O.M. Grey's Blog, page 13

Book Review: A Shade of Vampire

A Shade of Vampire is about a girl, Sofia Cleremont, who is kidnapped on her seventeenth birthday and put into a “harem” to be a (assumed, sexual) slave to the Prince of vampires, Derek Novak. Fortunately for Sofia, her beautiful blue eyes, soft red hair, and LLI (Low Latent Inhibition) catch the newly awoken vampire’s attention, and he decides to curb his sociopathic tendencies and tries to play nice.

She, of course, falls in love, although it would more realistically be categorized as Stockholm Syndrome, aka The Betrayal Bond. Derek isn’t quite as bad as the other vampires in the Blood Shade, an enchanted island under a spell by a witch to make it always night, and inescapable for all the human slaves, but he’s far from good. Controlling and abusive, he vacillates from wanting to eat and/or ravish Sofia to trying to give her limited freedom and choice. Excellent because it is exactly how sociopaths and/or narcissists really act, the entire Jekyll and Hyde phenomenon that is present throughout the abusive and unhealthy relationship with this type of person, or in this case, vampire.

Bottom line, she was kidnapped. Tortured. Sexually assaulted. And she’s still a captive slave with limited freedoms, no matter how much Derek likes to think he’s giving her a choice and being a “nice guy” by not raping her or devouring her. Trouble is, he doesn’t seem to be able to keep her safe as Derek’s utterly sadistic brother Lucas is out to claim Sofia for his own. Because, you know, she is property.

I’m impressed with the author because she writes an great budding love story in an impossible situation: a savagely abusive one. It’s an excellent study of survival in any abusive relationship, how the victimized party finds the slightest example of kindness to excuse the abuse and find a modicum of safety.

I liked the book for what it was. Not high and fine literature, by any means, but that’s okay with me. I don’t write that either. It was quite well-written overall, albeit a little repetitive in some descriptions of facial expressions. However, I’m guilty of the same, so I can’t criticize her for that. The story certainly held my attention, and it was a very fast read. I read it in two days, which for me is really quick. Probably a total of 4 hours reading, all told.

HUGE cliffhanger ending. Boy! And people got on me about how I ended Rowan of the Wood! Geez!

It’s written in dual first person POV, which is increasingly becoming a favorite. It’s the POV in which I’m writing the Avalon sequel, so I’m partial to it at the moment.

A Shade of Vampire is an entertaining and quick read. If you like vampires, especially vampire teen romance, you’ll love this book. Unique and captivating, you’ll be ready for more.

I got this as a free promotional download on Kindle, and I will likely read the sequel when it comes out.

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: a shade of vampire, abuse, bella forrest, betrayal, betrayal bond, o.m. grey, olivia grey, romance, sociopath, teen, trauma bond, vampire

A Shade of Vampire

A Shade of Vampire is about a girl, Sofia Cleremont, who is kidnapped on her seventeenth birthday and put into a “harem” to be a (assumed, sexual) slave to the Prince of vampires, Derek Novak. Fortunately for Sofia, her beautiful blue eyes, soft red hair, and LLI (Low Latent Inhibition) catch the newly awoken vampire’s attention, and he decides to curb his sociopathic tendencies and tries to play nice.

She, of course, falls in love, although it would more realistically be categorized as Stockholm Syndrome, aka The Betrayal Bond. Derek isn’t quite as bad as the other vampires in the Blood Shade, an enchanted island under a spell by a witch to make it always night, and inescapable for all the human slaves, but he’s far from good. Controlling and abusive, he vacillates from wanting to eat and/or ravish Sofia to trying to give her limited freedom and choice. Excellent because it is exactly how sociopaths and/or narcissists really act, the entire Jekyll and Hyde phenomenon that is present throughout the abusive and unhealthy relationship with this type of person, or in this case, vampire.

Bottom line, she was kidnapped. Tortured. Sexually assaulted. And she’s still a captive slave with limited freedoms, no matter how much Derek likes to think he’s giving her a choice and being a “nice guy” by not raping her or devouring her. Trouble is, he doesn’t seem to be able to keep her safe as Derek’s utterly sadistic brother Lucas is out to claim Sofia for his own. Because, you know, she is property.

I’m impressed with the author because she writes an great budding love story in an impossible situation: a savagely abusive one. It’s an excellent study of survival in any abusive relationship, how the victimized party finds the slightest example of kindness to excuse the abuse and find a modicum of safety.

I liked the book for what it was. Not high and fine literature, by any means, but that’s okay with me. I don’t write that either. It was quite well-written overall, albeit a little repetitive in some descriptions of facial expressions. However, I’m guilty of the same, so I can’t criticize her for that. The story certainly held my attention, and it was a very fast read. I read it in two days, which for me is really quick. Probably a total of 4 hours reading, all told.

HUGE cliffhanger ending. Boy! And people got on me about how I ended Rowan of the Wood! Geez!

It’s written in dual first person POV, which is increasingly becoming a favorite. It’s the POV in which I’m writing the Avalon sequel, so I’m partial to it at the moment.

A Shade of Vampire is an entertaining and quick read. If you like vampires, especially vampire teen romance, you’ll love this book. Unique and captivating, you’ll be ready for more.

I got this as a free promotional download on Kindle, and I will likely read the sequel when it comes out.

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: a shade of vampire, abuse, bella forrest, betrayal, betrayal bond, o.m. grey, olivia grey, romance, sociopath, teen, trauma bond, vampire

“A Kiss in the Rain” & Other Exciting Things

It’s February.

