Zoe E. Whitten's Blog, page 79

Another funny thought…

So, I wrote a book with an offensive scene, and some people have said that because I wrote the scene, I promote those values. This morning, my sleep addled brain kicked over this joke for a new level of funny.

You see, the people making these claims are almost all horror writers. Those would be people who write about violence and gruesome depictions of despicable acts. And, right at the top of their list of complaints against their critics is "Just because I wrote that grisly rape and murder scene does not mean I want to do it, or that I am promoting it." And these are the same people who cry foul whenever there's an attempt to link violent behavior with horror films or books. It's just not true that what they write turns people into killers, they say. The people who are influenced to kill by horror were already messed up.

And, they're right, 100%. BUT, now because I wrote something offensive to them, this same argument does not apply to me. I am clearly a sick puppy who wants to promote deviant sexual values, and my writing is training perverts, who might otherwise have been healthy normal people if not for my book's evil and corrupting influence.

So, they write a brutal rape and murder scene, and that's not promotion of a value or a celebration of it, and it's not responsible for other peoples' sick urges. But, none of this horror writer logic applies to me, because of the age of my fictional character.

Hypocrisy. It's not just for breakfast anymore.

Me, me, me…

I've not really talked much about me lately. I've talked about things that piss me off, but actually talking about me stuff went out for a bit. Not for noble reasons like "I'm sacrificing for you," or anything. I just haven't had much reason to talk about me.

This week we're going through weather shifts, with constant hot and cold shifts of a few degrees. These minor shifts are still enough to drop me to the couch with all kind of fun back spasms. My stomach stops working right so even mild foods cause pain, and oh yeah, there's the constant mood swings and general mental instability.

Despite all this fun, I still managed to keep my garden alive. We're munching the last of my tomatoes, and the carrots should be ready in the next few weeks. I've had as lot of basil and berries. So as a first growing season went, it wasn't so bad.

And in spite of all this pain and agony, I still kept up with my workouts, and I'm looking pretty good, even if I don't feel it. I can see my upper abs, and while there's still a bit of fat on my belly, it isn't enough to make cottage cheese with.

And guitar…I still suck at. I suspect I probably will never play with talent, in much the same way that my dancing will always be a source of quiet amusement for others. But hell, it's just a hobby.

Oh, this reminds me: on LIPS, I scored a ranks of 981 and got a bronze cup for my last attempt at Shout by Tears for Fears. Breaking the top 1,000 doesn't sound so hard, until you realize that 30,000 other people have sung the same song. I may never make it to the top 100, but I know my vocal talents are a damn sight better than my dancing and guitar skills.

And…um, I guess that's it for now. Wrists are starting to feel a little better, so I hope to get into writing again soon.

About 9/11…

What I'm about to say is so offensive and shocking, I need to preface it with a warning, and then follow it with a explanation about what I really meant. So, are you ready?

You people need to just get over 9/11 and stop picking at old wounds.

Did that hurt or make you mad that I would dismiss the tragic deaths of so many people? Do you feel entitled to hold onto your anger for that terrorist attack? Do you feel that Americans must never, ever forget that they were violated by this attack?

Then why do you not share that sentiment about victims of violence or sexual violence? Why is the advice given to these victims most commonly "just move on"?

Please understand, I'm not comparing miseries, and I'm not really telling you to forget 9/11. I'm asking you, if this one tragic event has affected you so deeply that you can't let it go, can you dismiss the victims of sexual violence and tell them to just get over what happened? I'm sure a lot of you will claim you would never. But I've had a LOT of close friends and medical professionals all dish out the same advice. It's harmful, dismissive, erasing, and it creates a society of walking wounded who may one day graduate and become abusers as a result of their shame.

We shouldn't have to get over what happened to us. We should talk out loud and admit how bad this problem has become. And if you are still entitled to be upset about an event 10 years in the past, even if you were never in New York and didn't know any of the victims, then the victims of violent abuse and sexual violence should also be entitled to hold onto their hurt for what happened to them.

I'm hopeful that you can use this as a lesson in empathy. No, I do not expect you to just get over 9/11. But I hope that before you utter this advice to anyone else, you think about how demeaning the words are.

The higher ground is not for me…

Last night, J decided to drop by on Twitter for an attempted defense of himself that went exactly like I knew it would. What he sold and promoted is a-okay, because HE doesn't interpret the tone as promotion of violent sex. Even though the narrative tone of many of the stories was positive. But even though I as the writer told him he was wrong about my book's tone, he gets to interpret it as porn, and he feels this also gives him the right to slander me directly.

After the fight that resulted, some of my friends approached me and told me that I should have taken the higher ground and left it be. Assholes can talk shit and slander me in a forum post, but I, the crazy chick, have to be the better person?

Do you people even know me at all?

