Lilith Saintcrow

The world is barren enough.

With your knowledge that life, with endless vigor, seems to tilt the playing field on which we all live, in favor of unhappiness and hate… this is what your heart tells you to do? You want to sanctify marriage? You want to honor your God and the universal love you believe he represents? Then Spread happiness — this tiny, symbolic, semantical grain of happiness — share it with all those who seek it. Quote me anything from your religious leader or book of choice telling you to stand against this. And then tell me how you can believe both that statement and another statement, another one which reads only “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” –Keith Olbermann

I could not agree more. The world is indeed barren enough.

One of the reasons I do not identify myself as Christian is because of this very issue–no, not gay marriage, but the underlying hypocrisy. People cherry-pick quotes from the Bible to justify whatever hate they feel like slinging today. They quote the Old Testament’s jealous, insecure god (with a need for praise greater than an adolescent male’s, as Ruth Hurmence Green so memorably put it) and conveniently forget that Christ hung out with the hookers and the lepers, the people he wasn’t supposed to even touch as a good Jewish boy. Those Christians who do espouse love (pun definitely intended) are so few and far between, and they usually meet bad ends at the hands of the established hierarchy. The religion (as most monotheistic religions do) relies on a division of Good vs. Evil, Us vs. Them, Kill Them First, Hate Hate Hate.

Then there’s the threat of hell if you don’t toe the line. Look, the divine love that engenders all is not going to send you to Hell. You can (and probably will) create your own hell while you live and after you die; that’s well within your purview as a human being. But God(s) doesn’t need Hell.

What parent WANTS to torture their child endlessly? A very, very bad one. And I cannot believe the Divine is a bad parent. A sarcastic one sometimes, a parent with an adolescent sense of humor sometimes, but not a bad one. Not a sadistic one, to punish us over and over again for choices made with “free will”. The fiction of eternal punishment is a lie told to keep us paying, praying, afraid, isolated, and powerless.

The world is indeed so very barren enough. Every chance of love and commitment should be cherished. Not bashed in the head by hypocrites (and let’s not even talk about the Mormon church, those who brought us polygamy and the Mountain Meadows Massacre, bankrolling this hatred and hypocrisy about the “sanctity” of marriage). It constantly amazes me that so many so-called Christians, as well as others who consider themselves “religious” or “spiritual”, have entirely forgotten the “do unto others” and the “love thy neighbor” parts of their holy one’s teachings.

I guess it must be easier to hate. But isn’t there ENOUGH hatred in the world already? Can we not add to it? Please? The fire is large and it will take so long to burn itself out. We don’t need to fuel it more.

Come sit at the feet of Auntie Lili, dear Readers. It’s Friday, which means another chapter of Selene is up–and it also means another writing post. I’m sitting here with sweat drying on me from the treadmill, having my morning cup of coffee, and feeling just the teensiest bit ornery.

So let’s talk about something writerly. Let’s talk about the I could do it betters.

(more…)

Thank you, Readers. The outpouring of support after yesterday’s post continues to be phenomenal. I hadn’t thought that my “lifting of a digital finger” (thanks to all that suggested that! I laughed until I almost cried) would be so…well, that it would garner such a response. It was profoundly liberating.

I’m proud to report that I continued on a good trend the rest of the day, trying to think before each snack, am I really hungry or is something else going on here? A couple of times I decided I wasn’t hungry, just stressed to the max. I had a big glass of water, and did some deep breathing. A couple of times I decided I really was hungry, and did all the things one is supposed to do–pay attention to eating, chew thoroughly, and drink plenty of water.

Can you tell I’ve got food issues? For me, food is bound up in security, performance, pain management, and misery. I suppose any woman in the good ol’ US, viewing what the ad companies serve on their chipped cultured platters (thank you, Emer Martin), has a problem with body image. It’s hard not to, with the wash of “skinny is better” and the “eat! eat! Super-Size!” messages playing tug of war inside our bodies, cultural spaces, and minds.

For me, it was the “Clean your plate, there are starving kids in ______, we worked hard to get you this food!” married to a “Why are you so pudgy? You should take more gym classes. You’d be such a pretty girl if you lost some weight!”

Yeah. Crazymaking. Part of my Labor Day resolve was to stop those voices inside my head. If I require that my characters face their demons, the least I can do is try to peep at mine. (What a pity they’re not tall, dark, and cinnamon-scented. Hm.) Besides, who do I want running my life? Voices from a long time ago, or me right here and now?

I want to run my own life, dammit. So much of life is out of one’s control; I want the pieces I CAN control, and what I put in my mouth is a pretty significant piece. I feel good about this, and the trick is to continue the trend. A small success in this arena doesn’t mean one can relax–it just means next time it will be fractionally easier to do what one should.

I often wonder about the self-help section in bookstores. Seems to me it’s like the diet industry–if there was one magic thing that worked, the entire billion-dollar industry would tank overnight. There is no substitute for hard work, I guess.