I’ve been dreading this month for, well, months. It’s the anniversary of the rapes last year, and the subsequent secondary traumas that lasted another 7 months after that, but I’m doing okay! Even with my husband’s serious accident last month and the tragic, untimely loss of my sweet buddy boy, Oreo, I’m doing remarkably well.

I’ve found peace among the chaos.

January was, indeed, chaos. But then, hasn’t the last three years been? One trauma after another. Just as we pick ourselves up and begin functioning again, we’re slapped back down. So, I suppose, we’ve gotten rather used to it. That, and I’m ruthlessly cutting out anyone and everyone who even breathes as if they will hurt us, seeing as how I keep getting the same lesson over and over again: no matter how little you trust, it’s too much.

The great chaos of January included my novel Avalon Revisited getting republished by Riverdale Ave Books, in both eBook and paperback! Plus, I finished the 85,000-word first draft sequel (of sorts) Avalon Revamped ON TIME (even with the tragic interruptions, because I’m just that awesome). It’s out to beta beta beta readers now, and I’ll be doing revisions in March. It’s dark. Really fucking dark.

I’ve become deeply intimate with darkness, after all.

Additionally, my short story “A Kiss in the Rain,” written in 2011, found two homes at once! It can be found in the February Free For all over at SNM Horror as well as on the Kindle (& other formats) through Riverdale Ave Books. The cover is gorgeous, don’t you think?

“Final Word,” written early 2011, finally found its home, too, among the pages of The Rusty Nail, along with my most popular poem “New York Rain.” I also had the great honor of participating in 3,000 Weeks, albeit from afar.

Please find a complete list of my published works, past and scheduled future, on the Published Works page.

Avalon Revisited is being made into an AUDIO BOOK! Yippeee!!! I signed the contract last month, and it’s already in production. So, all the posts with the book podcasted have been removed from this site, and the mp3 files have been removed from the server and iTunes in preparation of this new development!

However, the short stories and The Zombies of Mesmer are still available via podcast, as are all the episodes from the Polyamory Podcast of the last two years. I hope to be continuing on with both soon.

This just in! My short story “Twenty Minutes” and my poem “Look Into My Eyes” will both be a part of Sirens Call Publications’ 2013 Women in Horror Month eZine!

My husband is healing remarkably well, too. He’s adapted nicely to the wheelchair, knowing it will be temporary (thankfully), and he’s busy at work on crossbows and other projects in between rests. The head injury wasn’t as bad as we originally thought, and broken bones heal. We’re very grateful.

Although we desperately miss Oreo, he, along with the loss of his sisters Bronte and Star in 2011, left a void in our home and hearts, so we’re adopting a new dog who is as in need of a good home as we are in need of a new buddy boy. His name is Buster, and he’s a boxer. We’ll be picking him up this week. Shadow, the cat, might not be terribly happy about this decision, but I think they will get along well once they know each other.

Now February will no longer represent my rape month. It will be the month my husband thrived even with a major injury, the month we adopted our new son, the month that several of my short stories were published, the month that I finished the second edition of my publishing & marketing book, and, as always, the month my husband proposed back in 2000 and the month of my youngest nephews birthday.

It will be the month we survived against all odds.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: a kiss in the rain, author, avalon, avalon revamped, avalon revisited, bdsm, buster, final word, healing, intimacy, look into my eyes, love, new york city, new york rain, o.m. grey, olivia grey, oreo, rape, rape survivor, relationships, riverdale ave books, romance, sexual assault, short story, snm horror, snm horror mag, steampunk, the rusty nail, twenty minutes, vampires, victorian

Updates & Other Exciting Things

It’s February.

I’ve been dreading this month for, well, months. It’s the anniversary of the rapes last year, and the subsequent secondary traumas that lasted another 7 months after that, but I’m doing okay! Even with my husband’s serious accident last month and the tragic, untimely loss of my sweet buddy boy, Oreo, I’m doing remarkably okay.

I’ve found peace among the chaos.

January was, indeed, chaos. But then, hasn’t the last three years been? One trauma after another. Just as we pick ourselves up and begin functioning again, we’re slapped back down. So, I suppose, we’ve gotten rather used to it. That, and I’m ruthlessly cutting out anyone and everyone who even breathes as if they will hurt us, seeing as how I keep getting the same lesson over and over again: no matter how little you trust, it’s too much.

The great chaos of January included my novel Avalon Revisited getting republished by Riverdale Ave Books, in both eBook and paperback! Plus, I finished the 85,000-word first draft sequel (of sorts) Avalon Revamped ON TIME (even with the tragic interruptions, because I’m just that awesome). It’s out to beta beta beta readers now, and I’ll be doing revisions in March. It’s dark. Really fucking dark.

I’ve become deeply intimate with darkness, after all.

Additionally, my short story “A Kiss in the Rain,” written in 2011, found two homes at once! It can be found in the February Free For all over at SNM Horror as well as on the Kindle (& other formats) through Riverdale Ave Books. The cover is gorgeous, don’t you think?

“Final Word,” written early 2011, finally found its home, too, among the pages of The Rusty Nail, along with my most popular poem “New York Rain.” I also had the great honor of participating in 3,000 Weeks, albeit from afar.

My husband is healing well. He’s adapted nicely to the wheelchair, knowing it will be temporary (thankfully), and he’s busy at work on crossbows and other projects in between rests.

We’re adopting a new dog who is as in need of a good home as we are in need of a new buddy boy. His name is Buster, and he’s a boxer. We’ll be picking him up this week. Shadow, the cat, might not be terribly happy about this decision, but I think they will get along well once they know each other.