Yeah, I get how it's awkward for them cause they're in the same social circles and don't like watching conflict. It's so…so discomforting. But in case nobody noticed yet, I don't care to conform to your expectations of me. Yes, I'm an angry tranny. Yes, I'm likely to snap and go on the attack if you keep poking me with a stick, and especially if you keep calling me a pedophile over and over. But J also said I'm a sexual predator, present tense. Meaning I've been out and about objectifying people and making sexual conquests. He says.

The last two times I've had sex was with my sex toy because my elderly husband, 15 years older than me, had a heart attack, and I can't get laid. Right about now, I'd love to meet a lady between 25-30 who could help me burn off some of this sexual frustration, but as that would require going outside, that plan is a no-can-do. I'm also not on any dating site or any sex sites. Because that would be objectifying people, and I never allow myself the luxury anymore.

Yes, people, this is the dark, terrible secret I've been harboring for six months now. I'm fucking a purple silicon sex toy that smells like grapes, and that I call "Uncle Kevin." I don't even HAVE an uncle Kevin, but for some reason it amuses me to think I'm fucking an incestuous fake cock.

I am not cruising schools for dates. Not colleges, not highs schools, nowhere. I don't look at other people except in short glances. I live my life in quiet desperation because I can never have anything that you people take for granted. All of that was stolen from me by other people who hated me, JUST BECAUSE I was born queer. And because of them, they twisted me into something so awful, I can't talk about my past in public without someone freaking out.

I don't like being a monster, people. On no fucking day do I go, "Hey kids, would you like to have the contempt and hatred of all of society? Would you like to lock yourself indoors and spend every day hating yourself? Then go find a molester, and let them initiate you into the exciting world of sexual abuse!"

I'm pretty fucking sure I've never said anything even remotely like this. Except possibly as a previously cited absurdist example.

No, I'm pretty sure that I've been talking year in and out about what a sheer hell my life is, how fucking hard it is to keep everything under control, and still find little bits of my monster pushing out through my mask anyway. I hate what I am, and I don't want anybody else to go through the hellish life I led.

And, in Texas right now is a new crop of kids who are being bullied, just like me. They'll go to churches and be told that god hates them, just like me. And one day, they may become predators with no conscience, and it won't be society taking the blame for what they created.

I can't do anything for those kids. I can't reach in and pull them free. Hell, where would they go after that? To state services? Those people have a 30% success ratio. They let so many kids slip through the cracks that it's almost better to be with an abusive parent than to have the state as a parent. And you know I can't take care of them. I'm too messed up to be a decent parent. Besides, I could only pull out one or two, and there's THOUSANDS of abused kids in Texas. And you people will ignore them until they turn and snap and become the next generation of monsters. When you find one, you'll even stupidly ask, "Where do these people come from?"

I'd LOVE to explain, but I can't tell you these kids' stories either. Talking about abused kids reacting to their corrupted training isn't trying to highlight a problem in our world. It's promoting it. He says.

Bullshit. You people don't talk about this stuff, and it festers in the victims and makes the next wave of monsters. And those of us who reform and try to keep clean, you won't take us seriously, even though we could tell you how to avoid making another generation of monsters. But, just like you don't care to stop rape, so you don't talk about it, you won't talk about the sexual cycle of violence that takes place in every molester relationship. To you, the monsters are just evil, and they have no excuses for the foul things they've done.

Hypocrites. You look away from rape, ignore racism, roll your eyes at queer discrimination, and you don't say a word about foreign kids raped by troops and politicians. (I read WikiLeaks a lot. Most days, I wish I didn't.) But when a former predator talks openly about their sexuality in an effort to educate people on how the disease starts, you get outraged that I'm promoting the lifestyle. Yes, I can see how the message of "We need better therapy methods to prevent a new generation of victims from being broken and turned into monsters" is exactly the same as "Line the kids up over there, and we'll try to match them to a companion."

The outraged assholes always get to dictate the discussion, and then people tell me, "Zoe, you should take the higher ground. Then you'll look better." Uh, dude called me a pedophile. If I remain quiet, his friends will take that as proof that I am. And even if I do say something, they won't care to read it. They've made up their minds that because I don't enthusiastically endorse prison rape as the only method of dealing with molesters, I must want to promote pedophilia. This is not point A to point B logic. It is point A to point WTF.

No, I am not going to sit quiet while someone attacks me in public about my writing or my personal beliefs. I will especially not take shit from a man who sold me a book with child rape and necrophilia as its central themes.

And to close this rant, I'd like to talk about the "tone argument." J, being a white middle-aged male, does not get speeches from anyone about the tone he takes with me. So he can say whatever shitty things he likes, and no one will point out, "But dude, she's right. You did sell a book with much worse content, so maybe you should back off your claims about her book." No, instead, they'll come to me and say, "Z, maybe you should let him say those things about you and walk away. It's true, his misinterpretation of your writing and ideals could be extremely harmful to you long-term, but you'll really look like the better person if you walk away."

