Rachel Thompson's Blog, page 10
May 18, 2016
When the Accused are More Valuable than Their Accusers
As I’ve bitched about before, anyone who makes Hollywood piles of cash can get away with very bad things and not be destroyed like their victims, who are more likely to be crucified in the press along with anyone cray-cray enough to support them.
Just look at Dylan Farrow, the brave woman who, despite her alleged abuser’s power and fame, made the difficult decision to speak out. And when her words hit the interwebs, cause the gatekeepers seemed to think they were unworthy of the printed page (as opposed to her alleged abuser’s, who was invited to rebuke her claims), she was called “liar” and “fame-whore” and “jealous” and all those other not-nice words flung at those courageous enough to tell their stories.
This seems especially true when the alleged perpetrator is all rich and famous and a super well connected criminal celebrity. Michael Jackson, Bill Cosby and this month’s alleged creeper Woody Allen all have one very big nasty in common: they’ve all been accused of committing sexual assaults but have not been found guilty (unlike one Victor Salva who was convicted of recording the sexual abuse he committed against the twelve year old star of 1988’s so-bad-it’s-awesome horror film Clownhouse, Nathan Forrest Winters, and was sentences to three years in prison, fifteen months of which he actually served before being welcomed back in Hollywood before the 90s were half over), while their accusers are cast as untrustworthy fame seekers who only want their fifteen minutes and undeserved money.
Because crying rape is a super easy and effective way of getting rich and famous. Wait. Um.
Coming Forward. Again.
Way back when, Dylan told her mother, actress Mia Farrow, that Woody Allen had touched her in ways that any sane person would see as gross and wrong and molesty. After a garbled mess of stuff, which I’m not going into here but you can see for yourself, Dylan was left without closure and Woody Allen was free, even though serious doubts about his innocence remained. Now, if you’re wondering why the plug was pulled, just ask Dylan’s brother, Ronan Farrow:
My mother and the prosecutor decided not to subject my sister to more years of mayhem. In a rare step, the prosecutor announced publicly that he had “probable cause” to prosecute Allen, and attributed the decision not to do so to “the fragility of the child victim.”
Keep in mind that Dylan was a child when this all went down, and her mother simply wanted to do what she felt was best for her. Was it the right choice? Tough to say, as the accused was a successful director even then, and that battle would’ve been uphill. The pressure placed on her and her family would’ve increased exponentially, and that’s tough for even a grown folk to deal with. Now imagine being seven.
Fast forward to 2014, and Dylan wrote a piece for The New York Times’ blog. Yea, it didn’t even get the ink and paper treatment. That’s how serious people seem to take these accusations. Since she released her story anew into the world, there’ve been lots of opinions thrown about, including (at least) one that, for reasons I don’t get, all but call Mia Farrow a whore. Yes, let’s not only call Dylan a liar but distract people by claiming her mother slept around. Which, even if it’s true, isn’t a crime. So stuff it.
What Dylan did was brave. Think about it. She lives in a world where accusers are treated worse than the accused.
Blame the victim is a favorite pastime, more so when the accused has a rabid fan base that feels the incredible need to keep them out of the pokey. Of course, it’s not just fans that do this; Jill Scott had to read Cosby’s own incriminating words before she withdrew her support. Guess not even a woman will believe a woman (or 30) when it comes to things like being a sports fan or rape victim.
Hollywood’s Blind Eye
While Dylan and her family were cast as the villains of this piece, Woody Allen continued making movies and banging his wife – who also happens to be Dylan’s older adopted sister. Yeah, he’s a real stand-up dude, but that’s not proof in any way of his abuse of Dylan…I just like reminding people what a creeper he is.
Even his uber-creepiness hasn’t kept Hollywood from telling him to fuck off. The biggest and brightest stars still line up to star in his (boring) flicks because Woody Fucking Allen still means a thing. When asked why they’d work with/for Roman Polanski’s director bro, the answer is often “well, I don’t know what really happened in that dark attic, so why should he be punished for something he wasn’t convicted of?”
To that I say… true. While I believe Woody Allen is guilty sin, I also know that we have an entire justice system that, while not always correct in its decisions, was created as it is for a reason. He was never convicted of molesting Dylan so, yes, he is free to do his thing. But how can you fall all over him when you actually read about what we have knowledge of?
In the least, it’s incredibly suspicious and definitely red-flaggish. Maybe just consider that the accuser is not full of shit or coached or mentally deranged enough to think sensational trials are a good time? A person can be “innocent until proven guilty” even when the accuser isn’t considered a dirty liar by those who simply can’t believe something so horrible could possibly happen. But, because he was never properly tried and all that, evidence was never presented and he was allowed to continue on living – and trashing his ex-girlfriend’s name – while she still (seems) to suffer. How can that be ignored?
Doubt may not place him behind bars but it could stop otherwise intelligent individuals from making him more rich and famous and beloved. If only those with the money could see beyond their own bank accounts.
Untouched Until Proven Raped
As we’ve seen with Jackson and Cosby (and even convicted child molester and child porn creator Victor Salva (I ain’t forgot about you, motherf**ker), Hollywood doesn’t care what you do; if you make ‘em money, they’ll ignore the sick shit you do. Hell, they’ll even defend you. But if you’re on the other side, those defenses are tougher to come by.
The word of an alleged victim is worth less than the powerful accused. That needs to change.
In places not Hollywood where crimes not sexual, the alleged victims are given more sympathy and support; you don’t see murder victims being accused of wanting it or deserving it so why aren’t sexual crime victims, in and out of La La Land, afforded the same? Even with Dylan, Mia and recently Ronan speaking out about what Woody Allen allegedly did, there are oh so many out there screaming that they’re all a pack of liars and that Mia, in her vindictiveness, tainted her children in the worst ways and brainwashed them into believing a real life horror story. I’m not sure which is worse; claiming she’s full of shit or ignoring the claims and acting like nothing wrong (might’ve) happened.
As you can probably tell, I think he did it. I’d like to see him get his comeuppance, but we’re way past that being possible; I doubt the statute of limitations extends into the now and, sadly, Dylan will never get the justice she deserves. And, as if that wasn’t fucked up enough, she is forced to watch as his career continues to flourish.
But that could change, he could feel something for what he did (allegedly), if only those actors and producers would finally say “no” and not make yet another one of his films. It wouldn’t put him where he belongs, but it would show Dylan, and others in her position, that there are those who listen and believe, and would rather side with the victim even when the accused is as powerful as Woody Allen.
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here.
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photos courtesy of pixabay
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May 11, 2016
The Many Ways Journaling Can Help Your Health
As a kid, I couldn’t wait to get my first diary. Always a writer (since the age of ten), I was thrilled to receive a rainbow covered, hardbound book just for my thoughts, feelings, and adventures! How exciting!! Of course, I mostly filled it with scribbles of future short stories of goldfish and doodles of kittens, but that’s beside the point.
I filled it. And, over the years I filled many, many more as I entered relationships, one in particular with a man I didn’t realize was abusive until I wrote out the horrible ways he treated me. Journaling helped me break it off. When he contacted me, over twenty years later – and three months before he killed himself – I turned to those journals for answers. Ultimately, those journals became the basis for my books.
