Drought (A Poem)

Wriggling toes on parched earth,
I look to Heaven.

Pollen flies loose
Go ahead. Blow, hot wind!

Your useless reprieve.

Seeking bees,
Beneath the surface I scratch at table tops
Yielding fruitless harvests.

Lick cracked lips.

Balance calls...

Bow!

Accept!
Own!
This is life's path!

But in the face of shining stone,
The human solution is death.

Writing Inspiration: Punk Fanboys, College, and Vinnie Pies

Pittsburgh, view from the incline

I get inspiration from everywhere. Things stick in the back of my mind - blaring neon signs begging to be shared. They bother me until I have to write them into a story. Sometimes it's unexpected. Sometimes it's conscious and intentional.

I have this love of those indie and punk rock fanboys. Really. They're my not-so-secret crush. You know the ones - the kind who wear band shirts and low slung dark jeans. They are so adamant about their views and on the turn of a dime ruthlessly mock themselves. The ones who sing you lullabies, kiss soft, and stare with such smoldering intensity you can't wait to tackle them in a broom closet, on the playground, and under the bleachers.

Ahem. That's how my character Laran came to be in the KHLOE ALWELL series.

Then there's the places that make you into who you are - colleges and universities - the ones where you party with your professors and the lines blur between mentor, employer, and friend. They live in small towns that bend around the space of the university, and everything stops in summer.It's something between UCSB, Penn State, Juniata, and Bard. That's where Alisa meets Dr. Pierce in BELOW THE BELT.

But inspiration can be more than a specific place - it can be a complete culture, including everything from the food people eat to the entertainment they enjoy.

For example, my dad's family is from Pittsburgh. Whenever we visit, we always go to Vincent's Pizza. I frickin love that place. People on the west coast do NOT understand about pizza. They don't. Anyone who claims they know what good pizza is and then talk about a national chain is stupidly limited in their exposure to good pizza.

There are several styles. There is the Chicago style, which has a time and place. There is Sicilian, also a time and place. Then there is New York, which kind of migrates from NYS down into Jersey, Philly, and west all the way to Pittsburgh. Seriously (I've been to these places and lived there - trust me on this.). These are the kinds of places that have crust so thin in the middle it falls apart when you pick it up. The sauce has simmered for days, because health codes can't get in the way of taste. The cheese is piled high. Once baked, the crust bubbles and the grease settles in the center, threatening a coronary.

So yeah, every Rollins boy loves Vinnie's pies. And he loves the Steelers. And the Pirates. And the Penguins. Because that's what it means to be from Pittsburgh, something that only people with ties to Pittsburgh understand.

And I wanted to share these things, because they were so important to my own formation. They marked my days and nights and built me into the woman I am today. How could I not write about them? About smoldering eyes, fun colleges, and delicious pizza?

These are the things I pull from reality to give readers a glimpse. They are the details that build believable books.

What's so special about Santa Barbara?

This post is part of the #OpenBook Blog Hop where readers get the chance to learn a little more about authors. This week's theme is what is special about where you live. Enjoy!

A Santa Barbara sunset #nofilter

I live in a magical place. Mythical. Wondrous. Exceptional. These are all words that describe Santa Barbara County (and it is why I reference it in the Khloe Alwell series). I couldn't pick just one thing that makes Santa Barbara County unique or special, so I made a list:

1. Santa Barbara is one place in the world where the coastline runs from east to west. The mountains are to the north, while the ocean is to the south. This means both sunsets and sunrises are over water.
2. You know you're in Santa Barbara because of the flowers. Even amid the worst drought ever, flowers continue to blossom. Not just Yucca or mustard, but ice plant, trumpet flowers, jasmine, poppies, and bougainvillea are common sights.
3. Celebrities are common citizens. As in, everyone who lives in SB County has a "celebrity story." Maybe Jeff Bridges served you soup at a charity event, or you got a shot poured by Michael Jordan on State Street. Maybe Kenny Loggins sang the national anthem at your kid's little league game.
4. To be perfectly politically incorrect and blunt, an SB 10 is like a 20 on everyone else's scale. Hanging out with an SB 7 is like hanging out with a Phoenix 10+. As a rule the scenery is, ahem, spectacular.
5. I can walk to several wine-tasting rooms from my house. And they are all drinkable, with several that are exceptional. There are hundreds of wine-tasting rooms in SB County. If you like old-world high-tannin style, you can get that. If you like new-world fruit-forward, that is here in abundance. And just like they say in Sideways, the pinots are, well, get some pinot!
6. Cowboys, hippies, and Hollywood types all live in peace here, and often attend the same events. Somehow. Miraculously.
7. Produce here is amazing. Despite the drought. Organic fruit and veggies fresh from the farm down the road are available at different farmers' markets throughout the county. My personal favs are all the berries, white peaches, and avocados.
8. Even though pretty much everything here is more expensive (it is one of the top real estate markets in the country), you can still get delicious $1.00 tacos every Tuesday at most neighborhood Mexican restaurants.
9. The courthouse is worth sitting in with a latte. Seriously. It is beautiful, complete with sunken gardens, Spanish tiles, and spectacular murals.
10. The mission is gorgeous, no matter how you feel about the Catholic church - you have to give it to them. They know decor. Santa Barbara's is called the "Queen of the Missions" for a reason.

Have you had a Santa Barbara experience? Something you would add to the list? Leave a comment below!

Also, if you want a good beach read involving romance and motorcycles (of course!) check out P.J. Fiala's book Dog Days of Summer!
  

The End (A Poem)

There are so many thoughts running through my head. At first I thought I would just journal, but then I thought maybe there are some other people who are experiencing these things.

So, as a writer tends to do, I will share. This piece reflects on issues within the last few chapters of THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO and serves as a reminder that even when we've gotten through part of the journey, there's always more time to be in the crucible.
***************

How can a parent consciously choose something that would be bad for their child? How can a parent willfully choose the interest of a friend, stranger, or the altar of an all-mighty idea over the best interest of their child? Their grandchildren?

How can a person not see what is in their best interest? How can a person not see what will be the best for their family? Community? City? State? Country? World?

I thought these things were obvious. I feel like they are obvious. They are so GOD DAMN OBVIOUS HOW COME YOU CAN'T FIGURE THIS OUT?!?!

It must be a lack of empathy.
It must be some an attachment to a mental self unrelated to reality. So they vote for their pretend best interest, instead of reality. This is torture.

Did you know there are black churches burning in the south? In a week. Less than every 2 days...one lights.

The mustard dried up.
And the brush burns.
What a sickly gas!

I cough and sputter when smoke blows on the wind. The sun grows dark and I close the windows hoping it passes - thankful for people trained, given full benefits, and protected by unions who brave the flames.

And it's one thing when it's a dusty canyon. It's another when it's a wooden church. A church - a place of prayer, of love, hope, and peace. A sanctuary - where people seek shelter from the storms of life, of which there are so many....crossing the mid-west it feels like pinball.

Bouncing us all around, pick a season, pick a weather - you will find it here!