Bullshit. I'll get tarred and feathered, and when I don't say anything, they'll crow about taking care of another crazy. Well this crazy chick isn't interested in staying quiet.

J, keep your criticism to the book. You keep attacking me in a forum, and eventually, you're going to give yourself enough rope for an attorney to work with. I won't care about what you say on my writing, because you're entitled to your opinion. But you keep talking shit about me, and you'll discover that I can hire an attorney in the tri-state area. Not once have I called you anything slanderous, but you have begun attacking me personally. You can knock that shit off and behave like the professional you claim to be, or you can keep talking shit about me and then figure out how to budget for a legal defense of your claims.

Push me, J, but remember, I had to hire a lawyer to change my name and gender. Obviously, I can locate money for an attorney for a slander case too. And, you will lose, because I will wait until you've said something really nasty before I pull the rope. And you will pay for my attorney, your attorney, and all the court costs. So, do you really want to keep attacking me?

The offending scene…

This one is going behind a cut, so those who want to skip the story can. It's provided so you can see the context for my 200 page book being labeled porn for one scene of intimate contact:

"Um…I'm sorry." I start to lean away from Alice, but she slips her hand behind my neck. Her eyes meet mine, then flick down to my mouth. She still wants this, and once she's urging me back down, I can't think to resist her.

Why would I? I may have done everything I could to avoid this moment, but I had to know it would happen right at the start, at that first moment when I saw her practicing on her trampoline.

One kiss mingles into another, and I put my hand on her side. I want to touch her, to explore and learn what she likes. Alice must be wanting more contact too. She shifts on the couch, and then she straddles my legs, sitting up to press her body to mine.

My hands drop to her hips, but I stop myself from clutching her. "Alice," I whisper, surprised by my inability to talk in a normal voice. Alice tries to kiss me, but I bow my head. "No, wait."

Alice asks, "What's wrong?"

She sinks to seat herself, and in the process she slides over my hard-on. My fingers stick straight out. My body's instinct is to grab her hips, and I'm fighting with myself to the point where keeping my fingers straight is just as hard as lifting a loaded weight bar.

Alice stares at me with an uncertain expression, but when she shifts against me again, the light in her eyes changes. She raises on her knees, and then presses into me as she sinks. This time I can't stop myself from shifting to meet her body and maintain friction between us longer. Alice shivers and starts to raise herself again.

I grab her hips to ease her back. "Wait, please." I feel anxious, even irritated with her. "Alice, we can't do this. If we don't stop, I might mess up and hurt you."

"You wouldn't," she says.

"You don't understand." I almost feel like crying.

I'm trying to talk her down? Why?

But I know why. If I give in, I'll ruin everything. I'll get caught somehow, and I'll lose Alice. I'll lose my long shot chance at being a gymnast, and I'll lose my family and friends. I'll go back to the youth treatment center, or maybe even back to juvi.

I take a breath, trying to calm down. "Alice, please, try to think of this from my side. Anything I do with you is going to get me in trouble. I'll get caught, and I won't be allowed to see you anymore."

"I won't tell anyone," Alice promises.

I grimace. Sure, this is so much better. Now I'm the older guy telling her this will be our little secret. When they hold the trial, this is going to be the most damning testimony.

Alice kisses me hard, pressing her lips to mine almost as firmly as she presses her body to mine. She rises and sinks, fitting herself over my hips so that our bodies mesh together. She starts to breathe faster, and then I do too. I dip my head, burying my face in side of her neck to breath in her scent. I suckle the skin under her earlobe, and the brush of tiny hairs over my lips is as intoxicating as Judy's vodka. The scent of Alice is a drug more potent than anything the shrink could have prescribed.

My mouth opens, and I nip her collarbone between my teeth, making her whine. That sound makes my chest ache, but not with regret. The wolf in me growls, and I'm surprised when the rumble rises from my chest.

I stop thinking, and I close my arms around Alice to shift her off of my lap and lay her back on the couch. My mouth stays on her collarbone, but I release my bite and return to wet kisses. My efforts are making her writhe, and I start to stroke her sides. My left hand drifts further until I fit it between her legs. My touch makes Alice gasp and stiffen.

I freeze too, raising my head to look in her eyes. I frown when I find uncertainty. "Should I stop?"

Alice shakes her head. "No."

I should stop. I'm just getting myself in trouble.

My wolf asks, So what?

I unbutton the fly of her jeans and slip my fingers into her panties.

Alice's mouth falls open, and then she starts panting. I keep my touch light, but even this coaxes her to move. She bucks her hips, her body urging me to try more.

I can't. I want to, but some last vestige of common sense stops me from forcing my finger inside her. I still can't stop myself from touching her, and it doesn't take long to bring her off. Alice shivers, her body stiffening. Then she huffs air in quiet gasps, her face flush with a soft rose color as she stares at me.

I smile and say, "I'm going to do something gross, but please, don't be offended."

