I've only lived in 6 apartments (1 was a dorm). I stick around a long time. I was born in New York, and it will always be a part of me. But I think this year of traveling all over, places I never imagined or thought I could figure out how to go to, has shown me that home is about love. I was so grateful to have someone I barely know open their home to me, and then extend that, when I couldn't get back here. Not being able to come back was frustrating, but it taught me a lot about what and who I miss. It wasn't my stuff or the trappings of home in this space.
While I'm here, I try to value it, to look around my city with the same awe I brought to Dupont Circle, to Penn Quarter, to Georgetown and the White House the last time I was there. I don't want to ever be over New York, to think I know it like the back of my hand because I've walked a bridge or sat in a park or eaten in a restaurant or ridden a subway line dozens or hundreds of times. There's always something new, and it will always be its own kind of home to me. I think I'm ready for an adult life, with closets (my place has none) and organization and art and love. It'll take a while to get to that new home, wherever it is, but it will happen. In the meantime, every minute I'm here, I'm watching and learning and simply savoring it.
At the same time, I was away for two weeks, then was in New Jersey and DC, and am now heading off to Arizona. The new normal means that home is just another place to visit, a pit stop on my way to somewhere else. Except it's not. I may sleep better in better beds, less physically and mentally cluttered spaces, but I love it here. Little things have changed in the twelve years, both inside and outside my door. I moved here very sheltered and naïve, having barely worked, having managed three years of law school without a degree but also without pretty much retaining any legal knowledge. I was young and clueless and never could've imagined that all those years later I'd even have an accountant, let alone be meeting with one to incorporate a business. It still feels amazing, to have gone from that girl to this one, though really we are so similar. We are both flighty and impatient and don't know how to finish what we start. We are both selfish and bratty and want things to go our way. I hope that in those years I have grown up at least a little. I don't ever sit at a desk or anywhere else hungover. I am rarely up past two, although one night in Austin we we crashed on a friend's couches and I felt many years drop off.
I try not to be too attached to this home, because I am planning to leave. I don't know if it's the best decision, or rather, I will have to give up many comforts of home, of New York, to gain others, like togetherness and quiet and home-cooked meals and daily Jeopardy! watching, like making a future and, if I'm lucky, a family. Like investing in my writing in ways I am simply incapable of in New York.
For all its vastness, New York is sometimes too small. There are aspects of that I appreciate, like the woman at my dry cleaner who always chats with me, tells me I have a doppelganger, compliments my dresses, who seems so quintessentially like someone's mom, which she is. Her shop isn't fancy or hipster in any sense of the word, it's old school, family run. At the same time, my coffee shop is a hipster coffee shop, but no less family, just not an Italian one. I get to hear so many wonderful stories while sitting there for hours, from my fellow customers and the baristas. I brought them cupcakes the day after the election; I apologized for the one with the topper I would bet money they hadn't voted for, but I didn't ask. I will miss that coffee culture and community, and that is high on my list of what I want in my new town. I've never shopped for a town before, or a home. Since I was two, I've only lived in 6 apartments (1 was a dorm). I stick around a long time. I was born in New York, and it will always be a part of me. But I think this year of traveling all over, places I never imagined or thought I could figure out how to go to, has shown me that home is about love. I was so grateful to have someone I barely know open their home to me, and then extend that, when I couldn't get back here. Not being able to come back was frustrating, but it taught me a lot about what and who I miss. It wasn't my stuff or the trappings of home in this space.
While I'm here, I try to value it, to look around my city with the same awe I brought to Dupont Circle, to Penn Quarter, to Georgetown and the White House the last time I was there. I don't want to ever be over New York, to think I know it like the back of my hand because I've walked a bridge or sat in a park or eaten in a restaurant or ridden a subway line dozens or hundreds of times. There's always something new, and it will always be its own kind of home to me. I think I'm ready for an adult life, with closets (my place has none) and organization and art and love. It'll take a while to get to that new home, wherever it is, but it will happen. In the meantime, every minute I'm here, I'm watching and learning and simply savoring it.
November 8, 2012
Interview with me at BDSM Book Reviews
Over at BDSM Book Reviews, I answer questions like ""Are you actively involved in BDSM? If so how do you identify yourself? Dom(me)/sub? Top/bottom? Switch?" and "Is there one area of BDSM that you tend to write about more? Why do you think that area creeps into your writing more than some others?"