And here we are. And I keep watching people on their journeys, sharing their excitement - sharing their successes and while I smile I can't help feeling I should be further along.

I was supposed to be further along.

I'm supposed to be more than I am.

I was supposed to have a house, a newer car, a career, a savings account. I was supposed to have a name for myself. I was supposed to be established. I was supposed to feel secure.

I was, I was. I was!

But I am. I still am. It is hard to read another peer bought another house. It is hard to see another peer beginning their family in safety and comfort. They don't have my worries. They don't feel my squeeze.

I remind myself this is transition. I remind myself this is not forever. I refuse to let this be much longer. I refuse to withstand this longer. I can't watch my husband sacrificing so much - so much, for so little. He deserves so much more. We deserve so much more. Our son deserves so. much. more.

I will find it. I will get it. I will have this. I have this. I got this. Just a little more. Just a little longer. By this time next year, the world will look differently.

I feel this. I know this. It sits in my gut, a burning coal.
I could choke on the smoke, but I don't.
I'm Ms. Fusion in a lake of flame.
Nothing touches my heat.

And you know, the world doesn't end with water.

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For more about my story, read THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO in digital, and paperback.

As an indie author, I'm a bit like a local business and depend on the love and support of readers like you. Please check out my website and become a patron.

Birth of A Siren

Every day I ache, a wretched invisible ache. My wounds are hidden from view unless I choose to share them. Unless I reveal them, no one ever knows. No one ever sees. And they have no idea how painful it is to hear, to read their opinions – thoughts that deny my experience. Ideas that mock my life. That mock my ache.

How many ways can a woman suffer at the hands of men? Sometimes it feels like my life is an attempt to answer this question. Pick a chapter of my life, and I will show you. I spin around, eyes closed, and throw a dart. Find another way. Find another wound.

The beginning was so early. A toddler. A hidden memory. A dream? And it left its marks all over me. I never trusted adults, especially men. I didn't trust my own family members. I didn't trust boys. Any volatility was a sign to steer clear. Every action, from avoiding the toilets outside of teachers' sight at school, to walking home a block away from a group of boys, it was all calculated defense.

Stay invisible. Stay safe. Stay outside of reach. I won't get hurt – again.

But the stage was set. Another boy, another time, bent on abusing his power. And I gave mine away. I gave it away because I didn't know I had it. I didn't know who I was yet. So I took his scathing tongue. I took his sharp hand. I let him tear me down, as if it was okay, as others watched, doing nothing. Doing nothing because they didn't know better? Doing nothing because they agreed? Why doesn't matter.

Followed walking home. Anonymous letters. Laced drinks at a party. Betrayed by someone once trusted. Telling and no one believes me. No one knows what to do. No one knows how to act. No one knows what to say.

It must be my fault, right? I must have done something. I must have deserved all this. Because I wasn't dressed in Kevlar. Because I wasn't carrying a taser. Because I didn't kick him in the balls when he was sitting with me and my friends at lunch, smiling, and joking like we're all good here. Because I should have known that everyone close to me is a potential attacker. I should have hid my body even more...somehow suppressed the intense curves I was born to have. I should have… I should have… I should have…

And I am alone.

I call into the chaos, speaking truth and a thousand poisonous daggers point back.

I'm too mean. I'm a bitch. I'm too sexy. I'm a whore. I'm too pretty. I'm a slut. I'm too vocal. I'm annoying. I'm too smart. I'm wrong. I'm too much.

I'm a woman.

I'm monstrous feminine.

Despite the hidden scars I carry, the pain I feel when reading denials of my experience, I stand here. I stand, with natural armor, acquired through my battles. My skin is beautiful, perfect for withstanding any siege. I smile, baring teeth, my threat plain. I stand, proclaiming truth, defying the chaos. And my power whips about me, a hurricane beating against blind shores. I walk, back straight, head high. I wield my ache like a battle cry, a siren's call into the void.

Hear me!

Hear me sisters!

Our time is now.

Claim your power.

Claim your right.

Speak.

Stand.

Fight.

****************

If you want to learn more about my story and how I gained my perfect armor, reserve a copy of my book THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO. To follow a crash course of my process, reserve a copy of TRANSFORM TO THRIVE: 32 DAYS FROM VICTIM TO SUPERHERO. 

THRIVE Book Launch Week 6: Temping

Keep moving. It's all temporary.

Recently I had an epiphany, which is strangely related to THRIVE.

I realized even though I still get freaked out, depressed, or angry, even in the moment I see the experience of those feelings as temporary. Before, I felt bad and it made me feel like the whole world was awful and there was no light. Now I recognize I am reacting to a specific situation, which will pass, and it does nothing to hinder my progress.

Before I might have wallowed. Now I give myself the freedom to feel, accept the feeling, and then move on to do what has to be done.

My core situation is solid - I have my family. We love each other. Everything else is dressing. Everything else is a game. I move the pieces. I try different things. I experiment. I have fun. I get annoyed. And at the end of the day, I come back to my husband and son.

While I haven't been in war, I've been torn down enough to know that I have what really matters in life. I have family, friends, and an extensive support network who surround me with love. In this, I have been extraordinarily successful. And I am profoundly grateful for this situation, and for the epiphany that everything else in life is just fun and games.

Really.

That is not to say that my actions don't matter, or that I don't want to have a legacy for my son, or a positive impact on my community, country, and planet. I do want those things.But I am open to how they play out. I am detached from a specific result. I intend to enjoy the ride. I intend to enjoy helping as many people as I can with THRIVE. I intend to enjoy fulfilling the purpose given to me. I intend to enjoy every moment of life, even the angry, sad, or anxious ones. All of these things are gifts. All of them are part of the experience - part of the game.

And it's all good. Truly it is.

************************************
LAUNCH UPDATE

It's a bit of a mixed bag, and I feel like last week was a blur. Maybe the stress of the marathon involved with this process finally caught up to me. Whatever it was, I was exhausted all week and had trouble focusing on tasks. That said, I was able to finish the following:

• Patreon blog post
• Patreon art upload
• Regular blog posts
• Incorporated magicworkers' suggestions into press kit
• Scheduled a meeting with a "connector" who has a lot of similar interests and influential friends
• Finished west coast press kit contact database (in hopes of speaking engagements)
• Reached out to connected friends at several universities
• Finished revamping LOVERS & RIVALS
• Determined ideal camera set up for videos
• Recorded prelim/video tests (need to redo for the perfect ones)
• 43% revamped LILITH & AMMON
• 75% done with "influences" page on author website
• Created "author ambassador" contact form and solicited from friends and other connections.
• Downloaded fonts for new covers
• Downloaded grammar extension for word processor

And the plan for this week is:

• Finish LILITH & AMMON
• Finish formatting THRIVE
• Finalize revamped covers for KHLOE series
• Patreon EXCLUSIVE upload of a short story
• Blog posts
• Finalize "influences" page
• Finalize first video set (especially Patreon ones)
• Upload KHLOE books with revamped covers to all outlets
• Upload new covers to website & blog
• Finalize east coast contact database
• Have meeting with connector and follow up on any relevant brainstorming/ideas

I think that's it...but I'm a little scattered at the moment. I'm experiencing that temporary feeling of anxiety the closer I get to pre-order day (May 15). In the end, everything will be what it will be...BUT, I still don't want to get caught with my pants down. I know that everything could always get picked and prodded more, and that I just have to let that go. I can't know what people will get riled about, or what will speak to people. I can't worry about it. In the end, it was my life. You can't argue with experience. It was. It speaks for itself. And I can't control what others hear.