Journaling as a Lifeline
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, it’s startling to look back on all those journals and see a lost, lonely child reaching inside blank pages for answers. Maybe I found them, maybe I didn’t…but now I can look back and see where I was. If I didn’t have those journals, I don’t know that I would have been able to capture the depth and vulnerability, the true emotion of those feelings and thoughts.
We are mortal, we are human, and we are fallible. Our memories change as we weave through time.
Journaling became for me a kind of lifeline, a way to express what I couldn’t say. It still is, in a way, though I’m now a bestselling author.
As adults, we are busy and we are often sick – physically and emotionally — from all this busyness. No doubt, that statement resonates deeply with many of you – you know exactly what I mean. I am no different, suffering from chronic migraines, anxiety, and depression. I still journal, though it’s in a much different way – sometimes it’s only a word (a noun, verb, or adjective), a picture, or a sentence.
Many people are intimidated by journaling because they think there’s only one right way, and they can’t keep up with it. They buy a beautiful journal, start it for a few days, and then stop, because they don’t write in it every day. So what? Do what you can, give yourself permission, and give yourself a break.
Cool fact: did you know that journaling is actually good for your body and soul?
University of Texas at Austin psychologist and researcher James Pennebaker contends that regular journaling strengthens immune cells, called T-lymphocytes. Other research indicates that journaling decreases the symptoms of asthma and rheumatoid arthritis. Pennebaker believes that writing about stressful events helps you come to terms with them, thus reducing the impact of these stressors on your physical health. (Source: PsychCentral.com )
Here are just five types of journals I’ve kept:
Sometimes, I use all five techniques in ONE journal! Maybe one of these techniques will work for you:
One-word or one-sentence: I do this a lot, particularly when I’m writing a book. It can be a random quote or sign, an emotion or how I’m feeling, or something that strikes me as I’m going about my day. I let it roll around in my brain like a marble, but the act of writing it down helps me so much.Example: I wrote this down just yesterday…Types of memories: thought memory, body memory, soul memory. What’s the difference?
Visual: Polaroid cameras work best for this. Take a picture and glue-stick it to the page. Add a caption if you wish – I typically recommend just one word and the date. We are visual animals, and we tend to remember visually as well. One author I work with writes solely from her visual journals.
Creativity: This is great for someone who is process-oriented like I am – it’s hard for me to let Ms. Right Brain take over. It’s messy! So a creativity journal is fun for me – I’ll take magazine clippings, print out something that catches my eye on Pinterest (which I love because I can organize it how I want LOL), add scribbles and stick-people sketches (writer here), use markers and colored pens – it’s like being a kid again. Often, out of that mess, comes inspiration for more writing!
Gratitude: At my lowest point, after the C-Section birth of my second child, I suffered from horrific nausea and stomach issues, moderate post-partum depression, and as I struggled to lose the baby weight from months of bed rest and gestational diabetes, a new diagnosis of Hashimoto’s (an autoimmune thyroid disorder), as well as massive neck and shoulder pain. My husband (now ex) was at a loss how to run his business, take care of two kids, help me, and I felt pretty hopeless (despite meds and physician help).
My nutritionist suggested I start a gratitude journal, and I can’t even tell you how much this journaling helped me. I’m not really into ‘inspirational’ hokey quotes, so at first I thought this kind of journal was pretty silly, yet I pushed through, every day asking myself, and answering, these three questions:
What am I most grateful for today?
What did I achieve today?
What excites me the most about tomorrow?
Asking myself those ‘GAE’ (Grateful, Achieve, Excite) questions helped to alleviate my focus on the negativity, something we all tend to do in times of strife. And you know what? I still ask myself those questions daily today. (It’s also a form of redirection – changing your paradigm to get out of that negativity loop; but that’s a whole other post.) For now, just remind yourself to ask those questions in a daily journal, and even mentally. That’s a good start.)
Health: If you are working with any kind of health practitioner, they likely will want you to keep track of the kind of health episodes you came to see them for in the first place. For me, I’ve kept track of migraines for years. This type of journal is an excellent diagnostic tool for your practitioner, so they can have some idea of what you are experiencing.
To really make it helpful for you, I suggest adding in as much detail as possible – not only “I had a migraine,” but also what else was happening at the time. I’ll track diet that day, sleep, stressful events, etc., anything that may have contributed. Why? Perhaps there’s some sort of pattern that will emerge. It always does.
I hope these ideas for journaling prove helpful to you. They certainly have for me, in more than one aspect. Try a few out and see what you think!
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
photos courtesy of royalty-free Unsplash
The post The Many Ways Journaling Can Help Your Health appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
April 27, 2016
I Discovered Secrets, Family, and Promises in My Palm by @cstreetlights
Guest post by C. Streetlights on the wonder of family secrets.
She took both my hands into hers, looking at them intently before tapping the right one saying, “This one.”
Her aged and milky brown eyes traced the lines traveling along my right palm, her fingers gently tracing the life I’ve held there. Finally, finished reading the secrets held in my hand, my aunt let go of my hand and looked into my eyes and spoke to me in a voice stronger than it had been in days.
The Family Matriarch
My family’s 91-year old matriarch — with secrets of her own — began by reminding me of the many times I would allow other’s talents and successes be celebrated before my own. “You are so silly,” she said. She gave me an example with a wave of her hand, painting the scene around us.
“Look,” my aunt told me, and I looked at myself working hard in my classroom. “Do you see yourself there? You were younger then,” she laughed. Yes, thank you for reminding me, Tia. “But you were silly,” Tia shook her head at me, frowning. “You thought other people were… how do you say it?” she looked at my cousin. Her English breaks when she becomes more animated, but I begin to understand what she is trying to tell me. Mí tia explains how I believed that people were more smart or experienced than I was and so my successes could not compare to theirs.
“Silly, so silly,” she repeats herself, picking up my hand again. She taps the middle of my palm and looks straight into my eyes, “You are too nice!” she tells me sternly. Sighing, “Too nice.”
My eyes begin to tear up without me even realizing it. My aunt is one of three remaining sisters left in what was once a large Catholic family. It is just my aunt, one aunt who still lives in Lima, Peru and my mother. These three women, along with assorted and scattered cousins, are all who are left of my enigmatic Spanish ancestry. They are the last living connections to mysterious roots that stretch deep into an unknown.
At 91-years old, my beautiful aunt still has the same bright white hair she had when I first started visiting her every summer as a 10-year old. She has been lying about her age since she was 60, and lying about our heritage even longer than that. All the women who live these branches of my family tree are glamorously beautiful, photographs of their youth witness of this truth. Their Spanish dark hair and eyes, impeccable makeup with penciled in eyebrows and perfectly done French twisted hair. I pity the three older brothers who must have gone to bed each night worrying over all their sisters, keeping baseball bats nearby to threaten suitors at the door.
My cousin hands my aunt her oxygen and pats her arm. My son is taking notes nearby and I smile at him. He knows what we all know, that being sensitive can be exhausting. He is one of us. My aunt sees it in him just as she saw it in me once. Just as brown hair or the shape of our eyes can run down the veins of our tree, so can The Gift. We can all feel, all see.