Speaking of BDSM, today my copies of Best Bondage Erotica 2013 arrive! I'm actually having them sent to my boyfriend's so will take some glamour shots next week (I am a total dork and take unboxing photos of my books, but you know what? Fortysomething anthologies in, it is always the most thrilling feeling in the world, to know I made a book. Once that gets old, I'll stop, but I hope it never does.
Speaking of BDSM, today my copies of Best Bondage Erotica 2013 arrive! I'm actually having them sent to my boyfriend's so will take some glamour shots next week (I am a total dork and take unboxing photos of my books, but you know what? Fortysomething anthologies in, it is always the most thrilling feeling in the world, to know I made a book. Once that gets old, I'll stop, but I hope it never does.
November 7, 2012
How to give me a virtual spanking and help my books with a click
I turn 37 this Saturday, November 10th (yes, I'm a Scorpio!) and I have a simple birthday request - if you like me and want to support my work so I can keep on editing anthologies, please give me a virtual spanking by clicking like on my anthology Cheeky Spanking Stories on Amazon. Bonus points if you do the same for Best Bondage Erotica 2013 (for some reason, it's only allowing likes on Kindle pages) - those arrive in my hands next week, and if you're in the U.S. and want a free signed copy, all you need to do is promise to review it on Amazon within 6 weeks and be one of the first 20 people to email bestbondage2013 at gmail.com with "Amazon" in the subject line and your name and mailing address in the body. I'll autograph it and send it to you next week and yes, that is before it's available on Amazon or in stores. Follow me @raquelita on Twitter if you want future free books to review because I do this same promotion with every book. If you've already requested a copy, you're on my list. Thank you so much for your support! I know make a living entirely by my earnings as a writer, editor and blogger, so every book sale, every like, every review, goes far. This has been a big year, with my first foreign translation (a German edition of Please, Sir), lots of new markets and new ideas and events and I feel so lucky to be so free, to not have to sit in a freezing office (which I would have done had I not gotten laid off), and I want to push myself to do better, to be lucky enough to continue this crazy freelancing life. Yes, it still feels crazy a year in, but in a roller coaster, learn something new every day way. More information about each book is available at cheekyanthology.wordpress.com and bestbondage2013.wordpress.com.
November 6, 2012
Why I'm thinking of switching from a Nook to a Kindle
I feel very stupid when I can't get my technology to work, so even though I will hopefully get it resolved soon, I will not be pre-ordering any more books on my Nook and may even switch to a Kindle. I was all excited to read Murder is a Piece of Cake by Elaine Viets on the treadmill today, so much so that I pre-ordered it, and apparently that was the very wrong thing to do because now it just says "preorder" and won't open even though today is the pub day, November 6th. @BNBuzz on Twitter told me to archive, then unarchive it, which I tried to do, so I will head over at a Barnes & Noble but I don't really have time for that. Good lesson to me not to pre-order, and I think I may look into getting a Kindle because then I can borrow Kindle books for free, I believe.
November 5, 2012
Hurricane Sandy sex
Read all about hooking up in New York City in this week's open marriage MTA shutdown Hurricane Sandy sex diary (note: I'm the editor, not the author!). If you're interested in writing an anonymous sex diary, email me at sexiaries at nymag.com with your age, gender, location, occupation, relationship status and sexual orientation and tell me a little about why you'd make a good diarist, and feel free to pass that on. Thanks!
Mindblowing for Wasteful Workaholics, or What I Learned in Texas About Self-Worth
When I was in Texas, my friend Brooke Axtell, who wrote a wonderful piece at Forbes about money, value and women's approach to our work called What is a Woman Worth?", talked about the value of our time and energy and work. I'm paraphrasing, but she suggested that I undervalue myself and suggested a way of seeing work that was so mindblowing I don't even know how to approach it. The gist was that we should strive to work smarter and we will earn more money, not just work more. I tend to go to bed with my to do list running through my head and often have dreams about things I should have done/should be doing/need to do. The idea of ever turning down a job, no matter how low paying, seems ludicrous stacked up next to rent, phone, travel, domain names, books, postage, etc.