Who Never Read 50 Shades

Recently there has been a war in social media about 50 SHADES. I have a theory about why.

For the most part there are three groups in this fight. The first says the book is poorly written but entertaining drivel. They say it has nothing wrong. There were no rape scenes. It wasn't abusive. It's just erotica etc etc.

Then there are others who read it and hated it not because of the writing quality necessarily, but because of the message communicated to women and girls about BDSM and sexual relationships.

The most extreme warriors in this battle are those who never read the book and will not see the movie. These are the people who have started Twitter campaigns and written editorials. These are the people who unfollow and unfriend fans.

I think the first group has lived in blissful ignorance of the experiences of the other two. The fans cannot have experienced physical abuse or sexual violence and comfortably enjoy these books. How can you read about someone getting hit or humiliated or dominated and feel comfortable if you experienced sexual violence or physical abuse yourself? Maybe these fans have never experienced overt misogyny. They don't know what it is like to be told, in no uncertain terms, that they are worthless because they have a vagina. Whatever the case, they have seemingly gone through life unscathed.

The second group, my guess, has had some abuse experience either through friends or family, or directly to a mild amount. They have suffered at the hands of someone with more power. They have experienced or watched someone else suffer through something. They are allies to those who have bore the brunt of the abusive statistics and they recognize the connections between popular entertainment and the normalizing of such behavior.

The last group, the anti-fans, are the ones we really need to pay attention to. These are the people we need to take the time to understand and empathize with. These are our canaries in the coal mine. I believe these are the most likely to have suffered directly. They are the ones who were manipulated, molested, beaten, or raped. They are the ones who were stripped of their power by someone they trusted. They were the ones who have been told by society it was their fault. They are the ones who discovered the very people closest to them would not come to their aid when they were abused.

When I was younger I was told by a friend, the people who are most sensitive, most outspoken about abuse, are those who have experienced something directly. Let's consider the statistics. 1 in 3 women will be sexually or physically abused in their life time. That is ONE BILLION WOMEN. Of the women alive today, one billion of them have or will be abused physically or sexually.

That's a lot of people.

Think about your Facebook feed. Think about your friends. Think about your Twitter, G+, and Instagram followers. Think about the people you grew up with. How many of them reacted poorly to this book? The movie? Maybe they were impacted directly by abuse. It is possible. It is likely.

Statistically you know someone who has been raped. You know someone who was molested. You know someone who was beaten. You know someone who was verbally abused. You probably know many someones. Just because it happened doesn't mean they would tell you. Don't assume you were judged to be a safe person. These are the things we don't talk about. These are things society says are shameful.

So if you are a fan of this infamous piece of pulp, think about what it tells those people, what they hear out of your mouth: I am not safe. I am not going to protect you. I stand with your abuser.

And all you thought you said was, "It was a fun Saturday read."

Ignoring the News

Sunflowers to brighten the day...

I seriously need to stop reading the news. Just completely. I need a news detox. I need fluffy cats, fuzzy bunnies, and baby videos. Lots of silly baby videos. And Saturday Night Live. Some Tina Fey.

Part of the reason is I get so pissed off when I read it. Part of it is I get so depressed. I lose faith in humanity and the world generally. I just get this awful aching feeling in my gut and that small voice in my head says,

"See. We are going to Hell in a hand basket. Soda and peanuts for a charge..."

I wonder if the world will be okay for my son. What will happen to him? I wonder if I will continue to see the blue sky and green grass, or if we are doomed to super winters in some places and legendary droughts in others...forever. For the rest of my life. For the rest of his.

I wonder why leaders think it is a good idea to go to war when we aren't taking care of our recent vets, let alone civilians at home.

I wonder why people intentionally want to hurt others while couching it in terms of "personal choice" or "maintaining national identity."

Looking at pictures of new babies on my social media feed and I think, what do they have to look forward to? Is it enough to be fed, be loved, and have a place to sleep? Is that enough? Because it feels like nothing else is certain.

Despite these feelings of desperation and depression, I cling to my one true solace - my one true love - my words. Precious, perfect, wonderful words. At least I write the light as well as the dark. That is some solace. And maybe someone reading it will be impacted in a positive way. I can't know. I can only hope. But the hope is what keeps me going.

My most consuming project is not Khloe, though I love that series and gives me hope. No. My most consuming project is dark, difficult, and real. It really happened. That is what makes it so painful, so awful. And I relive it as I write. I relive every second. Anyone who has experienced what I have knows this. When you write, when you talk, it is being back there. And I don't do it because I hate myself, or I want to beat myself up. I relive every second in hopes the lessons I learned, my experiences, were not a simple personal thing, but something that others can grab on to. I want someone else to read about me and know, in her heart of hearts, "I am more than this," and "I am not alone."

We are never alone. I hold on to this thought every day.

There is my husband, who can make me laugh at the drop of a hat. He has this magical ability to crack my mother into hysterics, which makes everyone laugh, because its such a strange full body thing, she gives herself over to the experience so completely. It is such a joy to see someone else enjoying life. It is infectious and I can't help but crack into hysterics along with her.

I look at my son, who both relieves and creates stress. He relieves it because he is full of smiles and laughs, and play. He is full of wonder and life and love and I can't get enough of it. He is a source of stress, not because of the tantrums and the buttons he pushes. He is a source of stress because I know the evil in the world, and I wish he will never experience it...but he will. We all do at some point. We all know evil. There is no avoiding it. And that stresses me the hell out, because I know, even if I do everything right, I cannot protect him from the world.

So I need to avoid the news. I need to forget about Brian Williams and other talking head lies. I need to avoid the fact that police and civilians alike shoot and kill each other over the most mundane and preposterous awful things. I need to forget that women still fight for a voice, and alternative genders struggle to have even the space straight women have. I need to forget that war rages, and violence stains hands and dirt. I need to ignore the fact that we may have killed our species through some Icarus type hubris.

So please, send me your best cat videos. Send me your fuzzy bunny memes and your witty sketch and improv comedy. Recommend a good guided meditation and a fantastic quantum physics article about how small and pointless this human experience is in the vastness of space. I need a break.

The Crazy American Commenter Guy

If you are going to market yourself, do it intelligently.

If you are going to argue, argue intelligently.

But if you want to be spectacularly bad at both, then be ready.