So now February will no longer represent my rape month. It will be the month my husband thrived even with a major injury, the month we adopted our new son, the month that several of my short stories were published, the month that I finished the second edition of my publishing & marketing book, and, as always, the month my husband proposed back in 2000 and the month of my youngest nephews birthday.

It will be the month we survived against all odds.

 

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: a kiss in the rain, austin poly rapist, author, avalon, avalon revamped, avalon revisited, bdsm, buster, final word, healing, intimacy, love, new york city, new york rain, o.m. grey, olivia grey, oreo, rape, rape survivor, relationships, riverdale ave books, romance, sexual assault, short story, snm horror, snm horror mag, steampunk, the rusty nail, vampires, victorian

“My Roommate, The Rapist”

Friends and readers, the following is a guest post by a reader of this blog. This person contacted me after her roommate confessed her husband raped her, but she didn’t want to talk to him about it. This put my reader in a very difficult position, having to pretend everything was okay for the peace of the household and honoring the wishes of her friend/roommate, and it also made my reader very familiar with the concept of Cognitive Dissonance.

Cognitive Dissonance is indeed a bitch. I’m still struggling with it. My poem “My Heart Still Wants to Believe” is all about Cognitive Dissonance. How can “lover” and “rapist” exist together?

In the case of my reader, how can “friend“/”good father” exist with “rapist”?

Looking forward to your respectful comments as part of an ongoing discussion about how to socially deal with rapists.

-_Q

It’s been a shitty couple of weeks in my life. A lot of the shit is tangentially relevant to what I want to say today, like the fact that my rapist is moving in with my kids’ father for a few months, so I’m going to need to deal with him again, and with the feelings I avoided and pushed aside for the past 2 years. It’s almost tempting to make my post about that and those feelings and coping with them. But as much as that looms in my thoughts right now, there are some other things I need to say. Things I’ve been avoiding as hard as possible.

My roommate is a rapist. His wife, my friend, came to me the other weekend and told me he raped her, cried on my shoulder about it. I’m not going to get into details, first because they are not mine to share and second because I don’t know all of them. I know that it happened. That is enough.

Or it should be.

Unfortunately there are some complicating circumstances here, and I don’t mean the kind of “circumstances” that people use to make excuses for a rapist.

See, she doesn’t to talk to him about what happened. Or no, I can’t say that. I don’t know what they talk about all the time. It’s possible she has said something to him. But as of when she spoke with me, she hadn’t told him and wasn’t going to tell him.

Which means I can’t say anything.

Which means I still need to act like his friend, and chat and play games and laugh with him over the antics of the kids. It means I can’t walk up to him and slap him for hurting my friend.

And its killing me.

He doesn’t know he is a rapist. I believe this. Not because of the stupid “making excuses for rapists – nice guys rape too!” BS we’ve all seen before. I believe it because both my friend and her husband believe that her body belongs to him and his body belongs to her. I’ve seen this in so many other areas of their lives – her telling him he isn’t allowed to shave his beard, his telling her how much he wants her to weigh. (He likes big women; she wants to be able to walk without her knees hurting, which means whether he likes it or not, shes trying to lose weight.) So yeah, the idea that badgering her into giving him sex (or some similar variation on coersion to have sex as I know he did not physically force her) would be wrong, would be rape, just wouldn’t occur to him.

Which does not in anyway excuse him or absolve him of responsibility for his actions. Frankly, the fact that they both believe this, and have built it into their relationship, says profound things about how unhealthy their relationship is. The entire foundation is abusive. But if no one tells him what he did and how it was wrong, if no one explains that no matter what he was taught growing up, her body is hers and having sex in any conditions other than full and enthusiastic consent is rape… well if no one even tries to do these things, he will never learn and never change. Assuming he’d even be willing to try. I doubt he would, but I don’t know. I can’t know because I cannot talk with him. He will, by his wife’s decision, remain in the dark.

Cognitive dissonance is a mental state where two ideas are in conflict. In psych class they usually talk about in terms of your beliefs versus your actions. If you act in a way that is contrary to your beliefs your mind starts to torture itself. The only way to get peace in your own head is to end the conflict. Scarily, the easiest way to end that kind of conflict is to change your beliefs.

I am living with a man who is a rapist, and I am forced, every day, to treat him as a friend. I cannot hold these two conflicting ideas in my head.

I was outside with him and the kids the other day. Kids were playing and laughing, sun was out, we were chatting and having fun. Then it hit me like a gut punch: this man raped my friend. How the hell could I stand there and enjoy his company?

He’s a good father, a better father than my friend is a mother, if I’m being honest. He’s a good friend , I can’t lie about that. The way he treats his friends, supports them, is there for them, is awesome.

And he’s a rapist.

How do you reconcile that?

My friends decision not to speak has tied my hands. I cannot change my actions. And I refuse to allow my beliefs to change. I refuse to make excuses for him, to say that what he did was not rape or to victim blame. So I live with the cognitive dissonance eating away at my thoughts and my peace of mind every damn day. And every day my mind, for its own sanity, tries to push it out. To make me forget. To just nudge me towards being okay with living with a rapist. Because if it can’t, eventually this conflict will drive me insane.

Every day I am fighitng it, because even knowing how it is damaging my mental health, I refuse to be ‘okay’ with living with a rapist.

My partner is taking a different approach. He’s using his mind to trick itself. Playing the double agent.

He said to me, “I think they both exaggerate everything. I’m not saying he didn’t rape her! But you know how they blow everything out of proportion.”