And yet, I know she is absolutely right. My accountant told me how much I made in 2011 and I almost fell off my chair. He had to be wrong; not only was my immediate thought that the number was incorrect, but that I couldn't have and by definition didn't deserve that amount. What was also jarring was that so little was left, though if I were using Mint.com like I should be, I could tell you exactly how many thousands I paid in taxes and student loans, which is where I put any extra money that comes in, so I don't feel like I'm literally getting poorer every day, even though the truth is thanks to my three years of law school, I am. I don't think about it too often, just try to pay as much as I can to Sallie Mae as often as I can, and I have paid over $100,00 plus interest since leaving law school in 1999. I know that's something, but it feels inconsequential when faced with what I still owe.
I've made many strides in terms of breaking into new online and print markets this past year, but there is more to do. What's hard to conceptualize is the idea that I am, in fact, free to pursue whatever projects I want. I should be writing that novella and outlining that novel but I'm still so so afraid of failing that I'd rather not try. As a result, I do the same old round of status quo tasks, the anthology and diary editing, the cupcake blogging, the short story writing that I love but that so often feels frivolous. When I read something like "Do You Have a Scarcity Mindset?" and can answer yes to every talking point, I know I have a major problem. I know that I'm not "driven" and I don't "do so much" (and yes, I want to punch anyone who tells me that, because if I really worked smart, I would make more from what I do, so doing "a lot" is pretty pointless if it's not furthering my career) because it's all so haphazard, catch as catch can. I put too much time into the low paying projects and then give up on the bigger paying ones. I get stuck on the details and frustrated and don't believe in myself; I look at authors writing many books per year and hate myself for not even finishing my short story collection, even though the two are totally unrelated.
Even with blogging, I need to stop thinking I'm too dumb for tech and learn how Google Analytics works so I can blog smarter, can blog things people want to read, can even figure out what's popular. Every time I hit a stumbling block, whether with writing, editing, blogging or, well, life, I just collapse, sometimes literally, but more often figuratively. I go to the darkness because I just have no idea how to work around these things. It starts to feel overwhelming and then I doubt even the things I do think I'm good at. I tell myself it's all just luck and that I don't deserve any of the things I have gotten, or that the answer to success is pumping tons of money into silliness like book trailers or ads or publicists or whatever it is because I can't figure out cheaper ways of selling my books, when the truth is, they will sell themselves, or they won't. Sometimes the more you force it, the less you get out of it.
There are glimmers that I'm moving forward, not stagnating. I'm trying to cut out all the toxic energy in my life, in whatever form. Anything that makes me feel bad about myself in some way (even if it also makes me feel good sometimes), goodbye. I always think I'm stronger than I am until I hit a point where I realize the weakness right underneath, and those two are intertwined in my DNA. I can't collapse at the weak points, nor be bursting with hubris until I explode. I need to start by figuring out "what I want to do when I grow up" and then make a concrete plan to do it. Maybe that will involve going away somewhere to write; maybe it'll mean setting a schedule and a budget and hiding my iPhone and tuning everything out. Maybe it'll be a writing class or boot camp. I don't know what it'll be, I just know I never want to be in a situation like I was in last week, far far away from a paper check, so far that I felt like a complete failure. I never want to get used to that kind of scarcity, to accept it as what I myself am worth. I certainly don't want to pass that on to the next generation, should the universe let me be so lucky.
So yes, my mind was blown, and today I'm in a town with, thankfully, power, so I can get my work done, but whose post office is out of power. I learned a terribly important lesson which is one they teach us so early, yet I'm 36 and haven't quite grasped it. Don't put off tomorrow what you could do today. I did that the other day, not mailing something important because i figured I could "do it on Monday." Wrong. Well, I can, it'll just be a three mile walk, which is a first world problem compared to some of the hurricane devastation, I'm aware. I know there's no reason except my own stupidity that I couldn't have mailed this on Saturday, and that is a recurring issue of mine. Any angst about my birthday is less about the age, though I hate the sound of 37, but more about my lack of wisdom, my failings, all the things I thought I'd know and things I expected to have accomplished in a year's time. But all I can do is be here now, focus on the changes I need to make day to day, hour to hour, word by word, and be grateful for my health, safety and what is the freedom to craft each day however I choose, to work from Texas or New Jersey or Scottsdale or Chicago, from anywhere, really, as long as I'm actually doing the work, not just pretending to, and learning how to do it better, not just in greater but less appealing quantities. I always say I'll quit erotica when I don't have anything more to say. I don't think I'm there yet, but I know I need to push myself, both so I have a financial cushion, and so I remember why I'm doing this in the first place. It's so easy to get accustomed to a situation, to forget how miserable I was at previous jobs, to forget to be humble and grateful and know that the words are not magic entities here to carry me, but something I have to engage and grapple with, fight for, write and erase and revise, start over from a blank page every single day. So, onward, to 37 and beyond...