I say this because I recently received a comment moderation request for my last post by an anonymous person (who left their website link...so real anonymous). It was so strange because my last post was about hanging out with my husband and my child and then my upcoming performance with my father. You know, it wasn't political or hyper feminist in the least. And then I got this comment request by a person with a website that is devoted to boycotting American women...because apparently we're just the worst.

I've included the comment text below interspersed with comments by myself, directed to Mr. Anonymous (who I have not identified because I just can't bring myself to visit his website).

"I am an American man, and I have decided to boycott American women. In a nutshell, American women are the most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don’t know how to cook or clean, don’t want to have children, etc. Therefore, what intelligent man would want to get involved with American women?"

Well, sir...I find it strange that you decided to comment on my blog which is written by an American woman who has never cheated, or divorced, can cook gourmet meals (and enjoys to), likes a clean house (Thanks to my American mother), and has one child already (would like to have another at some point). It would seem not only is your comment placed on an inappropriate post of mine (which highlighted all these things), but also that you thought my readers would be interested in such drivel. You did no research.

"American women are generally immature, selfish, extremely arrogant and self-centered, mentally unstable, irresponsible, and highly unchaste. The behavior of most American women is utterly disgusting, to say the least."

A group cannot be pigeonholed in this manner. I, for one, was regularly complimented on my wisdom beyond my years from many people. As to selfishness, I think you'll find generally motherhood makes one a bit unselfish (there is always someone who comes first). To my own case, I was brought up in the Church where I was taught to stand up for people and take care of people in need. One of my degrees emphasized non profit service in an effort for social change. I hardly think that kind of interest is "selfish" or "irresponsible." To be able to complete something like this, one needs to be very organized and have a clear mind. Unstable is not a word that applies.

I have no idea what unchaste means. Do you mean having sex at all? Loose? Promiscuous? Enjoying the bodily gifts one has been given by God? Seeing as I've only been in monogamous relationships in hopes of securing a serious attachment (which I did and have been in for almost 8 years) I hardly think this applies.

"This blog [I have not included the link because...why?] is my attempt to explain why I feel American women are inferior to foreign women (non-American women), and why American men should boycott American women, and date/marry only foreign (non-American) women."

Sir, remember Americans are the products of many cultures. We are a nation of immigrants. If anything, this has given us many wonderful cultural elements that are unique to America and should be celebrated. That said, it is a huge country with many distinct cultures. People in New York, for example, are quite different from those in Oklahoma. And people from the city are quite different from those in rural areas. This diversity is interesting, exciting, and beautiful. It also means you cannot talk about Americans as a single homogenous group. We defy stereotyping.

I have lived abroad in many countries and can say that women abroad are just as likely to be selfish, crazy, promiscuous, incapable of cooking or cleaning, and uninterested in motherhood. These traits are not something that can be attributed to a single nation, but to people anywhere.

Also most straight American men, like straight American women, like sex. They like love and relationships generally. American men are not going to boycott them. Geographic opportunity forbids it. The only other option would be mail-order brides which is such a weighty conversation that I would have to write an entire other blog post!

It is clear from your comments sir, that you have been hurt by someone. Maybe you weren't asked out or were rejected repeatedly. Maybe you're insecure about your own abilities. Maybe you had an idea in your head as to what you think all people and relationships should be and someone didn't live up to your standards. Maybe you just watched a little too much TMZ, MTV, and Fox and concluded American women were wretched from this limited portrayal. Whatever the case may be, it is clear to me you need help from a certified counselor, and possibly evaluated by a psychiatrist. At the very least you should consult a religious leader in your community about your attachment to this resentment fuelled anger you have decided to broadcast across the internet.

Either that, or you are an amazing troll, in which case well done. I laughed loud and long and heartily enjoyed writing this blog post. Thank you so much for this excellent diversion! I am sure my readers enjoyed it as much as I did!

Bootstrappers, A La Carts, and Whole Hogs

I hate the word "independent" because I feel like it's false advertising. Writers should come with labels just like vegetarians:

I'm a pesca-ova-lactarian.
I eat cheese, and chicken, but no beef.
I'm a cheese and veggie kind of girl.
No, I don't even eat honey.

Now, to be honest, I think anyone who eats any kind of animal flesh cannot call themselves vegetarian. When it comes to animal products, I think there are really three categories of food consumers: vegans (purists), vegetarians (digestively challenged?), and everyone else (see-foodists).

That's kind of how I feel about writing, but maybe there's a few additional categories.

There's the traditional writers (whole hogs), or those who went with publishers (big 6 or otherwise). Then there are the hybrid writers, which are kind of like those pesca-ova-lacta-poultry-bullshit vegetarians - trying to reap the rewards of both labels (many of them doing an excellent job, it should be noted!).

Then of course, there are the a la carts. These are people who pay someone else to do various writing services. Now, I'm not saying it isn't a good idea to involve other people, or that we don't need help...but...call a spade a spade. A. LA. CART.

And finally, there's the bootstrappers. The purists. The people who are so committed to the idea of indie, it's embarrassing. I have pictures of these people in my head - you know, that crazy straight-edge punk in your freshman dorm who wrote "straight-edge" in his own blood and then listened to the Misfits all day? Yeah. Those people. Totally bonkers. I mean, why - why - would anyone in their right mind choose to go completely DIY?!

Ahem.

*waves frantically with both hands while jumping up and down and grinning maniacally*

HIIiiiiii! That'd be me.

I'm a bootstrapper. I hate when someone who is only sort of independent claims this word. It's my word. It belongs to people like me. I'm the epitome of independent. I do everything myself. I'm responsible for my complete success or failure. I'm responsible for the flowery words, the typos, the turns of phrase, and the paragraph going off on someone's delicious sandwich (food centered today apparently). Me. Only me. I'm the American myth - the American legend. I am the American dream. I'm completely, beautifully, gloriously independent. Those other guys are posers! Pretenders! They say you need to have an editor. You need to go to conferences. You need to have a cover designer. But that's bullshit. I don't need these things. I can do it myself.

Be precise with your language people! I mean, we're frickin' writers here!

I imagine this is what being vegan must feel like.

Sort of.

Except, the thing is, help is nice. I don't actually begrudge people for paying for services. I just hate feeling like everyone has a sugardaddy footing their service bill. I mean, those conference tickets are expensive. Hundreds of dollars could pay my monthly loan payment (one of them anyway). As my starving artist indie self, I really can't purchase entry to a writer's conference. I can't justify spending hundreds of dollars on editing services when I need to buy clothes for my baby and tools so my husband can do his job.

I'm not in the same league as these other "indie" authors. We're not in the same league because we have different levels of support. Living on one income, while being a stay at home mom, and writing...it's not easy. Granted, I was forced to develop a bunch of skills. I was forced to research things on my own. I was forced to do things that if I'd been in a comfy big 6 situation, I would never have done. You know, like figuring out how to make beet burgers, kale chips, or baking with agave nectar.

There's a reason why bootstrappers are so tough. It might take us a while to get where we're aiming, but we'll get there. We stumble and we trip, and we take detours. But we do our own course correction. We figure it out on our own. I mean seriously, how much more American can you get.