I was stunned and I don’t know what my expression looked like, but I know I was getting ready to ‘set him straight’ with a minimum of politeness, and he must have seen it. He cut me off, “Don’t say anything. I know how fucked up that is but I have to think it. Otherwise I’m going get something and cut his balls off.”

I hate that he has to think that way. To make those excuses for this man who was his friend. But I also understand what he is doing. And I would much rather have him make the conscious decision to fall back on those excuses to retain his sanity while knowing in his heart how wrong they are, then have him truly believe those excuses.

Moving out would be the best solution. If we could get away from here, in a place where we aren’t seeing these people every day, when this rapist and I aren’t raising kids together and sharing chores and where he and my partner don’t laugh over movies and video games, then the cognitive dissonance would go away. We could cut him out of our lives and remember him primarily as “a good guy to hang out with, but who we want nothing to do with because of his rape and abuse of his wife.” Unfortunately moving out isn’t an option right now. Partly for finances and partly for other practical issues. That will change in the future. But for at least the next few months and likely the next year, we are stuck.

Probably, in a few more weeks, I will start to let myself forget. I’ll spend a lot of time meditating and working through my mental pathways. Maybe somehow I will do what so few people ever manage and reconile with the idea that doing good things doesn’t mean you are a good person, and doing bad things doesn’t mean you are a bad person. That a person can do both good things (be a good father) and bad things (rape his wife) and be just a flawed, fucked up human. Not a flawed, fucked up human I want to live with, but not a walking contradiction in terms that will drive me insane either. More likely, I won’t be able to reach that point of understanding. More likely the cognitive dissonance of needing to be friendly with someone who has done something I cannot forgive will remain. And I so I will give myself permission to forget, for now, what he has done. Like my partner has given himself permission, for now, to make excuses.

Because it will keep us sane.

But part of us will remember. Part of us will not excuse or forgive. As when we can, without endangering ourselves or our child, we will leave these people behind. And I will mourn my friend, and the life she is choosing. But I will it far away from her, where her unhealthy choices cannot damage me any more.

-_Q

Thank you for sending this to me to post. It’s an interesting dilemma, and one that many people have to face in one way or another. This reader is rather trapped financially, living with the rapist and tied by the loyalty to her friend, but many others are not in such situations. I’ve had people write to me and tell me “it’s complicated” when speaking about a known rapist in their community because, well, he throws great parties.

Um. Really? That’s not fucking complicated. That’s a person not wanting to give up prime party space in favor of a woman (or in the case of that particular community women’s) safety. Not complicated. Selfish. Fucked up priorities. Not complicated.

This reader’s story (above), that’s complicated.

If you regularly read my blog, you know how I feel about being friends with a rapist. You don’t. It’s not “he’s my friend, he can’t be a rapist” —it’s “he’s a rapist, he can’t be my friend.” Period. But…what if you are living with the guy, trapped in a lease, and honoring the wishes of a friend? Now. Complicated.

My biggest comment on this stems from these lines:

doing good things doesn’t mean you are a good person, and doing bad things doesn’t mean you are a bad person. That a person can do both good things (be a good father) and bad things (rape his wife) and be just a flawed, fucked up human

I agree with this statement, to a point. I think good people can do bad things, but I don’t consider rape a “bad” thing. It’s a horrific thing. It’s a thing worse than murder, in my mind, so someone cannot be a good person and commit rape. They just can’t. Someone can be a good person and lose their temper and snap. Someone can be a good person and act in abusive ways sometimes, like being too angry or saying things you regret. Someone can be a good person and cheat on their taxes.

Someone cannot be a good person a rape.

Someone can do good things and behave in nice and fun ways and be a rapist. Indeed. But behaving nicely is not being nice. Doing good things doesn’t make one good. Doing bad things doesn’t make one bad, to an extent.

If you murder, even once, you’re a murderer. Nothing “good” can take that title away.

If you rape, even once, you’re a rapist. Nothing “good” can take that title away.

I know this reader well enough from our correspondence that she didn’t mean it that way, but the rest of your readers don’t know her that well (since she requested to remain anonymous, you don’t even know who she is). Far, far, far too many people are saying “good people can do bad things” as a way to excuse the rapist, so I wanted to clarify.

Thoughts?

 

Filed under: Romance & Relationships Tagged: author, fear, guest post, honesty, misogyny, nice guys, nice guys commit rape too, nice guys rape too, o.m. grey, olivia grey, rape, rape apologia, rape culture, rape survivor, relationship advice, relationships, romance, sexual assault, shattered

Book Review: The Song of Maven Manyshaped

I’ve been wanting to read a Sheri S. Tepper book for some time. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a great one for me to start with. It’s the first in a series of books I won’t be reading, but it’s part of the True Game series, consisting of a few trilogies and short stories. Although, I might give King’s Blood Four a go.

So, The Song of Mavin Manyshaped, like most high fantasy books I try to read, had far too many strange words and creatures and names to keep them all straight.

I got about halfway through before deciding that it was too confusing and too much work. I’ll stick with urban fantasy.

That said, what I did read and understand was superbly written. I love Tepper’s writing style, and I simply adore her social commentary on abused and exploited women, as well as the justified punishment Mavin dishes out to the disgusting rapists. Love. It.

This was my favorite passage, a perfect metaphor for rape:

When she had done, he whispered, “You know, the boys … they say … the ones like Leggy and Janjiver … they say the girls like it. That’s what they say. They say that the girls may say no, but they really like it.”

Mavin thought a time. “Mertyn child, you like sweet cakes, don’t you?”