And yet, I know she is absolutely right. My accountant told me how much I made in 2011 and I almost fell off my chair. He had to be wrong; not only was my immediate thought that the number was incorrect, but that I couldn't have and by definition didn't deserve that amount. What was also jarring was that so little was left, though if I were using Mint.com like I should be, I could tell you exactly how many thousands I paid in taxes and student loans, which is where I put any extra money that comes in, so I don't feel like I'm literally getting poorer every day, even though the truth is thanks to my three years of law school, I am. I don't think about it too often, just try to pay as much as I can to Sallie Mae as often as I can, and I have paid over $100,00 plus interest since leaving law school in 1999. I know that's something, but it feels inconsequential when faced with what I still owe.
I've made many strides in terms of breaking into new online and print markets this past year, but there is more to do. What's hard to conceptualize is the idea that I am, in fact, free to pursue whatever projects I want. I should be writing that novella and outlining that novel but I'm still so so afraid of failing that I'd rather not try. As a result, I do the same old round of status quo tasks, the anthology and diary editing, the cupcake blogging, the short story writing that I love but that so often feels frivolous. When I read something like "Do You Have a Scarcity Mindset?" and can answer yes to every talking point, I know I have a major problem. I know that I'm not "driven" and I don't "do so much" (and yes, I want to punch anyone who tells me that, because if I really worked smart, I would make more from what I do, so doing "a lot" is pretty pointless if it's not furthering my career) because it's all so haphazard, catch as catch can. I put too much time into the low paying projects and then give up on the bigger paying ones. I get stuck on the details and frustrated and don't believe in myself; I look at authors writing many books per year and hate myself for not even finishing my short story collection, even though the two are totally unrelated.
Even with blogging, I need to stop thinking I'm too dumb for tech and learn how Google Analytics works so I can blog smarter, can blog things people want to read, can even figure out what's popular. Every time I hit a stumbling block, whether with writing, editing, blogging or, well, life, I just collapse, sometimes literally, but more often figuratively. I go to the darkness because I just have no idea how to work around these things. It starts to feel overwhelming and then I doubt even the things I do think I'm good at. I tell myself it's all just luck and that I don't deserve any of the things I have gotten, or that the answer to success is pumping tons of money into silliness like book trailers or ads or publicists or whatever it is because I can't figure out cheaper ways of selling my books, when the truth is, they will sell themselves, or they won't. Sometimes the more you force it, the less you get out of it.
There are glimmers that I'm moving forward, not stagnating. I'm trying to cut out all the toxic energy in my life, in whatever form. Anything that makes me feel bad about myself in some way (even if it also makes me feel good sometimes), goodbye. I always think I'm stronger than I am until I hit a point where I realize the weakness right underneath, and those two are intertwined in my DNA. I can't collapse at the weak points, nor be bursting with hubris until I explode. I need to start by figuring out "what I want to do when I grow up" and then make a concrete plan to do it. Maybe that will involve going away somewhere to write; maybe it'll mean setting a schedule and a budget and hiding my iPhone and tuning everything out. Maybe it'll be a writing class or boot camp. I don't know what it'll be, I just know I never want to be in a situation like I was in last week, far far away from a paper check, so far that I felt like a complete failure. I never want to get used to that kind of scarcity, to accept it as what I myself am worth. I certainly don't want to pass that on to the next generation, should the universe let me be so lucky.