On the other hand, someone came into the bookstore the other day looking for a book about survival after a particularly foul and widespread type of abuse that their therapist had recommended. They could barely stammer out the name of the book, clearly embarrassed and stressed. (Thank whatever synchronicity blesses the desperate, we had it.) I’m hoping that the fact that the world didn’t end and the employee helping them didn’t even blink helped.

We forget, so often, that we are often part of a group of sufferers. What I mean is, part of the system of abuse–whether it be child abuse, sexual abuse, domestic violence, or what-have-you–is the isolation of the victim. If a victim thinks s/he is alone, shame is a powerful reason to keep silent.

Once the victim finds out they’re not the only person in the world–that there are people who have suffered the same thing, who understand, who don’t judge because they’ve Been There–sometimes the burden gets a lot easier to carry, because the shame goes down. Just finding out that one isn’t alone is a tremendous relief. Abusers count on fear and shame to keep victims silent and isolated. Breaking the isolation can help break the silence–draw the poison from the wound, so to speak.

When an abuser tries to re-engage, or tries to “hush something up”, the victim can easily fall back into the well of killing silence. If the abuser succeeds in isolating, for the first time or while trying to re-engage, the victim very quickly loses all sorts of perspective. A community can help restore perspective. It can be something as simple as a friend saying, “Dude. Look. This is f!cked up, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

When I think of “humanity”, that’s partly what I think of–the commonality, people sharing knowledge and helping each other. A community can be a repression, but it can also be a support. (Like the Sports Bra of Doom. Srsly, I promise a post on that in the near future. It’s bound to be hilarious.)

So. Thank you, all of you who commented or sent me supportive emails. I didn’t mean to make it sound like it was a huge earthshattering deal (notice how quickly I move to minimize my own discomfort? Sheesh.) but I am endlessly grateful for your support and perspective. You guys have made it easier for me to Do The Right Thing next time, and that’s one of the greatest gifts human beings can give each other.

So. For next time:

It’s Monday, which means another chapter of Selene is up. I like this chapter and the next two, because we reach the point in the book where Selene starts acting instead of reacting. Then it’s a long ante-up until the end–and I warn you right now, boys and girls, the ending is the right one. (There is, after all, another Selene book to be written. Aren’t I evil?)

And this news item made me think of Caitlin Brennan’s The Mountain’s Call, which I think was the most awesome book to come out of the Luna line EVER.

Now for something a little different. I am very proud of myself this morning.

I received an email designed to throw me off-balance and threaten me, and it almost–almost did its job. However, all the drilling and practice and work I’ve done held up. Instead of running to the fridge or beating myself up, I called one of my lifelines–the Muffin. Who made time to listen, thank God.

His usual thing is, “If there is a problem, look for a gift that problem brings you.”

So I explained the email and he started to say, “Where is the gi–oh, wait a second. There’s no gift in that, honey. Just f!ck it. Don’t even respond.”

Which was good advice, and what I needed to hear. Then I went straight for the treadmill instead of the fridge. It was hard–well, let’s face it, the hardest part is strapping myself into the Sports Bra of Doom (that’s a whole ‘nother post). Once that’s done and my socks are on, I’m already too invested in the process to back out. So really, the battle is mostly won once I get the brassiere strapped on.

God, how applicable that is to life. *snerk*

Anyway, a half-hour on the treadmill, warmup and cooldown extra, purged a lot of the stress hormones/adrenaline and I’m feeling shaky but still on-balance. And it’s time for me to say something.

This is my journal and I’ll damn well say what I want. I don’t mention a lot of things and I change names/use pseudonyms, true. That’s called behaving responsibly toward other people’s privacy, and I do so as far as is reasonable and ethical.

But I will not be threatened and I will not stop saying what I want to say. If you don’t like it, nobody is twisting your arm to read this. The Net is wide. Go find another sandbox to play in if you don’t like mine–but don’t try to poop in my sandbox and call it “concern”. Don’t threaten me and play like you’re the injured party. Go somewhere else and complain to someone who will believe you, someone who doesn’t know you like I do.

So there. Nyaaaah. *sticks tongue out*

Enough of that, though. I am seriously feeling good about finding a healthier way to respond to all this. Let’s face it–there are precious few absolutely healthy ways to deal with a manipulator who knows where to tweak you. But there are healthier ways, like using your lifelines, avoiding the person as much as you can, and finding ways to get rid of your stress that won’t hurt your body. The exercise is better for me than stuffing my face is.

The real challenge is going to be dealing with this issue next time, because I’m sure there will be a next time. So pats on the head for me–and a renewed commitment to using the healthier methods of dealing with this next time.

It’s an uphill battle, but goddamn if it just didn’t get a little easier.

I haven’t even had any breakfast yet. But it’s so quiet here–all the kids are sleeping–that I am taking the opportunity to touch a keyboard while I can finish whole thoughts without being interrupted.

Shocking, isn’t it? I write with chaos occurring around me all the time. It’s weird to have peace and quiet.

The next chapter of Selene is up. I spent some part of the weekend scheduling further posts, and making sure they’re formatted correctly. I am kind of nervous about Wednesday, because that’s when the huge smutte scene debuts. For some reason this makes me feel…no, not unclean. Not upset. What’s the word?