He nodded, cocking his head at this change of subject.

“Let us suppose I put a basket of sweet cakes here, a big one, and I held your mouth open and I crumbled a cake into your mouth and pushed it down your throat with a piece of wood, the way the crones push corn down the goose’s neck to fatten it, so that your throat bled and you choked and gasped, but I went on pushing the crumbled cakes down your throat until they were gone. You could not chew them, or taste them. When I was done and your throat was full of blood and you half dead from it all, I would take the stick away and laugh at you and tell you I would be back on the morrow to do it all again. Then, suppose you came crying to someone and that someone said, ‘But Mertyn, you like sweet cakes, you really like sweet cakes…’

Since Tepper is known for her “ecofeminism” & my husband adores her work, I’ll likely try another at one point. One of the dystopian ones.

Basically, the problem with this book is not the book or the author, not by any means. It’s just a genre I don’t particularly enjoy except on very rare occasions.

I give it 3/5 cogs because I couldn’t finish it, but I recognize the quality of the writing and my own issues with this genre. I have no doubt fans of high fantasy will devour this book.

Join me on Goodreads!

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: author, book, fantasy, feminism, high fantasy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, rape, review, sheri s tepper, the song of mavin manyshaped

A Rape in BRC

I just found this article on Yes Means Yes, “A Rape in Black Rock City,” and I’m so thrilled to see that this conversation is still alive four months later. Interestingly, my rapist is mentioned in the article because of what went down at Burning Man with him last August.

Even more interesting, it looks as though there are some people commenting about the guy who was outed as a sexual predator in the Austin burner community a few years back. One of Atomic’s victims was one of my only supporters in that community when the shit went down on the FB Burning Flipside Flipizen group. She kept me going in private messages and emails, watched the thread for abuse, as I left the group as soon as my rapist and his harem showed up, and helped send things to my sexual assault attorney. I am forever grateful to her especially.

Side note: Speaking of which, since someone from the Austin community commented yesterday and I promptly deleted their comment…just don’t. I have no interest in hearing from anyone from the Austin Burner Community, Austin Poly Community, or Austin Ecstatic Dance community unless you were one of my handful of supporters, either publicly or privately, or you start with a profuse apology for not supporting me. My supporters know who they are, as they reached out via email, FB message, or by commenting on this blog. They are always always always always welcome here. They have my eternal gratitude for the kindness they showed me. For the compassion and empathy when everywhere I turned I was me with cruelty and victim-blaming and accusations of being a liar. I would name my wonderful supporters here, but I respect their privacy.

However…If you stayed silent. If you supported my rapist. If you shunned me. If you turned your head. If you engaged in derailing and rape culture rhetoric, and especially if you called me a “troll” (even though the “troll” in question wasn’t me, I didn’t even know about “Balanced Scales” until several friends asked me if I was her. She is to this day my *only* public supporter, so she is always welcome, and I am eternally grateful), especially if you said it was a case of “love gone kaplooey” or if you openly argued with me on this blog or elsewhere about community responsibility and how it wasn’t.

I have two words for you: Fuck You.

Leave me alone.

You are not welcome here.

Unless…your comment or email starts with a profuse apology for contributing to my secondary trauma, for protecting my rapist and giving him social license to rape again and again, for not showing a modicum of human decency for a human being in pain, and for not believing me. Start with that. Show some humanity and compassion and empathy (empathy not qualified with “sometimes your posts make me angry” (hint: stop reading them), then you’ll be welcome here. Otherwise. Fuck off.

Flipside, Austin’s Regional Event, can and does keep sexual predators out with enough evidence. I only hope for the sake of other women that I provided enough for them to keep my rapist out of the event.

The entire article and all the comments are well worth a read. Anything to raise awareness of rape culture and how society protects rapists. Until we can understand and accept that, nothing will change.

Several of the people who did show me support, Joseph Pred, Dr. Placebo of BED, Kitty Stryker, and Pepper Mint are all quoted in this article. These are good people. Pepper, especially, has been an advocate for me in the Austin Community as well as at Burning Man. He’s brilliant, and I hope to be working with him when I write my book on Responsible Community Response in a few months.

Excerpt from this post:

Recent Events

I’ve heard a lot of longtime Burners say that Burning Man 2012 felt more rapey than previous Burns. I haven’t been around long enough to have an opinion, but while I had plenty of awesome conversations with awesome guys on the playa, I also handled a number of invasive guys. Many folks have pointed out that Black Rock City may be a temporary city, but it’s still a city — over 50,000 people attended in 2012. As with any community, our community will have to deal with both predators and clueless people.

* * *

An Assault

These issues were highlighted in September, right after Burning Man 2012, when a thread popped up on the biggest Burning Man forum called “Serial Rapist On The Playa.” The original post was written by a Burner named Miss R. Here’s an excerpt:

Thursday night my daughter (who is 19) and I went riding our bikes to a few art installations. We were sober. She decided to go see Burn Wall Street but I was tired. She took off on her bike. On the way to the installation it began to rain. She ducked into Want It Camp.

12 hours later she arrived back to our camp hallucinating and having been given an IV at the med tent.

She had been found behind Emerald City, face down and overdosing. The rangers assumed she had gotten drunk or taken drugs. Several hours after returning to our camp bruises appeared on her neck and it was obvious from other signs that she had been sexually attacked.

More, including a quote from Pepper Mint, in which he refers to my rapist.