So yes, my mind was blown, and today I'm in a town with, thankfully, power, so I can get my work done, but whose post office is out of power. I learned a terribly important lesson which is one they teach us so early, yet I'm 36 and haven't quite grasped it. Don't put off tomorrow what you could do today. I did that the other day, not mailing something important because i figured I could "do it on Monday." Wrong. Well, I can, it'll just be a three mile walk, which is a first world problem compared to some of the hurricane devastation, I'm aware. I know there's no reason except my own stupidity that I couldn't have mailed this on Saturday, and that is a recurring issue of mine. Any angst about my birthday is less about the age, though I hate the sound of 37, but more about my lack of wisdom, my failings, all the things I thought I'd know and things I expected to have accomplished in a year's time. But all I can do is be here now, focus on the changes I need to make day to day, hour to hour, word by word, and be grateful for my health, safety and what is the freedom to craft each day however I choose, to work from Texas or New Jersey or Scottsdale or Chicago, from anywhere, really, as long as I'm actually doing the work, not just pretending to, and learning how to do it better, not just in greater but less appealing quantities. I always say I'll quit erotica when I don't have anything more to say. I don't think I'm there yet, but I know I need to push myself, both so I have a financial cushion, and so I remember why I'm doing this in the first place. It's so easy to get accustomed to a situation, to forget how miserable I was at previous jobs, to forget to be humble and grateful and know that the words are not magic entities here to carry me, but something I have to engage and grapple with, fight for, write and erase and revise, start over from a blank page every single day. So, onward, to 37 and beyond...
Happy birthday to my fellow Scorpio, Hello Kitty!
I'm writing today about something Hello Kitty related (more on that when it's in print), and just found out November 1st was Hello Kitty's birthday! A fellow Scorpio, love that! See all our Hello Kitty cupcake coverage here. Adorableness times a million.
November 4, 2012
Photos and review of Dubai ice bar Chill Out Lounge
I wrote up my visit to ice bar Chill Out Lounge in Dubai for Huffington Post Travel (I meant 21.20 ºF not -21.20 ºF). I'd included all the photos below in my submission but I don't see them on the site, so here they are! I love travel and have my heart set on going to the Ice Hotel in December 2013, I want to learn about travel writing as best I can and someday I hope to get published by sites like Fathom (I actually submitted this piece there but didn't hear back), but who knows? I'm learning, every single day, how to be a freelance writer.
November 2, 2012
What being in Texas for Hurricane Sandy has taught me about life
The first thing I did this morning after pulling back the blinds to find not warm ways of sunshine streaming through the window, but light and chill, was check my flight status. It's a silly little game, because those can and do change at any time, but it's what I do, to try to get information, to try to figure out if I'll get home after what's become a two-week Texas trip. Anything I think about being here is tempered by the knowledge that so many have died, crushed or drowned, are without power, soon without gas. I have people who've told me their neighborhood looks like nothing happened, others frantically charging their phones anywhere they can, my pregnant friend without power and not able to contact me too often.
The next site I checked is the MTA, where there aren't so many ominous "Suspended" lines, but the ones I will need to get to my boyfriend are not running. He warned me not to come visit, that I wouldn't like the cold and dark. Surely not, but I don't care. What I've learned this week is that all the stuff that's littering my home, that I think I care about, is pointless. I can live out of a suitcase. I can earn a living from my laptop.
I've had some amazing discussions about just that, about this living I'm earning, or not earning, about whether I undervalue myself, don't truly believe I'm worth it. We've talked about Manisha Thakor and Money Zen and next on my to read list is Ask for It: How Women Can Use the Power of Negotiation to Get What They Really Want. I've found a new cafe, one with free coffee refills and delicious frittatas and friendly customers and staff to park myself at to work, but I've been forcing myself to ask some deeper questions: why do this at all? What's the next level? Why do I talk myself out of so many goals? It's National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo (want inspiration instead of my doom and gloom? Multiple NaNo winner Marianne Kirby has it in spades!) and every time I contemplate it, it's like fear thickens in my blood, tells me stop, you won't make it, you suck, you failed once so of course you'll fail again. It tells me so many things, so loudly, so repeatedly, I have trouble hearing any other voices, but the peace and quiet and warmth here in Texas have helped with that. On the opposite end of my crazybrain, I have 2 novel ideas and 1 novella idea, plus an actual contract for a short story collection I should be making my number one most urgent priority.
Yesterday I worked, hard. Instead of waiting for Very Cool Travel Site to get back to me, I submitted the piece to Huffington Post. I got almost done with an anthology that I've been almost done with for a while. I wrote a short story. I cupcake blogged. I learned that my bank has a kickass app for depositing checks from your phone. I brainstormed. I read Grace Coddington's amazing memoir, making me feel better about lugging the giant galley in my suitcases. I surrendered any semblance of control and any travel savvy I ever thought I had. I learned not to travel broke, and it's made me ask myself some hard but necessary questions as I go forward, as I embrace what is possible, as I figure out whether this is all just a hobby or something I can sustain. It's not something I can answer in a day or a week, but I am grateful to have been safe and warm and cared about this week, to have been given the chance to ask myself those questions, and plenty of other ones, and know that I have so much more growing up to do, no matter what my age is.