“Mi hijita…” she begins. “Don’t be so nice. Don’t be so… so… good!” She is thinking on how to say something. “You work so hard. So good. You are a good girl. So smart. You tell people!” My hand is in hers again, where it belongs. “Listen to me, listen to your tia… You are strong.”
“You’re A Survivor”
Up until now her words have been a strong whisper. Now she speaks to me as if she is my young aunt again. She is no longer sick as she tells me what she read in my palm. “It is time you put away what happened to you in your past, mi hijita. You are strong. So strong. You never weak. No weakness in you. You a survivor. You will succeed. Don’t be so silly anymore. Your humbleness is what hold you back your successes now. No more. Too strong now. People afraid of you now. They will make you feel guilty. No. No let them. Never been weak. You too strong. Now listen…”
I listen.
“You are sentimental. You keep memories locked up for sentiment. People will use that against you. And hold you back. No. You are too strong. They are afraid of you.”
I’m crying now.
“I see your future. It is all going up. You are succeeding. So strong. So, so, so strong.” She is tired now. Her energy became a part of mine and I can feel it in me; her sacrifice overwhelms me and I cherish it. She pulled up her strength to give to me, to remind me of my strength and I see her now, the shadows under her eyes and the paleness in her cheeks. My tia. I look over at my cousin.
“I’m so glad you felt inspired to come today,” she tells me and I nod. It was inspired. My aunt wants us to come again soon after she rests from talking so much. She is remembering more from her youth and is ready to share her stories. My son and I are the ones she has chosen to give the truth to. Mysteries will soon slowly be uncovered while I’m sure new mysteries will develop.
I am beginning to understand what has made me who I am in this family. I also understand what has helped me survive.
The moment my aunt took my right palm in hers and began tracing my lifeline with her finger I knew that some people’s lives intersect in ways that we couldn’t possibly begin to understand. The branches in this complicated family tree that have been tangled for generations are starting to shake in the wind; I can feel them beginning to loosen and wounded knots begin to heal. I know that my ancestors surround me, anticipating their stories to be told so that broken hearts can be mended and names can be spoken out loud again.
From my palm’s lifeline to theirs in the afterlife, our palms touch and we are healed. It is time for us to know one another and become acquainted once more so that we might all be real to each other.
And so that my aunt can know she chose the right palm.
After writing and illustrating her first bestseller in second grade, “The Lovely Unicorn”, C. Streetlights took twenty years to decide if she wanted to continue writing. In the time known as growing up, she became a teacher, a wife, and mother. Retired from teaching, C. Streetlights now lives with her family in the mountains along with their dog that eats Kleenex. Her new memoir, Tea and Madness is now available.
You can follow C. Streetlights on Twitter,Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads. Read C’s most recent guest article about branding on BadRedheadMedia.com.
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
The post I Discovered Secrets, Family, and Promises in My Palm by @cstreetlights appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
April 21, 2016
Is it REALLY Sexist to Refer to Women as “Female?” by @wendygarfinkle
Um…Not All Females Are Women
Recently, my lovely friend Rachel Thompson received a comment on her Twitter in reply to an article she shared: The commenter stated that he’s a Christian (not sure what THAT has to do with the subject…), and insisted that “female director” is wrong; it should be “woman director,” because using “female” instead of “woman” is “offensive and too feminist.”
From a grammatical standpoint (and I AM a Grammar Goddess; even own the website…don’t look for it, it’s not live yet…), female director is perfectly fine. Better, in fact, than “woman” in this instance because “female” is an adjective describing a category of director. Don’t know who he thinks it’s offending, and it’s not “too feminist.” The term “woman” would be kind of sexist from a man, because its literal definition is not only distinguishing her sex (adult FEMALE human being), it also categorizes her as a FEMALE (as opposed to, you know, a male…). And “female” is an inclusive term – any female, any age. “Woman” is an exclusive term because not all females are women.
It’s instinct for me to use “female” instead of “woman” in many circumstances, since I work in Law Enforcement. For instance, I’m referred to as “white female,” not “white woman.” (A man would be treated the same way: as a “white male” instead of “white man.”) And “female” just flows off the tongue a whole lot smoother than “woman” when used as an adjective.
If you’re addressing someone directly (a noun), you should probably say “woman” instead of “female.” (Of course, you might get slapped for calling her a generic, sexually divisive term instead of her name.) I decided to research the use of “female” vs “woman” and discovered that it’s quite a popular subject. I was surprised (perhaps I shouldn’t have been) to discover an overwhelming number of articles addressing this topic – woman vs female.
Women vs. Female Definitions
Here’s what Merriam-Webster, the Oxford English Dictionary (for variety) and Roget’s Thesaurus have to say about female vs woman:
Merriam-Webster, female:
of or relating to the sex that can produce young or lay eggs;
characteristic of girls or women;
having members who are all girls or women
Merriam-Webster, woman:
an adult female human being;
a woman who has a specific job or position;
distinctly feminine nature;
women considered as a group
Oxford English Dictionary, female:
a person of the sex that can bear offspring;
a woman or a girl;
an individual of this sex (contrasted with male);
a female animal (including the human being considered as an animal species);
female individuals or the female sex considered generally or collectively.
Oxford English Dictionary, woman:
referring to an adult female human being;
the counterpart of man;
the female members of a family, household, or other group, etc., womenfolk;
with specific reference to age: a female person who has reached adulthood, esp. in legal contexts;
a female person who is considered mature
Roget’s Thesaurus, female (adj., having the qualities or characteristics of a woman):
feminine, fecund, womanish, womanly, effeminate, muliebrous (I found a new favorite word)
Roget’s Thesaurus, woman (n., female human):
daughter, girl, mother, she, aunt, grandmother, matron, spouse
As I was finishing up on this post, Rachel (because she knew I was addressing this topic in a post) forwarded to me the link for this story: Why We Need to Reclaim the Word “Female” . While reading it, I began hearing strains of The Twilight Zone theme, because it seemed as if author Jay Newton-Small had been peering over my shoulder. We make some of the same points regarding the grammatically correct usage of woman/women and female, and reference some of the same sources (Oxford English Dictionary). Something I discovered in my research, that Ms. Newton-Small also addresses: it appears that “the innate misogyny of slang” is at least partially to blame for the vilification of “female” as an acceptably descriptive term.
One of my favorite authors, J.R. Ward, in her Black Dagger Brotherhood series, refers to women as “female” and men as “male.” This could be because most of her characters are vampires, or it could be a conscious effort to bring “female” and “male” back into the accepted lexicon of terminology.
So, Is it Sexist To Refer to Women as Female?
Then there’s using the word girl instead of woman… Gone Girl, 2 Broke Girls, New Girl, Girls, Supergirl (we have Superman…why not Superwoman?)… girl next door, girlfriend … I could go on ad nauseam, but I think you get the picture.
My conclusion? There are way too many sensitive people out there who don’t have enough to do. As for me, I’ll continue to use female as an adjective instead of woman when describing a noun (female director, female firefighter, etc.). Call it my stubborn personality, call it my instinctive, knee-jerk dislike of anything that remotely resembles “political correctness.”
I’m a female…a female grammarian, a female writer, a female editor, a female friend…many things female…and take no issue with being addressed as “female” instead of woman. I guess I’m just an insensitive feminist woman. And proud of it.