Alice nods, and I slip my hand out of her panties to suck on my fingers. I'm surprised when there's a wet explosion near the waistband of my jeans. It was like the taste of Alice was my own personal heroin, and even the tiniest fix was enough to push me over the edge.

Alice reacts to my perverted display, inhaling a soft gasp while her eyes go wide.

I pull my fingers out of my mouth and smile awkwardly. "Sorry."

Alice stares for a few seconds, and then laughs. "What do I taste like?"

I laugh too, stuck for an answer. "There's nothing else in the world like this. I can't compare you to anything, or anyone."

Alice smiles. God, she's perfect.

She asks, "Do I taste good?"

"You do to me, yes." I smile back. "But I guess you won't want to kiss me again until I've brushed my teeth?"

Alice huffs another laugh and pulls me down for a kiss.

We're still kissing when we hear a car door slam. Then we sit up and scoot away from each other. I arrange my shirt to hide the wet stain on my jeans, but make a mental note that I need to change them before dinner.

Alice grabs the remote and starts the video over just as David opens the front door and calls, "I'm home!"

Alice and I share a secret smile, the first of many, I'm sure.

 

—

Compare this scene to the final sewer sex orgy scene in IT, and ask yourself if this scene is porn. If this is porn, then so is the scene between Mona Mayfair and Michael O'Hare in Lasher. If this scene makes the whole book porn, then there's a lot of porno writers who I'm in good company with.

I stand by the contents of my book, and especially by this scene. I could have been much more vulgar, and I have in the course of writing other sex scenes. But I knew this scene would be hard to read and I worked hard to tone it down. Obviously, in the opinions of some people, I should not have written the book at all, but their dismissal of the contents based on this one scene will not deter me from promoting this book or from releasing the other books in the series.

So, you've seen the worst scene in the book, and you've seen all the proof afterward that shows how Peter regrets making this choice. If you still think it's porn, I don't think I'll ever convince you on any topic I might bring up here on my blog either.

For some perspective…

Select scenes from Peter the Wolf:

From chapter 21:

David asks, "Where are you going?"

"For a walk," I snap, but I pause at the doorway to glare at him. "Don't worry, I won't bother Alice with my problems."

David is still sputtering when I jog to the front door, open it, and slam it behind me.

I want to turn around and kick the door. Instead I take off running. I'm not going anywhere. I have no goal other than to keep running until I've burned out my anger.

I feel betrayed, and yet there's this guilty voice saying, But are they wrong? You molested Alice.

Every time my temper kicks up, that voice returns to pester me again, and that one word stabs me in the chest with shame. They're not wrong about me. I am a monster, and I'm screwing everything up because I can't stop myself from falling into old habits.

Note how it's Peter who uses the word molest to describe his intimacy with Alice. This is an admission that he did something wrong. Following this scene, Peter confesses first to his foster parents, and then to Alice's parents.

From chapter 29:

I make my confession as soon as I'm home on Sunday night, and this time, everyone is in on the meeting. I don't go into graphic detail, but I want them to understand why I won't be going to the gym anymore.

David tells me that he's proud of me for being mature enough to leave the team. I ruin it by pointing out that I've been seeing Alice behind their backs all this time. Then I point out that I didn't turn down Alice. We were stopped before I could get myself into more serious trouble.

In other words, I ain't no nice guy after all. I was just a guy who wasn't really being tempted convincingly enough.

There's no comeback, no attempt to make me feel better. Which is fine. I don't want to feel better.

Here, David tries to convince Peter that he's not so bad, and Peter acknowledges that yes, he is.

From Chapter 30:

"Well…" Alice stares at me with an uncertain expression. "I thought you wanted to have sex with me."

"Oh." I'm not sure what to say to this. "I do, but I don't think it's a good idea right now."

"Because you think I'm too young."

"Uh…well, yes, and no."

Alice scowls, looking confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Please, try to understand my problem. I was raised having sex almost every day. That made me into an addict and a predator." Alice shakes her head but before she can object I insist, "It's true, Alice. When I first approached you, part of my interest was because I wanted to be with you."

"I figured that out after your second visit." Alice huffs. "What, did you think I was just a naïve little girl who couldn't understand why an older guy was taking an interest in her?"

"Uh…well, yeah. I guess I did."

Alice's mouth flaps, and then she sighs. "Right, I keep forgetting you're an idiot."

I snort and ask, "What? Even with daily reminders?" But my smile softens. "Try to understand, I do want you. But right now, you're like the drug I'm not supposed to be taking again, or I'll lapse back into my addiction."

"You're not as bad as you think," Alice says.

"Yes, I most certainly am." I put a finger over her lips. "Hush, and listen. I want you to imagine the two of us getting married."

Alice smiles. "Okay, I can do that."

"Now imagine that we have a pretty little daughter who looks just like you."

Alice stops smiling when it dawns on her what I'm implying. "You wouldn't."