But, as those of us who research rape already know, the majority of these crimes don’t happen with weird strangers; they happen with people the victim already knows. And as I already pointed out, predators are on the lookout for cultural gaps to exploit. So the only real long-term solution is to change the culture.

There are two components to changing the culture. The first is that we call out the people who violate boundaries, even when they’re our friends. It’s relatively easy to watch for outsiders who behave oddly. It’s much harder to talk about community members who hurt people. Maybe Creep Cards will help with this, but sometimes stronger measures will be called for.

To that end, I recognize that what Want It camp has gone through was painful for the whole group. But whether their campmate is guilty or not, this is part of the Burning Man community process of incentivizing good behavior. We as a community are making it clear that no, we’re actually not as vulnerable as we might appear. (Readers will probably be unsurprised to know that similar issues around naming abusers have surfaced in the BDSM community; Tracy Clark-Flory has a good summary of that, too, including quotes from Thomas.)

A sex activist and Burner friend of mine named Pepper Mint, who camps with Poly Asylum, wrote to me by email that:

I can also confirm that the playa felt extra-rapey this year. I got a total of three reports of harassment directly from friends. And it was underscored for me because someone asked my camp (pre-playa) to exclude her rapist who hangs out in poly circles. After being asked to leave our (and the other poly) camp, said rapist dude then proceeded to stalk her all over playa, threaten lawsuits, and try to get law enforcement involved on his side. (emphasis mine. link mine.)

Much like with BDSM, I don’t think we can rely on the authorities or even the wider community to help protect people. As you can probably guess from the above, I’m a strong advocate of naming names, and having a culture where doing so is acceptable. That’s the only way I’ve seen actual progress in sexual minority communities around sexual assault. Naming people may in fact sully some reputations incorrectly, but it’s important to remember that the vast majority of accusations are correct — the highest estimates put false accusations at 10%, or 1 in 10. I have yet to see a false accusation, and I’ve thrown a lot of folks out of parties at this point (though admittedly very few for full-on sexual assault). I’m okay with the occasional guy having to explain some inaccurate stuff to his social circle if it means that rape actually carries a social cost in our communities. I’m even willing to be that guy. (emphasis mine)

Pepper suggested that in such cases, everyone in the community should at least know the identity of the accused. I think it’s worth asking: What are the implications of enabling that information to remain secret? When we recognize that predators exploit gaps in the culture, how can we narrow those gaps? How should the wider Burning Man community handle Want It Camp in the future?

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the Creeper Cards and the rest. This is an ongoing, very sensitive discussion, and I’m open to all opinions, but rape apologists and rape culture BS will not be tolerated.

I was thrilled to see the victim of this rape being discussed and her mother commenting on the post. Good for them for speaking out. Thrilled to see they will not be silent.

I will never be silent again.

Peace.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether, Romance & Relationships Tagged: austin burner community, austin poly community, austin poly rapist, author, broken heart, burning flipside, burning flipside flipizen, burning man, fear, flipside, grief, healing, heartbroken, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, polyamory, rape, rape survivor, sex, sexual assault, shattered

I dug a grave today.

I dug a grave today.

A week ago, I was happy. At peace. I was writing again, back up to 5,000 words a day. After the trauma of last year, I was just starting to feel like myself again. I’d get my chocolate and coffee and classical music and write away. I’d go to rape recovery therapy once a week, down from 3x a week.

I was healing. I was peaceful. I was inspired.

I dug a grave today.

Last Friday, I had just made some chocolate chip cookies. I was ahead of schedule on my novel. My husband finally got some work after six weeks of nothing. Our geriatric dog was hanging in there and continued to bring us joy.

Then, the phone rang. The way the guy on the other end spoke to me, I thought it was a sales call or inquiring about health insurance, yet again, from that single query 10 months ago, or some ancient creditor. I wouldn’t give him any personal information until he told me the nature of the call and who he was, but he wouldn’t tell me anything except his name: Travis. Then Travis said my husband’s name and asked if I knew him. I told him he was asking for very personal information without giving me a thing and not to call me again. I hung up.

Then I Googled the number.

It was from a hospital in Santa Rosa, a town 2 hours away.

My husband had been admitted to ICU after suffering a bad accident and being medivac’d via helicopter to this hospital. They said they didn’t think he would die, but that the injuries were very serious. I profusely apologized to Travis for my rudeness and started to go into shock as they told me about multiple skull fractures, brain bleeds, multiple pelvis fractures to where he wouldn’t walk again for at least three months.

I hung up. Had a panic attack. I planned to drive down to be with him. I hoped he’d still be alive when I got there.

Next. I made a horrible mistake. Because of it,

I dug a grave today.

I called one of my husband’s local relatives to see if they could watch Oreo, our geriatric dog, and Shadow, the cat, while I went to tend to my husband. I told them what had happened. She said I was in no shape to drive, so they would drive me. Two hours. I was in rather a dissociative state, as I haven’t fully recovered from the rape and subsequent trauma of last year, and I’d just been hit again.

I could’ve driven, though. I was getting in my car, as I thought they were coming to tend to Oreo & Shadow. I wanted to drive. It would’ve given my mind something to do other than picture all the ways my husband might die over the next two hours. I wanted to drive.

They insisted. I relented.

We got to the hospital, after much ado, nausea, and misogynistic orders from the uncle, and I saw my husband. He didn’t look as bad as I had feared, and I was relieved he was not only alive but expected to make a full recovery. The relatives said hello to my husband for about 2 minutes, then they left me there. Alone with my injured husband. Without transportation or a plan. I just stupidly assumed they’d be coming back to visit with my husband every few days at least, as it was a miracle he was alive…but with the brain injury could slip into a coma or death at any moment. I assumed that their eagerness to help meant they’d be there for us through this horror. I assumed that since my family was 2,000 miles away that I could count on them in this crisis.