If you happen to be interested in the multitude of articles I read while researching this topic, here’s a list:
6 Reasons You Should Stop Referring to Women as “Females” Right Now
Grammar Girl: Woman Versus Female. Which is the Proper Adjective?
On Language: Woman vs. Female
“Female” or “Woman”?
Woman Doctors, Woman Writers…Is Using ‘Woman’ as an Adjective Demeaning?
Why there are too many women doctors, women MPs, and women bosses
Who You Calling a Female?
Female Troubles: “Female” vs. “Woman”
Why It’s Not Sexist To Call Women “Girls”
Should We Stop Saying ‘Female Filmmaker’?
Why do some people consider it offensive to address a woman as ‘female’?
Wendy is a writer who holds degrees from three different universities, including MA and MFA in Creative Writing from Wilkes University. Her debut novel, SERPENT ON A CROSS, which was published October 30, 2012, by Northampton House Press as an ebook, was re-released digitally and in print – with new content -by Booktrope, in August 2014.
She’s authored numerous poems, and is currently juggling several Shiny Things (AKA, Works in Progress). She has served as a copy editor and panel reader for Hippocampus Magazine, and a reader for the James Jones First Novel Fellowship. She works as a Editor and Proofreader for her publisher, Booktrope, and its Gravity Imprint, as well as freelance editing.
In her day job, Wendy is a crime analyst for a county sheriff’s office. Her hobbies include writing, reading, and traveling. She lives in South Florida with her teenage son.
Social Media Links:
Website & Blog
Facebook Author page
Facebook Personal page
Goodreads
Amazon
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint (books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
Photos courtesy of Unsplash and Wendy Garfinkle
The post Is it REALLY Sexist to Refer to Women as “Female?” by @wendygarfinkle appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
April 16, 2016
Dear Abby: Reinforcing Rape Culture is REALLY Bad Advice by @willvanstonejr
Guest post by staff writer Will Van Stone, Jr.
I’ve been a fan of yours for a while now and have enjoyed your wit and wisdom on many a morning. I haven’t always agreed with every word you typed but there’s never been a moment where I was all oh, no she di’int until today. In case you don’t automatically realize which response has led to this moment, here ya go. {Editor comment: please read the article before commenting.} It’s cool. Go remember. I can wait.
Back now? Cool.
Do you know why you’re in the deep doodoo? Have you seen the error of your ways? Do you understand how horrible the “advice” you gave to “Uncertain in Illinois” was? If you don’t, let me give you some advice.
Referring to Rape as a ‘Breakdown in Communications’
She knew a boy who totes wanted to do her but wasn’t all into gettin’ the D. As that’s her choice, she has every right to not want it. While she was okay with a bit of snogging, she wasn’t ready to go all the way. Yes, she states that she went with him to the secluded area but that doesn’t mean she was giving consent. It meant that she was in the boy’s truck while he drove. Those are the facts as Uncertain relayed them.
Still with me?
While they were in the secluded area, they had sex (as Uncertain referred to it and seeing neither of us were there, that’s what we’ll call it, too), during which she said she told him he was hurting her three times before he stopped. That right there is a red flag that pushes the episode more into the rape column. Now, he could’ve just been the worst lay in the history of ever and was so caught up in the oo-la-la feelings down under to notice, but something tells me that’s not the truth. Call it instinct.
Bad Advice is Bad Advice
Now, after the incident, she got conflicting advice when she went to two close friends with her story that went from one extreme to the other: I told two of my close friends about what happened. One said he had essentially raped me. The other said it doesn’t count as rape because even though I said it hurt, I didn’t say it forcefully enough. They were just as wrong as you, just so you know. Why?
Simple. Only the person who may or may not have been raped can say they were or were not. They need to look at the situation and come to the conclusion for themselves. We, on the outside, cannot dictate someone’s thoughts on what happened aside from guaranteeing a proper education about what rape is (which is something, it seems, many do not receive). And encouraging “tell an adult” message is good; from there, Uncertain could’ve worked on figuring out the mess in her head.
And, congrats, you did tell her that. You said to go to her parents or other trusted adult, though I wonder at the non mention of la policia. But, hey, maybe that’s me nitpicking. For all the good of that paragraph, you ruined it all from line one when you wrote:
It appears you and that boy had a severe breakdown in communication, which led to your being sexually assaulted. He had made no secret that he wanted sex with you, and may have interpreted your willingness to kiss him after he took you somewhere other than what was agreed upon as a signal that you were willing, even though you didn’t say so.
Rape Isn’t Caused by a Severe Breakdown in Communication
I’m not even sure where the hell to begin. I mean, rape isn’t cause by “a severe breakdown in communication” but from one person forcing or otherwise coercing another into having sex they don’t want. So what if he didn’t hide his raging hormones! That sounds an awful lot like the boys will be boys defense and as a boy, that fucking offends me (and I’m not easily offended, so congrats on that). I can be as horny as hell, but still able to keep my penis out of places it’s not welcome. It’s called common decency, something you seem to assume owners of boy parts are incapable of.
Okay, maybe that last part was pushing it, but that part just really annoyed me.
Now, with that in mind, I’m even more amazed that you followed that up with a pretty accurate (in an old timey way cause let’s be honest, rape goes beyond unwanted penis in vagina) description of rape when you said Date rape happens when a fellow ends up coercing or forcing a girl to have sex without her consent. Unless a girl explicitly expresses her willingness to proceed, it is the responsibility of the boy NOT to proceed.
How can you place (partial) blame on her while then calling out the boy for doing wrong? Rape isn’t a “share the blame” game.
One side is wrong. It doesn’t matter if she was buck nekkid, spread eagle with a neon sign pointing to her niblets, she didn’t want it. Getting into a car and getting’ your kiss-kiss on is not consent for a bit of the pokey; it’s kissing. Whether she screamed for help or not, she obviously didn’t want it. She also wouldn’t be wondering if she was raped. Something inside her seems to be telling her something bad was done to her. And you turned that shit around and laid it on her lap.
Rape Culture, Defined
It needn’t be loud or messy or involve a creepy creeping creeper sneaking up on you in a dark alley and all that stereotypical stuff that scary nightmares are made of. It’s a simple refusal to not stop when permission hasn’t been given. Your response failed her; a scared, confused girl who doesn’t know what to think. You, a trusted voice, fell back on a twisted mix of rape culture and sexist information to tell her the way wrong thing.
Dear Abby, I never thought I’d say this but shut the fuck up.
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint (books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
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The post Dear Abby: Reinforcing Rape Culture is REALLY Bad Advice by @willvanstonejr appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
Dear Abby: Enforcing Rape Culture is REALLY Bad Advice by @willvanstonejr
Guest post by staff writer Will Van Stone, Jr.
I’ve been a fan of yours for a while now and have enjoyed your wit and wisdom on many a morning. I haven’t always agreed with every word you typed but there’s never been a moment where I was all oh, no she di’int until today. In case you don’t automatically realize which response has led to this moment, here ya go. {Editor comment: please read the article before commenting.} It’s cool. Go remember. I can wait.
Back now? Cool.
Do you know why you’re in the deep doodoo? Have you seen the error of your ways? Do you understand how horrible the “advice” you gave to “Uncertain in Illinois” was? If you don’t, let me give you some advice.