"I might if I don't beat this now. And maybe what really scares me is, I might never beat this. I don't…I don't want to be a threat to my own kids."

Here, Peter explains why he and Alice can't have sex, revealing that it has little to do with her, and everything about Peter's desire to get his sexuality under control. At the conclusion of this scene, Alice agrees to make no more attempts to push Peter until he's also ready. Does this read like someone proud of what they are?

From Chapter 38:

I sit down, and I stare at my hands, but it's a long time before I can find my voice. "I'm not normal, and I never was. You people tell me there's no such thing as normal, and then you pull me away from the others to examine me. You consider me abnormal enough to study, so why are you going to lie to me?"

"Yes, you're right." Dr. Taylor sits down. "But perhaps you can see why we worry?"

"No, I really don't. I don't understand why it is that you people made such a big deal of pulling me away from my parents, and then you wash your hands of me, like the only problem I had was just bad parents." I shake my head. "But because of them, I'm so messed up inside…and nobody has tried to fix that. You all just keep talking down to me and telling me to put these thoughts away, like I'm just a container for memories, and I'm not really affected by them. I'm not the one in denial, Dr. Taylor. Everyone else is in denial, thinking that I can just jump into normal society with no adverse side effects."

Dr. Taylor says, "And that upsets you, being neglected unless you act up."

I huff a bitter laugh. "Yeah, that's it right there. Nobody offers to help, or even to listen, not unless I snap and attack someone, or I snap and…and touch someone inappropriately. And then, they don't want to help. They just ask, 'what the hell is wrong with you, freak? Why can't you just be normal like everyone else?' Only I'm not, and no matter how often I say it you won't believe…"

The tears come as a hot flood, and I slump over in my seat as I start to cry. I'm angry, and I'm miserable. My mental scars feel fresh and raw, like I've been picking at them too long and I've reopened them all.

When I can raise my head, I see Dr. Taylor has moved around his desk, and he's kneeling in front of me, a box of tissues resting on his thigh.

It's the sympathy in his eyes that brings the words unbidden to my mouth. I whine, "I don't want to be a monster."

"I don't want to be a monster"… This hardly sounds like someone celebrating their corrupted sexuality, does it? It doesn't read to me like promotion of a lifestyle either, but maybe I'm just too close to the work to see how this is promoting Peter's sexuality as a healthy mindset, when not even Peter sees himself as healthy.

So, I'm sorry if the book's topic offends you, but any charges that the book is promoting this mindset are false. I honestly hope some of you will at least try the book rather than judge it based off the content of one scene.

I just had a funny thought…

Hey you know what? I just had a random thought that pissed me off so bad, I'm having to work hard not to angry type and break a girly wrist. Do y'all remember this book review? Do you know what's in this book? Oh, there's a homeless man debating eating a dead baby, a little boy being anally raped by a molester ghost, a teen girl violently raped and tortured, a teenage Red Riding Hood seduced and molested by a lesbian wolf using a severed penis, a little girl masturbating her father, fucking a corpse, and THEN fucking her father after he confesses to murder; and the cream of the crop, a final selection with a white supremacist serial killer abducting and molesting a little girl while killing kids of various ethnicities. The story ends well for the killer, by the way.

While written with a genuine talent that few people could hope to match, this book was so morally repugnant, the author herself pulled it and decided to walk away from horror for good. In fact, I own the last print copy of the book.

And, the guy who published this and promoted it, the guy I fucking bought this book from, called me pro pedophile for a book I wrote.

I know people are hypocrites. I know that in my own ways, I have my own hypocrisies, and I try to forgive other people. But since this motherfucker went on a moral campaign against me, attacking my work as promoting sexual deviance, I'm not feeling so generous anymore.

I fully accept that I wrote a book with a disturbing topic, and I would not deny that the topic can be seen as offensive. But I'm trying to raise awareness of a problem, not promote a lifestyle. I'm sorry if some people don't see that, and I can't change the way they interpret the story.

But the dude who promoted a book full of sexual violence and rape against children should probably not be the one leading the charge about the morality of my writing.

Now please, J, go on and explain to your buddies how this is different, and the violent sick fantasies you promoted were okay, but the muted style of Peter the Wolf is vile and unfit for public consumption. I won't read your defense, but I know you'll have fun squirming to explain why the multiple graphic forms of fictional child rape you promoted are more socially acceptable than a single scene of molest in my story.

And that's why this was a funny thought, because no matter how you explain this away, J, you're still a motherfucking hypocrite.

Stop abusing the tubes

This is a topic that has been steeping for a while because I couldn't find the right angle in without pissing off people without meaning to. It's fine if I'm trying, but here, I have to tread carefully without coming across as a hypocrite. I like to practice what I preach, and so if I preached, "I hate TV so much," well then I'm staggering into hypocrite land. And besides, I don't hate TV.