You Don't Deserve Anything

I'm glad that some people have framed this whole mess as an act of violence against women. I'm glad that people have recognized this as an issue of privilege and delusional expectations.

I am thankful it is causing discussions about handguns yet again and about the psychological states of our youth. I am glad of those things.

If the disturbed young man involved in this horror was in fact a sociopath (which I think is safe to say he is an "unsuccessful sociopath" judging by the transcription of his video) he could not have been rehabilitated. All the therapy about misplaced mommy rage would have no impact. If on the other hand, it was a case of entitlement - i.e. he should be able to have anything he wants whenever he wants, including women, there may have been the possibility of redemption.

Though I personally believe this kid was a sociopath, I think his language speaks to a greater issue that impacts not only the criminally insane or mentally disturbed, but all young people. That is the issue of entitlement, specifically male entitlement.

I find it to be profoundly disturbing that entitlement can go this far. It makes me think of how I want to raise my son and how many in younger generations expect certain things to be handed to them. Fair warning, I may offend you (especially if you have been spoiled, sheltered, or have weirdly thin skin).

For these lovely entitled individuals and all parents everywhere (please talk about these things with your kids if you haven't already) I have this to say :

1. You don't always get what you want. Even if you have a trust fund.
2. Other people are not objects to be used and discarded at will.  They are people with dreams, thoughts, goals, and desires all their own.
3. Other people have thoughts and feelings which are completely unconnected to whatever your issues might be.
4. Other people's feelings have value that is equal to yours. This means they deserve respect, even if they are the opposite to yours.
5. If no one likes you, it's not their problem. It's yours.
6. If you ask someone out and they say no, you can ask them why. If it has to do with one of your personal character flaws, guess what? You can choose to change it, or let it be.
7. You do not deserve anything except what you earn for yourself. If someone decides to give you something, it is a gift and should be received with gracious humility.
8. If you want to change a situation, first examine yourself. What would you need to do in order to make something happen that you want? Decide what those things are and do them.
9. Don't whine. You have no right to whine unless you've tried to change your situation.
10. You're not inherently special. Get over yourself.

Isla Vista Mass Murder: One UCSB Grad's Perspective

This morning I heard about the tragedy in Isla Vista. There are a number of things I thought and felt immediately.

I was there - not there last night, but there just a few years ago. I used to hang out in IV with my graduate student friends. I used to make late night runs to Freebirds to eat ridiculously messy nachos when nowhere else was open. I used to drink wine at department parties off of Del Playa.

If this had happened a few years ago, it could have been me shot, maimed, or killed. It could have been my friends. It could have been my professors. That's what makes this so horrible.

A mass shooting isn't terrible because of the death. That happens all the time. Gang shootings happen all the time. But those have specific intended targets. Those happen in places I rarely if ever frequent. They would never happen to me. Mass shootings are horrible the same way 9/11 was horrible: nowhere, nothing, is sacred or safe.

My mother had the reaction that no doubt most liberals/centrists will have - ban handguns. "This would never happen in Britain!" she said.

That's true. It wouldn't happen in Britain. But it wouldn't happen in Britain for several reasons. Yes, having fewer guns on the street would make a difference (crazy, impulsive, or enraged people would have less access), but there are other things going on here.

How many mass shootings have happened in the US? I feel like every time I turn around another one has happened. The shooter in question is deemed "crazy" as if this is enough to satisfy the public and that's the end of it. Except here's the thing - people keep acting out in this way. It's become normal. It's now normal for people to shoot up the place when they're freaking out. It's now normal for a person to explode in an incredibly hurtful way and take it out on innocent and uninvolved parties.

Let me tell you something; that is not normal.

That is preposterous.

The question arises, why is this happening? Why are people so messed up in the head they feel the need to externalize their hurt onto their community?

I can hear the questions now about this particular shooter:

• Was it a failing grade?
• Did his girlfriend break up with him?
• Was he suffering a psychotic break?
• Did he forget to take his medication?
• Was he recently returned from a tour of duty?
• Was he on drugs?

But these are the wrong questions. These answers may lead to the reason why the actions took place, but not the thoughts. What drove this person to think that taking a gun through a college community and shooting at random strangers was a good idea? Weren't there a thousand other thoughts that could have gone through this person's head before that? Wouldn't a person have to be extremely desperate and disturbed to reach that point?

And that's the issue.

I think as a culture these horrible outbursts have become normal because all of the stress, depression, and anxiety we suffer on a daily basis is unacceptable to discuss. Therapy may have become more common place, but it still has a stigma associated with it. Men, while more present fathers and husbands, are still not allowed to cry or admit weakness in wider culture. How often do you see a TV hero cry? I honestly can't remember a time (Though maybe I've seen it once or twice, I mean, law of averages and all that.).

We don't just need to ban handguns. That's not enough. We need to talk. We need to address the underlying cultural and psychological issues that lead people to commit these kinds of acts - to thinking these are acceptable and normal.

Talking is normal. Crying is normal. Taking a gun and shooting innocent people because you feel rejected by women or you failed a class is not.

I'm Not Beautiful

"You look beautiful tonight."

This could be a compliment, or it could be condescension.

Does a woman appreciate this compliment when she just spent an hour on her appearance for a date? Of course. But what about when she just gave a speech? Sang a song? Performed in a play? Taught a class? Created an art piece? Solved an equation? Invented a life-saving mechanism? Won a court case?

How disparaging is that comment now? How belittling? When I hear a man (because 9 times out of 10 it is a man) saying this, I cringe.

Why is it that appearance trumps accomplishment? Beauty fades. It's gone in an instant. There's nothing a person does to be beautiful. You're born that way, or you're not. Money spent on lotions, pills, dyes, serums, and surgeries is wasted. They give limited success and only serve to make you feel even worse about yourself because they highlight things you can never have or ever get back.

Why congratulate someone on their beauty when they just accomplished something wonderful? Wouldn't the commenter's words be better suited to give specific compliments about the accomplishment rather than belittling the woman by referring to something she has little control over (despite what make-up PR campaigns would have you believe)?

When I do something big, be it publish my tenth book, win an Oscar, or receive a Fulbright, don't tell me that I look pretty no matter how fantastic I look. In that moment, I'm not beautiful. I'm accomplished. Congratulate me on that.

The House, The City: The Crunchy Hipster Dream

Mom, Dad, Baby & kitty? (wikipedia)

Lately Christian and I have been thinking a lot about where we want to go and how we want to live. It's a question that colors our thoughts daily especially as we've been living with my parents since late October. I love my parents and I love having our family close to them and to my in-laws - especially for our baby's sake; but it's also increased some stress levels for everyone (Yesterday I actually saw lights, my blood pressure spiked so high - not good!).

We have to decide where we want to go long term and how we want to live when we get there. In short, we have to have plans (seeing a trend with me these days?).