Referring to Rape as a ‘Breakdown in Communications’
She knew a boy who totes wanted to do her but wasn’t all into gettin’ the D. As that’s her choice, she has every right to not want it. While she was okay with a bit of snogging, she wasn’t ready to go all the way. Yes, she states that she went with him to the secluded area but that doesn’t mean she was giving consent. It meant that she was in the boy’s truck while he drove. Those are the facts as Uncertain relayed them.
Still with me?
While they were in the secluded area, they had sex (as Uncertain referred to it and seeing neither of us were there, that’s what we’ll call it, too), during which she said she told him he was hurting her three times before he stopped. That right there is a red flag that pushes the episode more into the rape column. Now, he could’ve just been the worst lay in the history of ever and was so caught up in the oo-la-la feelings down under to notice, but something tells me that’s not the truth. Call it instinct.
Bad Advice is Bad Advice
Now, after the incident, she got conflicting advice when she went to two close friends with her story that went from one extreme to the other: I told two of my close friends about what happened. One said he had essentially raped me. The other said it doesn’t count as rape because even though I said it hurt, I didn’t say it forcefully enough. They were just as wrong as you, just so you know. Why?
Simple. Only the person who may or may not have been raped can say they were or were not. They need to look at the situation and come to the conclusion for themselves. We, on the outside, cannot dictate someone’s thoughts on what happened aside from guaranteeing a proper education about what rape is (which is something, it seems, many do not receive). And encouraging “tell an adult” message is good; from there, Uncertain could’ve worked on figuring out the mess in her head.
And, congrats, you did tell her that. You said to go to her parents or other trusted adult, though I wonder at the non mention of la policia. But, hey, maybe that’s me nitpicking. For all the good of that paragraph, you ruined it all from line one when you wrote:
It appears you and that boy had a severe breakdown in communication, which led to your being sexually assaulted. He had made no secret that he wanted sex with you, and may have interpreted your willingness to kiss him after he took you somewhere other than what was agreed upon as a signal that you were willing, even though you didn’t say so.
Rape Isn’t Caused by a Severe Breakdown in Communication
I’m not even sure where the hell to begin. I mean, rape isn’t cause by “a severe breakdown in communication” but from one person forcing or otherwise coercing another into having sex they don’t want. So what if he didn’t hide his raging hormones! That sounds an awful lot like the boys will be boys defense and as a boy, that fucking offends me (and I’m not easily offended, so congrats on that). I can be as horny as hell, but still able to keep my penis out of places it’s not welcome. It’s called common decency, something you seem to assume owners of boy parts are incapable of.
Okay, maybe that last part was pushing it, but that part just really annoyed me.
Now, with that in mind, I’m even more amazed that you followed that up with a pretty accurate (in an old timey way cause let’s be honest, rape goes beyond unwanted penis in vagina) description of rape when you said Date rape happens when a fellow ends up coercing or forcing a girl to have sex without her consent. Unless a girl explicitly expresses her willingness to proceed, it is the responsibility of the boy NOT to proceed.
How can you place (partial) blame on her while then calling out the boy for doing wrong? Rape isn’t a “share the blame” game.
One side is wrong. It doesn’t matter if she was buck nekkid, spread eagle with a neon sign pointing to her niblets, she didn’t want it. Getting into a car and getting’ your kiss-kiss on is not consent for a bit of the pokey; it’s kissing. Whether she screamed for help or not, she obviously didn’t want it. She also wouldn’t be wondering if she was raped. Something inside her seems to be telling her something bad was done to her. And you turned that shit around and laid it on her lap.
Rape Culture, Defined
It needn’t be loud or messy or involve a creepy creeping creeper sneaking up on you in a dark alley and all that stereotypical stuff that scary nightmares are made of. It’s a simple refusal to not stop when permission hasn’t been given. Your response failed her; a scared, confused girl who doesn’t know what to think. You, a trusted voice, fell back on a twisted mix of rape culture and sexist information to tell her the way wrong thing.
Dear Abby, I never thought I’d say this but shut the fuck up.
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint (books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
The post Dear Abby: Enforcing Rape Culture is REALLY Bad Advice by @willvanstonejr appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
April 14, 2016
This is the Reason I’m a Wanderer by guest @HMJonesWrites
My mom had a wandering spirit. I sometimes wonder if she got like I often get—frustrated with the same, always on the lookout for new. It runs in the genes. When I was seventeen I became thoroughly depressed. I’d suffered depression before then, I always have, but this depression felt different. It felt restless, bored.
It felt like the town I grew up in was trying to root me, cement me in a place of unhappy.
Cause I’m A Wanderer
So I told my mom I had to go. And her eyes understood, her words said “goodbye,” but I know I tore a little bit of her heart out and took it with me. I know that she understood the pull, knew I would never want to stay, that’s I’d not be content to live in one place. Because she never was. She moved us across the country in a VW bus, where we experienced our country before we even knew what geometry was. That travel-lust fell heavy into my veins.
I moved to Washington, to Boston, to Missouri, my partner (now husband) moving with me, experiencing how to live in what was strange, how to evolve in a new city, on the metro train. And months before we moved I’d feel that same depression sting. It’d tell me that I have to leave, wipe the slate clean, learn how to be a new me.
Depression Hit
After my daughter was born, an even more terrible depression hit—the kind that said I was not fit to be around a helpless being, who needed me but hated me. And I wanted to leave, again. But I didn’t want to take her, take my husband, who was a natural parent and was happy. I wanted to be clean of all responsibility to anyone but me. I was more terrified than I’d ever been because my depression carried with it rage. And bitterness. I may not have left physically, but I floated away on clouds of whiskey. I did all I could to get the man I love to leave, to take the baby who hated me.
I’d imagine starting again, never bringing anyone else into my crazy ever again. But he wouldn’t let me go, he wouldn’t accept my emotional departure.
He told me I was enough and that my daughter loved me, needed her mom to be what he knew I had in me.
And I rose above it, like he said I would. I came back down to earth, held her in my arms and realized her worth. And understood mine, too. And we moved together, back to his home. Where we planted a little red house, a few gardens and sprinkled it with another baby, a boy, and various creatures.
Planting Roots
And each addition to my life—my daughter, my son—my silly animals, is a new adventure. And it feels like traveling while staying in place because each new thing shows me I can be a new person, like I was when I was free to roam. I’m a dog lover. Who knew? I’m a green thumb. I’m a mother of chickens. I can be patient, quiet, silly and forgiving. I learned those things. Those things weren’t me before the journey of my mothering.
My blood craves gone, though. It tells me to find a Vardo, pack my things and leave. I won’t lie and say that my wandering spirit is always a good thing. It sometimes scares me. And it stymies my husband—that urge I have to change everything, to get rid of all my clothes or rearrange the house or get a tattoo sleeve. But these are my ways to have little journeys without leaving. They are the ways I satiate that desire to pack it up. Because that’s not brave.
My mom always wanted to go, always wanted to do, but she never left us behind. She did rearrange the furniture, have so many different trades I’m not sure I could name them all, get a faraway look in her eyes when she sat smoking on our porch. I wonder if she was dreaming of being untethered. But she did nothing without taking us along, teaching and talking and sharing her mini-adventures.