What upsets me is abuse of the TV as a way to avoid reality. In much the same way, I get upset with people who escape into a game or a book to the point where nothing else matters, ever. You ask them what they did last week, and all they can talk about is fake events. The real world passes them by, and they have no life of their own. They live vicariously, either through a digital avatar or through fake lives acted out on TV.

I love my forms of escape. I love video games and books and comic books. I'm not so hot on TV because mostly it's cop shows and I am officially sick to death of cop shows. BUT, there was Teen Wolf this season that caught my eye, and I like My Name is Earl… There are also many shows that I've loved in the past. But I did other things between the shows.

Some of y'all now balance a netbook on your knee while channel surfing, so you go from one screen back to the other, without ever once getting up. That's not healthy. Go ask your doctor, "Doc, I sit on my couch all night and rarely get up unless I need to go to the bathroom or the refrigerator for a snack. Is that healthy behavior?"

And, you don't really need to ask, because you know what you're doing isn't healthy. But instead of doing something about it, you get incensed and insist it's not your fault for being dangerously sedentary. Even though it's you who's developed an addiction to distractions. Still totally not your fault. Nope, it's my fault for bringing it up and suggesting that you should change.

Regular readers know how I started developing worsening health problems over the last three years because of my screen addiction. Writing is a major creative and emotional valve for me, but when I started writing all the time and doing nothing else, my body changed, and not in good ways. I went up three sizes in jeans and all my underwear strained to contain me. I couldn't pinch anywhere without making a handful of cottage cheese. And yet….I looked thin. So not only was my escapist hobby not profitable, it wasn't very good for my body. But, it also wasn't good for anyone else, because I couldn't spend time thinking of other real people. I had to save brain space for fake people.

Then after writing and editing and talking to people online about covers and guest posts and other writing related stuff, I had to go over to the social networks to keep up the promotions…even though this really had no effect whatsoever. This was true three years ago, two years ago, and last year as well. Increased efforts and increased exposure meant jack shit for sales. BUT what they did do is build up a bitter sentiment watching the casual hate spewed by other people. That's not really conducive to a healthy mental state, is it? No. So, that's why I quit visiting social networking uselessly in the name of promotion.

For as bad as I was, hubby is worse. Hubby sits down after work in front of his Mac. When it's time for dinner, he goes and turns on the TV in the kitchen and watches cop shows for five hours, reading fantasy books during the commercials. At no time do I not feel like I'm interrupting something for him, and not one conversation does he listen to me for a full paragraph before his gaze goes back to a screen. Doesn't matter what topic. I could be telling him a joke or offering sex. The distraction is always more interesting. Some days, I'm truly amazed that I haven't hauled off and smacked him, just to get a more honest reaction.

And, I can't even convince him it's an addiction.

Mind you, he's not always like this. But once he's in the addict zone, I'm no longer important. I've often gone to him at 7 PM and said, "Maybe we should eat." Then, three hours later, I go back in and say, "Do you feel like eating?" And he glances at me, looks at whatever blog post he was watching and goes, "Uuuuh…no, I'm not really hungry."

And in the trash is the evidence for why he's not hungry, because he consumes packages of crackers without thinking on them as empty calories. Which is why even while hubby angrily insists, "I am so dieting!" I have to remind him that he has a lousy diet, BECAUSE he has a screen addiction and doesn't look down at what's he's snacking on. And I can't make him believe me. He says that I'm crazy and making things up. Even after I've caught him in the act of passive snacking, he won't admit it's a problem. He won't even make a half assed effort to reduce his time on the screens to monitor his snacking more closely.

But then, I doubt I can convince anyone of anything. That screen, it's so pervasive in our lives, and we never walk away. Well, I did, actually. I do all the time. As it is, watching Teen Wolf, I had to download it as a torrent because I wasn't allowed to see the English version online. But aside from this one TV show, I don't watch the screen obsessively anymore. I probably give the impression from my blogging that I'm here all day, butt in seat. I'm not. I have to take care of my balcony garden every day. I have to get up and do a little exercise to keep my ass lean. I have to move around and do stuff, because these screens cannot be the rulers of my life. And for some of you, they're almost your god now, the shrine where, just as Gaiman wrote, you all sacrifice time to Media.

People, when you sit down to watch TV, how long are you down? What snacks do you eat while watching, and have you ever added the calories? It's like a trifecta of addictive behavior, and yet, most TV watchers don't realize they're abusing it. How can they, when the side effects are so subtle? A reduced attention span and a heightened sense of apathy? Hell everyone has those, right? Everyone watching TV, yes.

But in addition, there's also the comfort eating that often goes with TV viewing. Crack a soda, eat some chips or popcorn, no big deal. Except, the soda you drink packs on the kind of body fat that you have to work like a motherfucker to get off. (And trust me, I just had to work like a motherfucker to get rid of some soda-based fat.) And the salted snacks you eat can damage your heart AS you're eating them because of the high sodium levels. But you don't check the labels on the snacks you eat to find out how much sodium you're consuming, or do much research in the ingredients lists. If you did, you'd feel a bit more worried about eating half a can of chips in one sitting.