Because of Christian's job situation and me being at home, writing with our baby, Southern California (or rather California generally) hasn't really been very hospitable. California has 13 of the top 15 most unaffordable real estate markets in the country. Several of them were areas where we have lived because that's where the jobs were. The others in the state that had work for Christian had something else really unappealing (like horrible air quality or ridiculously high temperatures and no water ANYWHERE). Plus, there are some cultural things in Southern California that we're not interested in having our children exposed to.

Needless to say, California really doesn't feel like a place we can stay without increasing our stress levels enormously. But I also don't want our kids to be far from family...

That means the west coast is the best coast (though I wouldn't mind being back east, I think that wouldn't sit well with either set of grandparents). So where can we go and feel good (financially and otherwise) in the west?

Well seeing as we eat salad and recycle, and think brown people should have rights we can't move anywhere in Arizona (crossed off list). Nevada feels like the same kind of situation, if a little more...uh...seedy organized crime and less vigilante. Idaho...has some possibilities, but it's also pretty conservative politically and I'd rather not live anywhere where accidental eavesdropping could make Christian get into a brawl.

So...that leaves Oregon and Washington.

I love seasons. I love snow (especially when I can cross-country ski in it). I love apples and wool sweaters and fireplaces. I'm not a huge fan of gray, BUT if I have some awesome things to focus on, I can love a place despite gray. Christian hasn't lived in snow, or seasons, but he hates heat. He's a sweatball, and our son takes after him, so I think snow and rain is a better choice for our family than dirt and 120 F.

Plus, we have some friends up there, which is appealing to both of us.

We've played around with different locations and researched things and so far our top two choices are Bellingham WA and Corvalis OR. The question is when and how.

At this point we're thinking around a year and a half from now, or something like that will be a good time to move. This will give us some time to pay off our educational loans (or at least pay them down) and create a nest egg of sorts. Right now that nest egg could be either a micro house on a trailer base (a serious interest for both Christian and me), or a savings account for moving/down payment, or both (ideally both, but we may be able to swing things with one or the other).

If we can pull this off, we'll be in really good shape. We'll have a mountain of debt off our shoulders. We'll own our home (if not the land it's on...yet) and we'll be in our dream location (at least for this part of life). We're focusing on it, which means it will happen, for sure, right? :-D

Poor? Then You're Bad

If you are poor, you are bad. Why else would the American society, government, and economy be set up to penalize the poor? Let's explore all the ways the poor are punished, and how this punishment keeps people impoverished, and even works to further impoverish those on the bottom.

Firstly, in a capitalist society where money is king, poverty is connected with low status. Necessarily, someone who is poor not only has little power, as capital is a type of power - a way of changing one's environment or situation - but a poor person has low status because they are labeled as a loser in the game of capitalism.

Along with "loser" label comes the associated visible distinctions. Someone with high net worth has a certain appearance - they have nice things, they have good health (because up until this point health was something someone had to buy), they have good education, good connections, and the list goes on. These things are visible to even the most casual observer in how clothes fit, their condition, to even the vocabulary and cadence of a person's voice.

This highlights the problem of quality of life. Because a poor person doesn't have the capital to take care of such needs, like preventative health care, a good portion of their income ends up being spent on emergency situations. For example, I can't afford to pay a dentist for a regular check-up so I wait until my teeth hurt and instead of getting a cavity filled, I now require a root-canal. The cavity would have cost less, but because there wasn't spare income to cover regular check-ups, the care was put off. The result is a more significant intervention that costs more time and money - two things a poor person doesn't have to spare.

Time is invaluable to a poor person. The reason is a poor person likely has to work longer hours for lower compensation. The result is someone making minimum wage at two or three jobs, and often times this still isn't enough to cover basic living costs.

The irony of this, is government programs require a person to have no assets in order to qualify for pitiful subsidies (think: $44 a week to cover food costs). So having a job that pays more than minimum wage, an IRA, or even a car can hurt the poor more when applying for food stamps (and traditionally federal medical coverage). Also, keep in mind that good food tends to cost more money. So in order to be really healthy, as a poor person, you'd have to either make more money at your job, or try to find a food pantry that gives out fresh produce.

Now that we've covered the problems with social stigma, healthcare, and government assistance, what happens to people who'd like to better themselves? That's the American dream - the myth that keeps everyone working hard; if you work hard enough, you can better yourself.

But if you're poor, that's pretty unlikely. The reason is a poor person needs resources in order to get out of poverty - resources he doesn't have.

Let's say this person has some debt because he fell on hard times (an emergency situation like an ER visit or car problems caused him to spend some credit). Debt is built to penalize the debtor. This is because the debtors ends up paying much more than the initial money credited him. This is made even worse when he can't pay.

Take a step back and think about this for a second; the debtor can't pay, so his account goes delinquent, and then we charge him more fees that he can't pay, so we charge him more fees... until his credit is shot and he has no way of digging himself out of this indebted hole.

I don't know about you, but this makes NO sense to me at all. It's one thing if a person is refusing to pay but when they simply can't afford to pay? That's crazy. And this poor credit impacts other aspects of this person's life - his ability to rent (because of course he can't buy a house, and even if he could, he probably couldn't get a loan at a good rate), to buy a car, and even to get certain jobs...

Now let's say our poor person wants to change their fate - they want a better job. But how can he get a better job?

First, he needs a computer, printer, and a phone. He needs the computer to research potential jobs. He needs to printer to print off application forms and resumes. He needs a phone so he can call employers and employers can reach him regarding interviews.

These three things are crucial, yet many are simply out of the realm of possibility for a poor person. Even one of the $99 Chromebooks is an extravagance when you're worried how you're going to buy food or pay the electric bill. And let's not even get into all the little fees and costs involved in having a smartphone, which might substitute for a computer in a pinch...

Let's say this poor person somehow, miraculously, is able to land an interview. What are they going to wear? If he's lucky, he'll find something at the thrift shop that is in reasonable condition and is actually his size. He might not be able to wash it beforehand (laundromats are more expensive to use than having your own washing machine in the long run).

Maybe our man gets the job. What is he going to wear to work? He can't wear the same outfit everyday. Is he going to find 5 suits that fit him and are in good condition at the thrift shop? It's unlikely, but it isn't impossible. But again, he needs to make the time to search for these things....time he may or may not have. He'll need to be at the store when it's open...which might or might not happen, especially if he's reliant on public transit which frequently takes twice as long as a car in most places (and his credit was so bad, he probably doesn't have a car).

In every aspect of the poor man's life, he is penalized. He has to work longer hours for less pay because he doesn't have as good of an education. He doesn't have time with his family because he has to work so long. He doesn't have as good of clothing so he looks like a lower status person to society. He can't afford to cover preventative care, which means he waits until things are emergencies and this usually results in a worse situation for his health as well as his wallet. He is charged fees when he can't afford to pay his bills which puts him into an even worse situation. This screws up his credit so he has difficulty renting an apartment or getting a loan (which makes it hard to start a business as well!). He can't get a good job because he doesn't have the communications equipment to find and apply for one, let alone the wardrobe he would need to hold it down.