The Need to Be Free
I felt like being free the other day, and so I turned to my husband and said, “Can we get away?”
Because I realize that I don’t actually want to be alone. I love being a wife and mom. I can’t help my depression, the manic stirring in my veins. But I can help what I do with it. So we packed our bags and our kids and we got away together.
We stand, digging clams by the roar of the Pacific Ocean. And I feel as powerful, changeable, fierce, triumphant as those waves that threaten to plow me over when I’m rinsing my son’s bag of clams. The waves would overcome him if he didn’t stand in my shadow. But because I chose to be firm, present, the waves smash into me. And I stay standing because I’m strong, like I’ve always been. He doesn’t look worried when he’s standing next to me, no matter how angry the waves. I realize, then, that I’m like my mom—always with her eye on the horizon but never gone. It’s a complicated beauty because I have never regretted the moves, the VW bus that smelled like fumes, the way she let me go with tears in her eyes.
My mother was always with me, and still is, even when she’s not. She liked to go but she never forgot to take me with her. And my life has been such a strange and stunning journey.
H.M. Jones is the B.R.A.G. Medallion honoree of Monochrome, now published by Booktrope’s Gravity Imprint. She has also written the Attempting to Define poetry collection, and is a contributing author to Masters of Time: A Sci-Fi and Fantasy Time Travel Anthology. Jones also teaches English courses at Northwest Indian College. She is a featured poet on Feminine Collective, moderator of the online poetry mag, Brazen Bitch, is the tired mother of two preschoolers, and in her “spare” time weaves, pulls with the Port Gamble S’Klallam Canoe Family, and attempts to deserve her handsome husband, whose lawyering helps her follow her dreams. You can find H.M. Jones on Facebook, Twitter (@HMJonesWrites), and her website and blog http://www.hmjones.net.
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint (books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
The post This is the Reason I’m a Wanderer by guest @HMJonesWrites appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
April 6, 2016
Are You Brave Enough to Move on? by @lisadouthitww
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what life will be like as an empty nester (probably because it is right around the corner). The last 20 years or so have been devoted to raising my family, with a side of working as an Integrative Health Coach. Not that my practice is small, it just wasn’t my highest priority. My main focus had always been raising my three children and keeping my husband sane in the process.
But now that I’ve giving the best years of my life to my kids, the little shits have decided that it’s better for them to grow up and go off to college. I only have one more year until my little one is gone too.
So here’s my question: Now what??
Are You Brave Enough To Move On?
How does one reinvent their life once all the juice is sucked out of them? Where do we turn to re-educate ourselves on what’s relevant these days? How do we tap into that internal, spiritual voice of knowledge to steer us towards our future self? Am I overthinking again? I’m really good at overthinking.
One of the best parts of being a little older is that you start to lose the care. By that I mean what others think of us isn’t as important as it was back in the day. This gives us a little more freedom to explore one of my favorite questions:
What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?
Would you go big and follow your dream, or would you make small changes in your life? Would you change the trajectory of your life or stay on course, making it a bigger version of what you already have? Would you still be afraid to make a move?
Some say that we are not afraid to fail. Instead, we are afraid of what would happen if we were to succeed. The bottom line here is that the main emotion that could be holding us back from our next chapter is fear.
Now, I’m not here to say you need to be fearless, frankly, I’m afraid all the time of some of the things I’ve been doing lately, but that never stops me from doing them anyway. Fear isn’t a bad thing, it is an ancient and powerful emotion that has allowed the human race to survive.
While we’ve evolved, this raw protective instinct of fight or flight did not. Like when we know we need to face your silent house and grieve the loss of life as we knew it so we could move on, but we instead bury ourselves in any other distracting activity to avoid the sadness. Unfortunately, this also blocks us from the ability to take our next steps.
Instead of fearing those feelings of being devastatingly sad that they are gone and running from those emotions, wouldn’t it be better to take a moment to embrace and release those feelings so we can begin creating the next phase of our life?
My guess (and hope) is that if we were to grieve, and get all those emotions out, we would be clearer in our focus as to what Part Two of our life will look like. It also would bring closure to an era that no longer exists, and make us available to embrace the future because we have let go of the past.
Moving on can suck. It can also be amazing. The important thing is to get out of our own way and be brave enough to process our situation and what we want to do with the rest of our life.
So I’ll ask again. What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? Because at this point in our lives, we’ve already succeeded in the most important part, and the rest is just icing on the cake.
Be bold and brave. You have already done an amazing job in life. You have the talent and desire, now all that is left is to pick your path and follow it with the same passion in which you raised your family.
The only way you can fail is if you never try.
About the Author
Lisa Douthit is the author of Amazon’s #1 bestselling book,
Wellness Warrior – Fighting for Life in Fabulous Shoes
and an Integrative Health Consultant who is passionate about healing from all perspectives.After struggling with multiple bouts of cancer and autoimmune disease, no one understands the physical, spiritual, and emotional rollercoaster better than she does. As one of the 40 million American women currently suffering with an autoimmune disease, she made it her mission to have a voice for all those with an invisible illness, and prove you can be well without perfect health.
She has a private Facebook Group called Wellness Warrior Tribe for all those with chronic illness looking for support and encouragement. For more out of the box thinking that is guaranteed to bring you joy, Like her FaceBook Page Here or join the tribe Here.
Come hang out with me:
Website http://lisadouthit.com
Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/wellnesswarrioronline/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/lisadouthitww/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/lisadouthitww/
Instagram: https://instagram.com/lisadouthitww/
Book info: http://lisadouthit.com/warriorbook/
Pay it Forward info: http://lisadouthit.com/warriorbook/pay-it-forward/
Goodreads page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14256495.Lisa_Douthit
Group Wellness Warrior tribe: https://www.facebook.com/groups/WWarriortribe/
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint (books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
photos courtesy of unsplash and lisa douthit
The post Are You Brave Enough to Move on? by @lisadouthitww appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
April 2, 2016
This is What I Call It: The Memory Keeper by guest @1JULIEANDERSON
*Trigger Warning*
Please welcome author, editor, supermodel Julie Anderson, co-founder of Feminine Collective, to my blog today. Julie is a survivor, powerhouse author, fundraiser, advocate for women and children, mother, model, and above all, a deep, vulnerable, beautiful soul. I’m forever grateful to have met her.
Born breach 27 hours after my mother started labor, I was welcomed as my parents’ first child. Their baby girl.
My mother and father were young. Twenty-one and twenty-two. I used to think that they were old, new parents. Now I know that they were green. Young and green.
Both of my parents worked full-time and very hard to provide for our little family. They did not have family that could help them keep an eye on me. It was just the three of us — for seven years.
I have seven memories from that time in my life.
The first memory is the one that involves me eating one of the dog’s biscuits. I remember wanting to try one because I figured it must taste like a cookie. It looked like a cookie. It tasted like cardboard.
The second memory is the one that involves me eating the entire jar of honey. In one sitting. I was hiding under the kitchen counter, out of sight, and I just could not stop myself. To this day, my love affair with sweets continues.