There has to be a way to convince people to give up some of their TV shows in exchange for healthier recreational habits. It doesn't have to be vigorous exercise, but it should be something to get your butt up and moving around the house for a bit, just to get your circulation going.

On the days when I'm too pooped for exercise, but not too messed up by MS to move, I use those days to dust or clean the floors. I do something to get up and use my limbs so they aren't sore and knotty when I hit the couch at night.

I really do wish living by example worked for more people. I mean, I've written over 30 books in 5 years, traveled the world, and I really can't say I've done too badly for a GED graduate with no college, a poor formal education, a mental illness, and number of social stigmas to overcome. When I recognized that my online habits were bad for my health, I retired and started pulling away from the screens. Now my friends and family are telling me I look fantastic. I've gone from 136 down to 120, and almost all of the remainder is muscle. (Still got some belly fat, but a much, much smaller amount.) Can I practice what I preach? Hell yeah! Can I lead by example? Er, no. Wish I could, but that shit really only works in books and on TV. In the real world, people resent anyone pointing out their accomplishments. It's not inspiring anymore, It's "bragging to make the rest of us feel bad." Yes, heaven forbid that you might feel bad, act on the guilt and actually do something for a change of pace.

I dunno, people, it just seems to me that you'd rather watch fantasies about solving crimes rather than acknowledge that real cops aren't so good at solving cases. Also, some real cops aren't so good anymore, period. Rather than work to fix your world, you'd prefer tune in to fantasies about fake people providing easy solutions to complex issues. Which doesn't fix those issues in the real world, but it does satisfy your need for easy answers.

Screen addiction and TV abuse upset me because it's easy to prove that most of our societal apathy and laziness is the result of too much time invested in sedentary activities. Yes, the media's negative programming efforts help too. But the effects wouldn't be so pronounced if people didn't volunteer to be indoctrinated for hours on end, week in and week out.

In fact, to shut your kids up so you don't have to parent, many of you pop in a movie and indoctrinate them into the wonderful world of Disney entitlement, where everyone is special and has the right to get what they want. Then, you graduate them up to other delusions of entitlement, while at the same time encouraging them to remain ignorant. Years later, after these bad habit have been deeply ingrained, you'll ask, "Who taught them this crap?" Uh…back up to the top of this paragraph, hoss. Still not seeing the connection?

People don't discuss limiting TV time, and they don't think of it as something they could abuse. But it is harmful, to your body, to your mind, and to your world. You may think I'm spouting more crazy shit, but please, just ask yourself one question: "What would be wrong with reducing the number of hours I watch TV and replacing it with a healthier habit?"

New book: Mmmm…Crunchy!

Gasp! A second release in one month? Yes, but mainly cause I don't expect either of these releases to do much. This time out, I'm offering a corny, cheesy horror entry called Mmmm…Crunchy! Here's the book blurb:

WARNING: This may be the worst book ever written. It was written by a madwoman with an obsession for ass sex and cheese snacks. You has been warned. Dr. Milo Tubright is a mad scientist who invents a cheese snack so crunchy it can turn some people into raving cannibal killers. Hoping to protect the brand, he sends a henchman to observe the snack's launch in a sleepy redneck town, Sherman Texas.

So, got that corny cheese bomb out of the way, so next month I can focus on something more serious, the release of A Perfectly Empty Vessel, the next Wendy Stoffel novel and book one in the Sin City trilogy. It won't sell either, but I got a real purdy cover for it. (>_>)

Anywho, hubby is away in Germany for a convention, it's raining heavy here, and my wrists are too sore for masturbation, Can this day get any worse? Yes, because the constant weather shifts are giving me fatigue attacks every few hours. Whee. So I'm off to the tub to thaw out and see if I can lose myself in someone else's book. Once my wrists heal, I'll try to get back to proper ranty raunchiness.

Butting heads…

I want to expand on something I said in the previous post and talk about how much activism needs better fighters. I don't have to point to a specific topic or civil right for this rant, because everyone could use better fighters on their side. Also, I don't mean the biggest, best boxer, though that does conjure a great mental image of Mike Tyson turning a new leaf and trying to be a spokesperson against rape by beating up religious conservatives in televised debates. No, it isn't supposed to make sense. It's a direct feed from my head, so the context for the thought is, I'm crazy.

But no, what I'm talking about are people who don't shy away from a heated debate. Way too many people these days are so afraid of confrontation that even when someone at a party says something so ignorant the rest of the room exchanges awkward looks, no one has the courage to stand up and say, "That was out of line and ignorant. This is why you're wrong…" None of your allies are present in the room, which means you've become the de facto ally. And you…sit still and keep quiet. Wouldn't want to ruin the party, right? So, the dude spouting hate who IS ruining the party goes on unchecked.