All this happens when you are poor in America. Because of this, the logical conclusion is that poor people are bad and have little to no value. Why else would everything in society be set up to punish you?

Who Caused Haiyan?

This post is written from Khloe's perspective about a current event that is a little too close to the premise of her saga. It's ironic I thought of this type of terror years before Sandy and Haiyan...

I was watching the news. I read it on my smartphone while waiting for Dani. I knew they had plans to destroy humans but I never thought it would get this bad. I saw Sandy and while my father caught those immediately responsible, it doesn't prevent things like Haiyan from occurring. We have to catch the ones pulling the strings if we want to avoid record wind speeds and death tolls.

Laran has ideas. Like him, I think those responsible are the same ones who killed his parents - the same ones who attacked me, and recruited Macha. And it's only going to get worse. If, as I suspect, there are Seelie and Sidhe colluding against reunification, there's only one solution.

You have to stop. You have to stop thinking everything can be thrown away. You have to stop using things that will only destroy land, water, and air. Stop now! Forget plastic. Forget industrial agriculture. Forget gasoline and constant electronic use. Forget GMOs. Forget fracking and mountaintop removal mining. Forget oil. Forget pesticides. Forget using anything that takes longer than five minutes of travel. Forget cities and computers. Forget clear-cutting and dams.

This time, this obscene industrialization and super technological age, is over. This is your last chance. If you continue, you risk your race's complete annihilation. I'm going to do what I can, but there are no guarantees. You have to do your part. If you don't take responsibility for your actions, for the destruction you've wrought, there's nothing I can do.

In the end,  it's your choice. You decide.

Top Ten Best Things About Pregnancy

Since I've been having a poopy-pants week (this is a technical term referring to mood and general wellness, not the state of my actual pants) I decided to make a post about things I like in pregnancy. So what's so great about being preggo? In no particular order:

1. People do things for me. They volunteer to do things for me without being asked, sometimes even things I *could* do for myself, though I can't do much, so this is not just nice but sort of essential. Like lifting or moving chairs, holding doors, or sweeping. Pretty much I can sit back and delegate all essential tasks to others. Oh, by the way, I need a foot rub and a virgin strawberry daiquiri. Thanks!

2. My husband babies me, like literally. This is sort of an extension of number 1. While I don't want to overwork him or take advantage, it's kind of nice to have him cook breakfast and dinner regularly as well as clean the tub. And even though I think it's a little weird, I even like him painting my toenails. And slathering me with sunblock like I'm 5. The occassional backrub is pretty sweet as well. :-)

3. People don't expect much from me. I guess this is the flipside to the above, but it deserves its own time in the sun. I can sit down at work, I can sleep any time, I can cry in the middle of the mall and its fine because I'm pregnant and I get a pass! So all those things that are awkward and make me feel like a toddler, yeah, those are acceptable (of course you start crying when you're hungry - you're preggers!). The best thing about it, I'm cute when I do these things, not annoying. Sweet!

4. I can nap any time. Yes, it does get inconvenient when I'm sleeping 18 hours a day, but normally I can't sleep just whenever. This is like a special near narcoleptic superpower that I just can't ignore. Bright fluorescent lights? Screaming children? Excessively loud car stereo blasting gangsta rap? Mini rave light show with lasers and strobing lights? Epic thunderstorm? Creepy horror flick? No problem. 3, 2, 1 - SLEEP!

5. Curves are good. My belly, boobs, and ass are good things. They're encouraged. People worry if they're too small. FOR ONCE AMERICA YOU KNOW WHAT'S UP! Thank you! I will now proceed to wear a tight-ass shirt displaying just how big my baby-bump is. And you will take my picture saying how awesome my body is. Oh yeah!

6. I can eat. I'm not an emotional eater, but I do love food. I really do. It's nice to be able to order the additional side without feeling guilty, just because I want it. Plus, people don't judge me when I do. They encourage it! So when I eat as much as my husband or more, it's okay. Really. Pig out!

7. Food tastes WAY better than normal - like nearly orgasmic. Seriously. It's really amazingly wonderful. I find myself savoring every bite, even when I'm wolfing it down. I will actually miss this. It means even bland things are incredible. Who knew puffed rice cereal could be so fantastic?!

8. I have detective levels of smell. I can pick apart exactly who was where and for how long when I'm in a place based on the smells. I can tell you if something is wrong with your car, or if some recipe isn't right based on smell alone. Yeah, I'm like a wolfgirl that way. So cool.

9. People call me beautiful to my face even when I'm fat, greasy, and exhausted. It's often called "glowing." I can have zits, bags under my eyes, and be totally flushed; it doesn't seem to matter. It's so nice! Definitely going to miss that one, especially the few months after birth. Sigh.

10.  Nesting mania is AMAZING! I love that stuff! I want it ALL the time! If I had nesting instinct going 24/7 I might die of a coronary, but I'd also be more productive than Martha Stewart! Her party favors would have NOTHING on mine. And I've figured out how to feed the hungry, world peace, and crochet. Just saying.

Being pregnant *definitely* has its perks.

The Allure of a Nerd Mate

Someone is scratching his head. Probably a whole lot of someones.

Most people upon meeting me would think, "No. No way. She's not a nerd." And I'm not, at least, not like many of my close friends are.

I never played Magic. I don't do MMOs (probably because I would end up crashing my computer in the middle of a raid or something causing my team to lose abysmally). I never did table top anything (ick - text-based?! Bleh!). I didn't own a console growing up - of any kind (Jill of the Jungle anyone?).

Instead, I went outside (despite my unfortunate lack of hand-eye coordination). I learned and made art. I tried new things. I learned about music. I played popular games outdoors and indoors. I went swimming. I even liked cars - like, a LOT (not enough for me to get posters mind, but enough to enjoy them as toys).

But here's the secret, I DID read. In fact, taking after my beloved mother, I read OBSCENE amounts. One of the great pleasures of summer was the ability to read until my eyes were bloodshot and scratchy with tiredness.

I also devoured information. I loved learning so much my favorite magazines and books from the library were usually historical or scientific in nature.

And here is where the line blurred for me - I absolutely loved science-fiction and fantasy. If there was magic or myth - I was there. I watched all the super hero shows (never got into comics though, sorry - still, I do love The Dark Knight). If there was a space ship and aliens, I was all about it. I watched all the space shows with my dad growing up. It was like our bonding time. So when I was old enough, my dad and I went to watch action movies (superheros included). My dad and I went and saw everything involving science-fiction together (Star Trek anyone?), because my mom really couldn't be bothered (let's face it, it's not for everyone).

The result? Even though by all accounts, I'm not a nerd, I had a heavy dose of nerd culture. So when Big Bang Theory came out, I got ALL the jokes. Seriously. All of them. Because I know those guys. I know Penny. She's my party friend who I talk to about girl stuff...and I help her navigate the world of the nerd.