The third memory is one that I still can’t figure out. I remember sitting crossed legged, in the middle of the living room. I was facing my mother. Sedentary in an armchair, her silhouette was all that I could see. I could not see her face. I could feel her eyes, though. She sat there and stared at me without saying a word.
The fourth memory is the one that involves my babysitters house. I remember collecting freshly laid eggs from her chicken coop. I remember watching Sesame Street, on her gigantic TV, while lying on her awful orange shag carpet in the wood-paneled living room. I remember the babysitter’s husband too. I remember climbing all the way to the top of the tree in their backyard. I remember refusing to come down. I recall my mother; red in the face with embarrassment, standing at the bottom of that tree. Her anger rose like steam; she had to leave work early because I refused to climb down. I was steadfast and determined. I would not abandon the safety of the oak tree.
The fifth memory is a nightmare. One that still flashes in my dreams to this day. The babysitter’s husband was the main character. He had a saw. He was cutting off my arms. I can still see what was left, ragged stubs. I can still hear my screams. I can still see the blood.
The sixth memory is the one where my mother is standing on the front door stoop in her underwear, yelling at me. “Come inside right now!” It’s 5:30 in the morning. I’m in the middle of the road, screaming my head off, and covered in sweat. I had sleepwalked, from my little bedroom, right out the front door. When I hear my mother’s voice, I wake up.
The seventh memory is the one where I collected everything precious to me and ran away. A few dolls, my little tea set, a book, my cheetah stuffed animal and a few crackers; all rolled up in my blanket. I left the house my blanket of goods trailing behind me. I don’t remember where I was going. I don’t quite remember why I decided to leave, other than a vague feeling that I had to protect myself. I made it to the corner. That’s when I heard my mother’s voice. “Come inside right now!”
These memories, they are stored in the vault, filed under “before I was five.”
Forever, it seems like forever, I have carried these fragments. Lost moments in time.
Sometimes the bloody stubs, appear when I am in the bath. Sometimes I dream about sitting in the crook of that old oak tree’s arm. Sometimes I forget that I am no longer small, but I will never forget my mother’s silhouette.
Future Memories
I will never consign to oblivion the day I skipped school. That was the first and last time I was a truant. It also turned out to be the last day I attended high school.
I skipped out that day because of a boy. My high school crush broke up with me, and I was devastated. His best friend suggested we ditch fourth period, to head over to his house so that we could talk about the situation. I remember him passing me a glass of Pepsi. I remember him on top of me. I remember his friends, one after the other on top of me. I remember being sick. I could not move. I could not scream.
I remember going to school the next day. The kids in the “cool crowd” called me under their breathe “the slut who even fucked the dog.” I was so ashamed and confused. I went straight to the main office and quit school that day. I never broke my silence about the incident. I never told anyone about being gang-raped. I never explained why I tossed the rest of my school days out the window.
I will never forget the day I was enticed to jump in the policeman’s private car. I will never forget what it was like to feel his pubic hair rub against my freshly shaved gangly 16-year-old legs. I won’t disremember how proud he tried to make me feel when he said “You are an exceptional woman. I never was interested in someone your age before. It’s hard for me ya know? Most women are bitches.”
He was 30. He broke the law. Again, I never broke my silence.
I will never forget the talent scout. “You are exquisite. You will be a supermodel. I will teach you everything that you need to know.” I remember that he did not “charge” my parents a fee, to attend his modeling workshops. That was the first time I learned that nothing is ever free. I recall the payback. He was 45; I was 17.
My therapist, I don’t remember which one, I have had many – put the pieces of my puzzle together.
It all started with the babysitter’s husband.
I was quiet because I remembered.
I will never fail to remember the loss of my innocence. I will never forget how much that loss has cost me.
Julie Anderson is a fashion survivor, sort of. After spending decades globe-trotting wearing her “SuperModel” cape, she is now the Creator and Publisher of Feminine Collective.
Feminine Collective provides a platform for stories that mainstream media often denies. . Writers from around the world: women, teenagers and a few good men have contributed to the site, making it dynamic and diversified. Unlike any other site online.
She collaborates with her dynamic business partner, Marla J. Carlton, in a seamless manner. The two women have recently published Feminine Collective: Raw & Unfiltered Volume 1 : Selected Essays and Poems on Relationships with Self and Others. They have also launched the Feminine Collective Foundation, serving at risk women and children.
She is the mother of three human babies and three fur babies. She has been married to photographer Paul Empson for twenty years, because of their careers the family has lived at one time or another, on each continent. They proudly consider themselves global citizens.
An entrepreneur, publisher, writer, actress, fashion model and photographer, Julie has a creative’s vision that has yet to be satiated.
Her personal site: julieandersonofficial.com is the only authorized place on the web that showcases her career, past, present & future.
photos courtesy of Julie Anderson Official and Unsplash
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint (books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
The post This is What I Call It: The Memory Keeper by guest @1JULIEANDERSON appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
March 25, 2016
How To Turn Your Rules for Failure Into Success
I write a lot on my BadRedhead Media blog about taking responsibility for ourselves, whether that’s as writers, in book marketing, or heck, in life in general. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (and advocate for others), I never refer to myself or other survivors as victims, only survivors. Some of us are even thrivers!
From Failure To Success
Many people get stuck in victim mode, and I get it. Sometimes, life is hard, man. Mental health issues, pain, family relationships, finances — all very real obstacles to finding our zen. Yet, some of us keep going, keep striving, never giving up. What is different between those who stay down in the deep, and those who keep going?
Today, I’m focusing on writing and being an author. In my business, I interact with writers daily, whether that’s as peers, clients, or the authors in the imprint I direct. Some are on it — they comprehend fully that being an author is a business. Others, not so much.
They still believe book sales will mysteriously appear out of the sky as if lit by tiny little fairies spraying magic dust out of their tiny little arses, despite my tough love wake-up calls to the contrary (sometimes, I’m not very popular with my authors).
Let’s deconstruct.
Bill Walsh’s 10 rules for Failure:
· Expect defeat and don’t be surprised when it happens.
· Force yourself to stop looking back on the past.
· Allow yourself some time to recover and mourn your loss. But not too long.
· Tell yourself you are going to stand and fight again. You’re actually far closer to your destination than you can imagine.
· Prepare yourself for the next encounter. Your next battle. One game at a time.
· Don’t ask “why me?”
· Don’t expect sympathy from others.
· Don’t complain.
· Don’t keep accepting condolences from others.
· Don’t blame others.
Let’s deconstruct a few of these as they relate to our writing careers, and I’ll share my own stories…
Don’t Expect Sympathy From Others
Raise your hand if you’ve received a bad review. *Raises hand*
I’m no different than you. I’ve received many, many poor reviews on all of my books, particularly my first two (I have four out now). It hurts, particularly when you’re a newbie author and someone says horrible things about your precious book you’ve spent years, hours, and tears laboring over. How dare somebody not understand our personal experiences, the blood, sweat, and tears we’ve poured into this novel or memoir? Seriously, what the fuck?
It’s even worse when someone makes ad hominem (aka, personal) attacks on us which have nothing at all to do with the material. Or maybe they didn’t even read or finish the book, and still leave a review. What’s that about? Of course it’s personal! Gawd.