Stupid assumptions.

I stayed by my husband’s side for the next week, reporting back to his relatives as he progressed and we got more info. They came down again and brought me a change of clothes and some things. They arranged to pick up my husband’s truck and tools from the job site, which my husband was quite concerned about when he was conscious. They “cared” for our four-legged children.

I offered to call a pet sitter twice.

They said it wasn’t necessary. Because I listened,

I dug a grave today.

After my husband was out of ICU, I got a hotel with points and traveled two and from with bus vouchers the hospital gave me. I walked to Starbucks and to the Salvation Army to get him some clothes, since they had cut his off of him. The time came, way sooner than I expected, for my husband to be discharged, and I was thrilled! But…no way home! Two hours away. Rural 1955. No way to rent a car and deliver it somewhere in our county. Mass transit would be two buses and a taxi, not feasible for a man in a wheelchair and me with 3 bags and more medical equipment to carry.

The only option was for said relatives to come pick us up again.

They had insisted on driving me down and then they left me there. What did they think would happen? They said they’d come. I asked how my dog Oreo was, and I got an email reply berating me for having the audacity to ask about my geriatric dog.

Wasn’t it enough they were willing to drive 4 hr RT 3x?

Wasn’t it enough they drove every day to “care” for the animals (12 mile round trip)?

Wasn’t it enough they were ready at a moment’s notice?

Wasn’t it enough they arranged the truck pickup?

I had the audacity to ask about my geriatric dog’s well-being.

The utter nerve of me to care about my son’s well-being enough to ask. Inconceivable.

I should’ve known something was wrong then.

In fact, I did know, which is why I asked.

Three times.

Because the first two times were ignored.

I should’ve called the pet sitter like my mind had told me to, but I was too worried of hurting the relatives’ feelings.

Because I didn’t listen to myself, again,

I dug a grave today.

After being berated via email and told to keep silent on the way  home, I told them not to worry about the ride. We’d find a way. As readers of this blog, you well know that I will not fucking tolerate misogynistic abusive bullshit anymore, from anyone, anytime. I also have pretty fucking low tolerance for people who berate me and tell me how to act.

We found a way. The only way. A $240 cab ride.

Yep.

When I got home, my injured husband struggled to get up the stairs into the house because I couldn’t lift him by myself in the wheelchair, and I ran to check on my baby boy. My buddy buddy boy.

I found him lying on the cold stone floor, shivering in a pool of his own urine surrounded by days of feces. In shock.

Unable to move. Traumatized.

I trusted them.

So I dug a grave today.

I wailed and cursed and apologized to Oreo. I went down, clothes soaked in urine, to help my husband into the house. He was ever more distraught by my agony, and he was trying to tug his wheelchair in behind him. I ripped off my urine-soaked shirt and stood there in my bra, pleading with my husband to let me help, telling him what I found.

After getting my husband upstairs and sitting safely in his wheelchair, I ran a hot bath for Oreo, doing what I could to clean him and warm him up. I wrapped him in two blankets and put a heater on him, then sat with my dying dog. My husband with his fresh brain injury couldn’t even process all of this on top of dealing with his limited mobility and narrow focus ability. He was in a dissociative state, too. Too much trauma. Too much betrayal. Too much to process.

I sat alone with my dying dog.

Dying because they couldn’t even take basic care of him.

Because they told me not to call a pet sitter, and I listed.

Because I trusted them.

Come to think of it, another one of our doghters died in their “care” 18 months ago. Now I wonder how much their “care” had to do with her death, too. Not a coincidence, methinks.

No. Not at all.

Terrified, not knowing what to do next, fearing Oreo was suffering from exposure, for he was left without a heater on for days in freezing temperatures at night. Nothing. Who knows how long he was on the floor in that state. I made an appt. with a vet and took him there, so scared to leave my newly injured husband home alone, for he had already gotten out of his wheelchair trying to do too much too soon, and took Oreo to the vet. I made my husband promise on everything he loved about me not to try to go downstairs on his own until I got home. I couldn’t lose him, too.

The vet said there was really no hope for Oreo. We might be able to give him a few more days or weeks after a lot of tests and hospitalization and maybe surgery, but only weeks. It was time, and it had come sooner than necessary because of the neglect.

I made that decision and watched him die, telling him how much I loved him and how sorry I was that I left him with those people over and over and over again. A nice vet tech with dreds put Oreo’s lifeless body in my trunk. On the way home, I spoke with a friend who was sympathetic about my seemingly unending traumas and soothed my shame over them, then told me that the man who sexually assaulted me in 2011 would be getting into Dragon*Con this year, the largest convention in the country.

Yep. Rapists get rewarded.

I dug a grave today.

My husband is in a wheelchair. My dog is dead. We have no possibility for income for 6 months. We have a mountain of medical bills. And that tea-drinking douchebag is a celebrity. The auctioneer who raped me is dancing and laughing and fucking his way through life, free to rape and rape again.

I dug a grave today.

Fuck you, life.

When I got home from the vet I check on my husband, who was sad but all right. Then, I dug a grave. My husband watched from the upper balcony as I plunged the square shovel into the softened dirt over and over until it was big enough for my buddy buddy boy. I laid Oreo’s body in the ground, tucking him in tight, and covering him with cold, moist dirt. All over my hands, under my fingernails, smudged on my face, soaking through my clothes.