Where is this going? Well, here's the thing. Nerd culture has become sort of cool. Yes, everyone doesn't love it, but it has gone mainstream in a way nerds have fantasized about for years (Honestly guys, you know you did - somewhere in the back of your brain. Don't lie.). The result? Nerds are now interesting. It's alright to go cosplay at the comic convention, and well, flaunt it (Incidentally, I'm seriously considering going as Sif one year, assuming baby weight is a non-issue. Christian is totally Thor.).

The openness of flying one's nerd flag high and free has created some interesting dynamics in the dating world, which leaves a whole lot of Pennys wondering what the hell is cee-pee-tree-dough and why Dr. Spock should have pointy ears. Poor Penny. She's left needing to research a whole lot about her prospective date's interests, and often finding herself confused because she just can't get into it.

Except she and I both know, it's worth it. Nerds are funny, silly, and don't care what anyone thinks about their interests. Many of them are absolutely brilliant. They challenge us in ways other people can't. And while some of them have the social adeptness of a rabid opossum, they can be as loyal and loving as a Labrador. Let me tell you, I would take my adorkable nerdtastic husband over a jerky high testosterone jock any day (and I do, :-)).

So, if you find yourself looking across the table at someone who's idea of a good time involves playing Settlers of Cattan followed by a Star Wars movie marathon, hear him out. He might be the Leonard to your Penny. And I will help you get through that awkward phase of learning the differences between trek and wars, comics and movies, science and spirituality, video and board. I promise. It can be done. And it has.

Pregnancy Weight Gain Makes Me Cry

Well it doesn't make me cry, but it does make me concerned.

I was overweight according to my BMI or something before I got pregnant. I was actually making some progress towards my goal as far as fat percentages etc, and then I got pregnant immediately.

I don't look fat when not pregnant, but I've been lucky and carry my weight well. Still, I can't help but remember lower scale numbers and and easier time buying clothes (as well as looking fantastic in a bikini).

Then came pregnancy. It's one of the times women are allowed to eat a lot of food without feeling too guilty...or so they say...except that's a lie.

Even though I've packed on the pounds according to my scale, I'm not big. It is still possible to hide my belly depending on what I wear (owing mostly to other parts of me that continue to grow...ahem). I don't feel like I've gained a ton of weight. I only eat when I'm hungry, which is good. It just happens to be that I'm hungry all the time.

When I eat, I try to make sure I eat enough. I have tried to eat more fruits and veggies thinking that might help me eat less over all, but I end up eating the same amount of protein and carbs as I would otherwise...just in a binge causing more heartburn. Grrr.

That protein is what I need. It's what kiddo needs. I know that. I know it because it is what I seek out consciously and subconsciously on a minute by minute basis. I know it's going mostly to my baby because I don't see the major size changes happening in my arms or legs...in fact, I think my thighs have gotten a little skinnier.

That's just weird.

But even though I know these things, and can see them somewhat, I can't help but hear that small voice in the back of my brain when I catch sight of dimples on my thighs, or fat rolling on my side. I can't help but scowl at my thickening ankles and swollen calves. In my mind, I shouldn't look like this pregnant. I should look smoother, more sleek, just like the models in pregnancy magazines.

And then I think, those bastards have screwed me up again!

It wasn't enough that I felt insecure about my body in high school, or that I still wanted to get rid of that last bit of belly fat in college. It wasn't enough that I poked and prodded myself in the mirror examining every square inch for imperfections, wishing wholeheartedly that I could erase certain parts of my body and THEN I would be beautiful.

No, you had to fricking ruin pregnancy too.

Goddamn you people! There's a special place in hell for people who perpetuate this anti-woman psychological torture machine.

I know it's a racket. I know I'm beautiful (even if I want to be *more* so to fit into these bizarre media metrics).  So I try to look at the parts of me I like, while ignoring those I don't. I try to focus on the fact that kiddo needs the food I'm shoveling into my face. It's not some weird emotional response or need for comfort or some unhealthy disorder. I'm actually doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I keep saying this to myself over and over again.

But I really hope this weight disappears after kiddo is out. At that point, thankfully I can return to criticizing my faults in peace.

Raising Boys v. Girls: It's All About The Hormones

I've been doing a TON of research (and when I'm not blogging on my phone I'll share it with you). I've been researching because of something my midwife said about the first few moments after birth.

She said it was the only time you could think of your child as just a person, without any gendered identification.

Initially I agreed with her. I've always been a big proponent of gender equality (and I mean gender). I want to raise boys or girls the same - to feel like they have options beyond what people associate with a penis or a vagina. I want children to know they can do anything they choose.

The problem is, mothers and babies already start to have a relationship long before the baby is born. Hormones are already telling the mother's body what will be. Hormones decided long before the baby could hear or see what it was going to be - in some cases, even before the baby was a sparkle in his or her parents' eyes.

We are, unfortunately for the thinkers among us, slaves to our hormones. Before birth, our gender identity has already been determined (and I say gender here on purpose). Our hormone levels are determined, which leads us to certain sets of choices and it's measurable - in your ring finger. Depending on how long your ring finger is compared to your index finger, scientists can tell how likely a person is going to have certain traits associated with estrogen or testosterone. These traits extend from physical things like muscle mass, to learning disabilities, and personality traits (I'll link a bunch of articles about this from my lappy later I promise!).

So...unless you believe souls choose their parents, you are not the captain of your fate... Not completely. This jury's rigged.

But what about the role of mothers? We're just as ensorceled by hormones as our fresh pink babes! Before they thought parents treated boy and girl babies differently because of cultural expectations (gender roles etc). Now they know it has to do with hormones. Women are just as responsible for choosing the sex of their baby as male sperm are for confirming it. Eggs are predisposed to X or Y based on the mother's hormone levels.

And guess what? Women with higher testosterone *tend* to have boys. Women with higher estrogen *tend* to have girls. This is because testosterone and estrogen are linked to personality traits - ways of being. Higher T makes you take initiative, more risks, and generally be more assertive. Higher E makes you more cautious, responsive and empathetic.  Women with higher T are better mothers to boys because they understand them better. Their personalities match. Likewise the opposite is true about high E women with girls.

Could you imagine the DISASTER that would happen if a woman with really high E levels tried to raise a son? Or the opposite? It wouldn't really work - not for the extreme ends of the spectrum.

As soon as babies pop out, mothers have already subconsciously started responding to their babies in certain ways, ways of which they are completely unaware. It just doesn't matter if you know the sex or not. All that gender stuff is predetermined.

Thanks hormones!

So where does that leave us progressively-minded ladies who want our children to feel more equal? Well, we do have some control. We can make our children feel more or less powerful. We can tell them they have more or less opportunities. We can tell them they have to stay in a narrow box or we can let them honor their preferences, skills, and talents.

All this is to say, finding out the sex doesn't seem to matter one way or another. Our bodies already know. Things are already in motion. It's a preference. And maybe it's related to not wanting monster truck onsies or frilly purple tutus as opposed to how we'll look at or hold our babies.

P.S. I really don't like monster trucks or frilly tutus. Let's keep it to yellow duckies and kelly green frogs shall we?