So, as we humans are wont to do, we rally our troops. “Did you see this awful review I got? Can you go make a comment?” and as our troops are wont to do to support us because they adore and hang on our every word (or so we believe), they immediately run over and leave a heartfelt comment berating this reviewer or reader for daring to express their hatred of our work. Who do these reviewers they think they are, having their own views and expressing them, after paying good money for a book? What is this, America?
Get Over Yourself
Ridiculous, right? It’s not at all personal, folks.
When you step away from the emotion of the situation, we sound like whiny babies and there’s a good reason for that. We are. We are acting unprofessionally. Publishing a book is an adult achievement, in a big grown-up world. So, grow up. Stop whining, and stop asking for people to feel sorry for you.
Believe in Yourself
Do you believe in your work? Your story? Your ability to write? Then stop taking it personally. One (or two hundred) bad reviews make little difference in your ability to sit down at a computer to write, unless you are that insecure (and that’s something you need to work through with your therapist or your cat). If you can open yourself up enough to learn from those reviews, great! Maybe you will become a better writer for it. Move on.
My experience: When I wrote my first two satirical humor books, I received a number of 1-2 star reviews from people who took my humor literally, calling me all kinds of terrible names, even making assumptions about my personal life. Even my own sister made a derogatory comment at one point. Hell yea, that hurt!
I realized, pretty quickly, after seeking sympathy from my writer peers for a pity party of crabcakes and melted chocolate, that nothing I said or did would change people’s perceptions of my work. I even learned a few things that helped my writing, once I got off my high horse. I matured as a person and as a writer once I faced the fact that the work is out there in the world. I’m no longer invited to the party, but there’s a kind of beauty in that:
I elicited an emotion in people, compelling enough for them to write a review railing against me or the work. That’s a win! *fist pump*
Some writers get to that same place just as quickly, others never do
It’s up to you to decide: how professional, and how serious, are you about this writing gig?
Don’t Blame Others
Wow, this is a huge one. Accepting responsibility is such a life skill, isn’t it? But, it goes two ways. Let me explain.
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I do not accept responsibility for my abuser’s actions, as no survivor ever needs to feel compelled to.
People don’t sexually abuse themselves.
Despite that, the amount of “victim-blaming” that happens in our culture is pathetic. “What did you do to fight back?” I’m often asked. Well, he was 6’6″ and had a gun. I was 11 years old and weighed maybe 80 pounds, so….
Change Your Success Paradigm
Those questions don’t take into account the psychological, emotional, and mental components either, i.e., grooming. Ignorance is one of the main reasons I speak openly about my story (writing Broken Pieces and Broken Places), created a forum for others (#SexAbuseChat on Twitter every Tuesday 6pm PST), the #NoMoreShame Anthologies, and direct the Gravity Imprint for Booktrope (bringing stories of trauma and recovery, fiction and nonfiction, to life).
While I do blame my abuser for abusing me, and I take no responsibility in what happened, I also have turned around the ‘blame’ into something positive.
Blame Is Anger — Turn it Around
When it comes to book sales, I hear from authors daily that it’s someone else’s fault their books aren’t selling. They blame readers, their publishing company, the stock market, the genre, their dog. Well, I’ve got news for you, author friends: books sales comes down to just a few things:
How well-done is your book? (written, edited, formatted, cover-designed…all of it) and
How well are you connecting with readers through your book marketing efforts?
and those are your responsibility.
True life experience: I recently created a Gravity-only promotion for all my Gravity Imprint authors. Not all participated (life stuff), and those who did saw great results! By participated, I mean:
shared one another’s tweets/shares,
advertised,
guest blogged,
paid newsletters,
connecting with readers, reviewers, and book bloggers,
got reviews —
basically, did the work!
and guess what? They did amazing: increased sales, better rankings, more followers.
Conversely, those who did very little or didn’t participate at all obviously did not see those kinds of results and aren’t very happy about it. As a group, we discuss what they could have done differently, but ultimately, the responsibility lies on them to market their own work. I adore my Gravity Imprint authors and want the very best for them — we’re a family, but I cannot do all the work for them. I create the opportunities, yet it’s on each author to take advantage and make the most of these opportunities!
Prepare Yourself for the Next Encounter
Probably the most important point, in my mind. Like the old cliché to get back up on the horse, one failure can’t make you afraid to try again. I see this a lot with authors, who are intimidated by social media; they tell themselves they can’t do it (fear), so they don’t do it for one reason or another: time, money, knowledge (still fear), and when they do finally, tentatively try it, they’re so terrified, they run away and don’t ever go back (fear, fear, fear).
Don’t be the mouse.
This happens a lot, by the way, with Twitter. How many of you have opened a Twitter account but never used it? Have no idea what to do with it? You realize, you can go into Twitter’s Help Section (which is fabulous, by the way), and spend 30 minutes reading all the basics, right? Or Google some articles from Mashable, Social Media Examiner, Buffer, or Hootsuite blogs on tips, right? Google is your friend.
This way, you’ll be prepared for the next time you go into Twitter. You’ll understand how to use it strategically to connect with readers (which it’s great for, by the way), and not as a hard-selling tool (not so great).
Stop Talking About It. Do It.
My experience: when I first took my books free (on Amazon, for KDP Select), I just ya know, took them free. I expected huge downloads, and when the books ported by over to paid, major sales. And…ha. Nothing. Very few downloads, fewer sales.
What did I do wrong? I see a lot of authors moaning about how KDP Select doesn’t work, but when I ask them what they did to work it, they are stumped. “What do you mean?” they ask me, having no idea they needed to do anything.
After my dismal failure, I studied, researched, read a lot of blog posts by authors I respected who were doing quite well. What did I learn? They created buzz around their free days. They spent money for a free promotion, which seemed kind of crazy to me, but in the end, the efforts have paid off. Broken Pieces has been #1 or #2 on the paid Women’s Poetry list on Amazon since last November, and #2 or #3 on Women Authors, as well as Top #30 on Memoirs, and Broken Places has also done quite well.
(To learn what I did, read my book marketing post on BadRedhead Media and sign up for my newsletter).
Have a Plan
Even if your book marketing plan is just a few scribbles on a napkin, that’s better than nothing. Have some idea of what your goals are, whether that’s to:
connect with readers daily on social media by discussing topics of great importance to you, or
commenting on your favorite book bloggers’ posts three times weekly, or
finding reviewers in your genre and politely writing five personalized query letters every week, or
blogging twice weekly or
planning a monthly giveaway…whatever.
Sales don’t simply fall out of the sky, cats don’t make very good therapists (though they are very soft and good for cuddles), and there’s no big red EASY button, despite what you see on TV. Turn your haphazard non-plan into a focused set of goals, and you can kick your lack of preparedness to the curb for good.
Now go kick some ass! (Or have a cookie, and then figure out Twitter. Whatever.)
Purchase Broken Pieces and Broken Places on Amazon now! Learn more about all of Rachel’s books here. Learn about the authors of the Gravity Imprint(books about trauma and recovery, fiction or nonfiction) and purchase Gravity Imprint books here.
Connect with Rachel for social media services on BadRedheadMedia.com.
pictures courtesy of unsplash
The post How To Turn Your Rules for Failure Into Success appeared first on Rachel Thompson.