This kind of problem is bad enough by itself, but it's even worse when the person who says something ignorant considers themselves an ally, and therefore also considers their opinions above reproach. After all, how can anything they say be wrong, when they're on the same side? I've lost count of the times that I've had to debate with allies, only to have them declare that I was being unreasonable by asking them not to hold harmful or backwards views. Or that I was being unreasonable for calling them on this behavior when "those other guys do much worse."

Fine, but as an ally on my side of the fence, you've claimed that you're different, and that you're open-minded enough to learn better. You've claimed that you want to earn my trust and be a real friend. But by dismissing me because I checked your privileges, what you've really revealed is that you were never a true ally. You're an ally in name only.

I've heard more than once, "You're being unfair." Excuse me? I was held down by eight boys and beaten until I no longer recognized my own bruised and swollen face, but neither I nor my parents would suggest calling an ambulance or the police because shit like this was routine for me. I was raped by my best friend and spent a week nursing a bleeding anus because I couldn't talk to my mother about my active sex life at 13. I had a school counselor look at me after a four-on-one fight and tell me "Well, maybe you had it coming." That's unfair. Fucking life is unfair. Don't you people throw that line at me enough? So why in the hell do I have to be fair with you when you won't offer the same fairness to me?

Me telling you that something you've said is wrong is an attempt to educate you. It's my fair attempt to keep you on my side, because I need real allies in the worst way. But your resentment at me for doing it is telling about what kind of fair weather friend you are. So long as I joke and amuse you, I'm an ally. But if I remind you that you're more privileged than me with a little education, you tell me to tone it down because you're not my enemy. Nuh-uh, at that point I'm being totally fair when I tell you, "Who the fuck agreed to you being my ally?"

Don't point to your membership to a gay group as proof that you're my ally, either. Dues in my club are a fuckload more stringent than the Glee club crowds. I actually expect you to work for my causes, not just pay lip service to them. Is that unfair of me? Life is unfair. I got used to that maxim as a kid, so what's your fucking excuse for being a grown adult and still childishly demanding fairness from me?

If you won't take an education, and you're afraid to give one to someone ignorant in public, you aren't an ally. Every civil right is a fight, and the hate groups fighting against minorities understand it's a fight. They work extremely hard to keep focused on their targets, and while you roll your eyes about their ignorance, they go out and accomplish things that you're too lazy to do for your allies. That dude at the party spouting ignorant shit is preaching because he believes in his cause. Do you believe in the causes of your allies enough to check their ignorance? Then get off your ass, clear your throat, and get to work with some motherfucking education.

The minorities being attacked understand it's a fight. That's why so many react with anger when talking about their struggles, and it's why they get even angrier when their so-called allies help the enemy by promoting "tone" arguments. This is a bullshit idea that the minorities aren't being nice enough to the people abusing and mistreating them. If you're so sheltered that you think oppressed people should be nice to their oppressors in a debate, you ain't an ally. You're one of the enemies wearing an ally's costume.

Which means you're just a douchebag who can't look in the mirror and admit it. That's why you wrap yourself in the flag of diversity without actually supporting anything. You won't talk about any civil rights issues among friends, lest it cause offense. You won't correct friends who say blatantly prejudicial stuff, and you resent minorities for reminding you of your social responsibilities.

Douchebag. Pure and simple.

You got two choices what to do with this knowledge. Drop it and walk on muttering how I'm just a entitled and ungrateful transsexual, or own your mistakes and admit that you could be a better ally. Then, you should work at being a better ally instead of going right back to being a douche.

And don't ask me what I'm doing for the cause. I'm busting my ass AND breaking my wrists for many causes. I've fucking skint my wallet for others, even for straight white male survivalists who were having trouble with their next grocery trip. I work my ass off for ALL my allies, not just my one pet group. You really cannot find anyone more willing to fight in your corner, or to lend a few bucks when you're down and out.

But as an oppressed minority with zero political clout, I can scream all day and it won't change a damn thing for any of my allies. I'm the least effective tool in their toolbox of activists because angry trannies are so very, very easy to dismiss. It's not like any of our anger is justified, right?

More voices from privileged groups need to come in on these causes, and those voices need to be knowledgeable and educated. We cannot afford to have our own allies helping to promote ignorance within our ranks. So if you jump in to shout on my side, and you're spouting some ignorant shit, I don't care if you're on my side or not. I'm checking your ignorance, and I'm calling you out for it. And if your response is indignation, you…aren't…an ally. You're a douchebag pretending to act nice so you don't have to admit you're a douche.

And between you and the dudes on the right, I prefer them. At least they can wear their hate on their sleeve honestly. You're a liar who pretends, "I'm not really so bad." Yes, you are. The sooner you admit that and change, the better a chance you have of helping raise people up instead of helping to hold them down.

(And no, I don't mean you other guys who aren't like this. Settle down.)