Ah, yes. Trepidation is the word. I have vast amounts of difficulty writing sex scenes anyway, despite all my good advice. And every time I have to revise/edit a smexxor scene I’ve written, I end up internally cringing. It just seems so…personal.

I know, I’m an idiot. I am not violating the privacy of imaginary people, no matter how much I feel like I am. Jeez.

The weekend was nice. Everyone was out of the house, either at the beach or hanging out with friends, and I had a chance to just be alone. I am a solitary person by nature, and I find it endlessly ironic that I am apparently the linchpin of this little commune/family. The Muffin is completely gregarious–he’ll start conversations with anyone–but me, I prefer to be holed up writing. And yet I’m the one who is socializing our wild little humans. Apparently they’re well-adjusted, but I can’t help thinking that’s a fluke.

I did see plenty of unsocialized (or improperly socialized) children this weekend, though. And it wasn’t at the bookstore, for once. I did grocery shopping and popped in to Target for some Princess essentials (apparently she NEEDS a certain type of tie-dyed retro shirt), and I saw a lot of parents ignoring obviously hungry and cranky children, or being physically threatening/borderline abusive to their little ‘uns. Five out of the six really egregious offenders were too busy yapping on cell phones to notice their kids were hungry and tired and DONE with this shopping thing.

This makes no sense to me. When I take my kids somewhere, I realize that they may get overwhelmed, especially the 6-year-old. I plan it very carefully–making certain the kids have enough sleep and food in them to make it easy for them to behave well. I ALSO do not talk on my cell phone while I’m driving, and only occasionally while I’m in a public place.

Here’s the thing: my cell phone is for emergencies or for imparting necessary information. “I just found _____, do we have any at home?” “What time are you going to be there?” or, “Is this something you would need for ____?” I can’t imagine why people apparently want to yap about NOTHING in the middle of a freaking GROCERY STORE while their three-year old is obviously wet, tired, and hungry. WTF?

Granted, I have a phone phobia, so that could be part of it. But really–when I’m out in a public place with my kids, I am In Charge, I am Paying Attention, and I am Keeping Track of where my little ones are. I am not engaging in a long chew-the-fat session with Aunt Fanny on the frickin’ phone. I am too busy paying attention to where my kids are, what they’re doing, and what I need to get at this store so I can go home.

What ices the cake is these people speaking ever so LOUDLY. I do not want to hear their conversations. I could care less about who is sleeping with who, what rap song you adore, how the trailer’s doing, or what the state of your thong is. (Lest you think I’m being tongue-in-cheek, these were actual subjects. I kid you not.)

The other thing, the thing that makes me so angry I can’t even see straight, is “parents” (do they deserve the name?) yanking around or shaking their kids in public. WTF? These are little people, goddammit. Would you treat another adult that way? No, because another adult would either kick your ass or call the police. Why is it okay to physically abuse your kids in public?

Maybe I’m oversensitive. I have never found it necessary to spank either of my children. I rarely even have to raise my voice. (Before you ask, yes, there are consequences for their actions. It’s not that I don’t punish. It’s that I don’t beat. I was on the receiving end of that enough as a child to remember what it’s like.) And my children are NOT little demons. They say please and thank you. They walk and do not run in public. They do not scream or stage fits in stores.

When I see someone picking on a kid literally a fourth their size, it shocks and saddens me, and makes me furious. You do not bring your four-year-old to the store without a proper snack or nap, yap on your cell phone endlessly while looking at CDs, and then shake or slap your four-year-old when she starts to cry because she’s overstimulated, bored, being ignored, and hungry. You just don’t. You spawned it, you’re supposed to be an adult and TAKE CARE OF IT now, and part of taking care of little human beings means sometimes you can’t stand around yapping on your frickin’ phone. Grow UP.

*sigh*

I really didn’t mean for this to devolve into a rant. But I am so proud of, and happy to have, my little ones. I can’t imagine treating them the way I saw several “parents” treating their kids this weekend. It just breaks my heart.

On a funny note about cell phones: I was in my regular Thai restaurant this weekend, and had occasion to observe a trio one table over eating with their BlackBerries out on the table. All three would stop their conversation with the people they were with the instant the cell phones buzzed or tinkled.

Can you imagine? These people were ignoring their lunchmates to BlackBerry, for Chrissake. When I go out to eat with someone, it’s because I want to have a conversation with them, not get interrupted by someone who isn’t even physically present. I can’t imagine, say, the Selkie putting her phone on the table and giving a higher primacy to its boops and whistles than to our conversation. I just can’t. Now, I can see her checking in with her Boy Scout about when she’s going to be home, but it’s obvious when we’re at the table that our primary focus is our conversation.

Oh yeah, and the food. I doubt any of the BlackBerry Trio even tasted their phad Thai. Which is, in my humble opinion, a damn shame.

So. It’s Monday and soon the house will start to stir. I’d better get breakfast in me. I can hear someone moving in the hall. It’s a little person.

I’m going to go hug whoever it is.

Over and out.