The next site I checked is the MTA, where there aren't so many ominous "Suspended" lines, but the ones I will need to get to my boyfriend are not running. He warned me not to come visit, that I wouldn't like the cold and dark. Surely not, but I don't care. What I've learned this week is that all the stuff that's littering my home, that I think I care about, is pointless. I can live out of a suitcase. I can earn a living from my laptop.
I've had some amazing discussions about just that, about this living I'm earning, or not earning, about whether I undervalue myself, don't truly believe I'm worth it. We've talked about Manisha Thakor and Money Zen and next on my to read list is Ask for It: How Women Can Use the Power of Negotiation to Get What They Really Want. I've found a new cafe, one with free coffee refills and delicious frittatas and friendly customers and staff to park myself at to work, but I've been forcing myself to ask some deeper questions: why do this at all? What's the next level? Why do I talk myself out of so many goals? It's National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo (want inspiration instead of my doom and gloom? Multiple NaNo winner Marianne Kirby has it in spades!) and every time I contemplate it, it's like fear thickens in my blood, tells me stop, you won't make it, you suck, you failed once so of course you'll fail again. It tells me so many things, so loudly, so repeatedly, I have trouble hearing any other voices, but the peace and quiet and warmth here in Texas have helped with that. On the opposite end of my crazybrain, I have 2 novel ideas and 1 novella idea, plus an actual contract for a short story collection I should be making my number one most urgent priority.
Yesterday I worked, hard. Instead of waiting for Very Cool Travel Site to get back to me, I submitted the piece to Huffington Post. I got almost done with an anthology that I've been almost done with for a while. I wrote a short story. I cupcake blogged. I learned that my bank has a kickass app for depositing checks from your phone. I brainstormed. I read Grace Coddington's amazing memoir, making me feel better about lugging the giant galley in my suitcases. I surrendered any semblance of control and any travel savvy I ever thought I had. I learned not to travel broke, and it's made me ask myself some hard but necessary questions as I go forward, as I embrace what is possible, as I figure out whether this is all just a hobby or something I can sustain. It's not something I can answer in a day or a week, but I am grateful to have been safe and warm and cared about this week, to have been given the chance to ask myself those questions, and plenty of other ones, and know that I have so much more growing up to do, no matter what my age is.
October 31, 2012
American University college class to study Fifty Shades of Grey
I'm fascinated by this news from
The Eagle
about this class! 
A new class based on the “50 Shades of Grey” trilogy will be offered to undergraduates this spring.Professor Stef Woods also posted about the class and 5 points she plans to explore, and can I just say I love that female sexuality is going to be discussed explicitly, as well as erotic literature, on the college level? Also, I had to click through to find out what a sexual genogram is - students will have to create one!
The class will be in the American Studies program of the College of Arts and Sciences (AMST-330-005). It will focus on the trilogy’s impact in many areas of society as well as the reasons behind its popularity, according to its course description.
Professor Stef Woods, who runs the D.C.-based blog titled “City Girl,” will teach the class. She currently teaches a course on health and activism.
Woods thought the books were appropriate to use in class because of their impact on pop culture, with more than 20 million copies sold in four months, she said.
“The trilogy has impacted the fields of public relations, writing, social media marketing, health and sexuality,” she said. “It has also opened up dialogue about previously uncomfortable topics.”
a. Double standards abound with respect to female sexuality. Does referring to the book as "mommy porn" further belittle women's sexuality? Are men's publications subjected to the same judgments about sexuality?
b. A common criticism of the book is its poor writing style and editing. What are our expectations when it comes to reading fiction? Do we expect less from online writings? Would E.L. James's writing have been judged to the same extent, if she wasn't a female writing an erotic trilogy? How would you revise an earlier chapter of the first book to sustain a more discriminating reader's attention?
c. Evaluate the relationship in the book in light of our readings on domestic violence. Are the leads in the trilogy in a healthy or abusive relationship? Why or why not?
d. Why is the trilogy a public relations success story? Would sales have been as high if e-readers didn't exist? Given the studies we looked at regarding the buying power of the mom demographic, do you think the book series would have been as successful if the mom demographic hadn't been targeted?
e. What was the role of social media in perpetuating the trilogy's success? If you were in charge of marketing the upcoming movies, how would you utilize social media?