Yep. I dug a grave today.

My only thought is how much I envy Oreo. No more pain. No more doubt. No more injustice. No more cruelty.

Just peace.

I dug a grave today.

I only wish it had been my own.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: author, broken heart, fear, grief, healing, heartbroken, love, misogyny, o.m. grey, olivia grey

Happy 3000 Weeks, You Badass MoFo!

Today, my dear friend and colleague Robert Stikmanz celebrates 3000 weeks of life! Since I now live in California, I’m unable to be there in person, so I recorded the below video to be played during the event on Saturday at Kick Butt Coffee. It’s an honor to have my short story “The Tragic Tale of Doctor Fausset” featured in the 3000 Weeks anthology among so many other artists’ fine work.

Rob,

It wouldn’t be too far off to say my career into publishing started with you. You were the one who read our first book Rowan of the Wood a recommended it for publication with the-publisher-who-shall-not-be-named. You’ve since been colleague, editor, fellow literary guest, panel companion, the man who kept me entertained for hours during a particularly slow convention, publishing partner, confidant, and most importantly, friend. It was you who gave Blue Moose Press our tagline: Cool-Ass People Who Write Interesting Books. It was you who listened to me in my shame after the first fall and offered the the delightful moniker Weasel Dick Mother Fucker, which greatly reduced my sadness and made me laugh again. It has unfortunately been used for for his two sequels as well: WDUK and WD#3, aka Austin Poly Rapist. It was you who were present with me on the Fourth of July as I came to terms with the rape and was in and out of dissociative states because of it.

You, my dear, dear friend, have always been there. Your kindness, compassion, talent, and staggering intellect continue to inspire me.

Wait! What am I talking about? You’re a bad-ass motherfucker. Forget everything I just said. You’re a force to be reckoned with! The bee’s knees! The man with whom no one dare messes. A lean mean fighting machine!

The one! The badass! The Rob!

I only wish I could be there to hear you sing in Dvarsh. Yipee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!

Peace and comfortable shoes, my friend.

Filed under: Events & Contests, Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: austin poly rapist, author, broken heart, confabule, dvarsh, healing, heartbroken, honesty, lands of nod, love, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, polyamory, rape, rape survivor, relationships, robert stikmanz, romance, sex, sexual assault, shattered

Book Review: A Real Piece of Work

I quite enjoyed A Real Piece of Work up until about the halfway point. Once the redheaded bombshell who painted nude self-portraits was introduced, and objectified so heavily, my red flags went up. Although, for a hard-boiled detective story, the misogynistic commentary was quite light.

Once said redhead was sexually attacked in her art director’s office, that’s what it stopped for me. She was called “slut” and blamed for flirting with everyone and then being surprised someone followed through, even though she claimed she beat the man up because “he wouldn’t stop.” She was immediately doubted, not only by some nameless guy who came into the room and called her a “slut,” but also by the protagonist, Dakota Stevens. In the next scene, right before she seduces Stevens with purple paint all over her body, he asks her to confirm that she “didn’t do anything to provoke it.” The protagonist had no qualms about fucking a murder suspect and a client, btw. Real professional.

I did not read on, so I don’t know where this sits in the overall story arc, but it doesn’t really matter. If she was lying about being attacked and the guy refusing to stop, then it’s perpetuating the myth that women often lie about rape. They don’t to an overwhelming degree. If she was telling the truth, then she was blamed for being flirtatious and asking for it.

“You were lone with the guy in Contessa’s office. What did you *think* was going to happen?”

Because, you know, if a beautiful, flirtatious woman is alone with a man, it must mean she wants to fuck him. Because that’s all they’re good for anyway, right? And if she doesn’t, then it’s her fault for leading him on by having the audacity to be alone in a room with him. If your going to be alone with a man, better be willing to put out or at least have the decency to keep your mouth shut if you don’t want it.

Right?

If all that rape apologist and victim-blaming nonsense was in the mouth of the antagonist or one of the bad guys, that would be one thing. But it was in the mouth and the opinions of the protagonist, the good guy. Dakota Sevens. This same good guy took sexual advantage of her, fucking her within the hour after she had experienced the traumatic event of sexual assault and attempted rape. Not okay.

Unfortunately, it is realistic and an accurate portrayal of how virtually everyone responds to a rape and/or sexual assault claim, but I don’t indulge in any art for perpetuating rape culture like that. If they include it, then it must be clear it is an unacceptable behavior and mentality.

And, of course, what man isn’t going to bang a hot red head cover in purple paint with “optimistic breasts” and a ” flat tummy,” regardless whether or not she had just been assaulted. She’s a big girl. Right? She can take care of herself.

I’m really rather disappointed, because up until this point I was quite enjoying this book. I don’t get into many books, and I certainly don’t get into many books fast. This one I did. The writing is excellent, and the story is very well-paced, but I draw the line at rape apologists and victim-blaming.

Needless to say, I didn’t finish the book, nor will I be reading anymore of Chris Orcutt’s work. I still gave it three stars because the author obviously has talent, a strong voice, and a solid storytelling technique, but he would be wise to learn how not to offend survivors, as one in 3 women are rape/sexual assault survivors. I’m one of them.

So, yeah. Good detective story, but…

Still, giving it 3 cogs because the author is obviously talented and can tell a good story, even thought it’s not for me nor respectful to women.

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: a real piece of work, amazon, author, book review, chris orcutt, detective story, hard-boiled, kindle, misogynistic, misogyny, o.m. grey, olivia grey, rape, rape survivor, review, romance, sex, sexual assault